Corey Comperatore loved reading Romans.
His pastor at Cabot Methodist Church, Jonathan Fehl, recalled how much Comperatore drew strength from the book. It was the very first thing he’d recommend to recent believers.
But it might be that Comperatore is remembered by one other portion of Scripture, John 15:13: “Greater love has nobody than this: to put down one’s life for one’s friends.”
Comperatore was the sort of church member who showed up every Sunday, took part in small groups, became a member of the congregation’s board of trustees, and helped with constructing projects. He was an Army veteran, volunteer firefighter, and proud “girl dad”—a man who did every little thing with “a heart of service to the Lord,” Fehl wrote.
His final act of affection and sacrifice got here on Saturday, when he yelled, “Get down!” before diving in front of his wife and daughters to guard them from a bullet intended for former president Donald Trump.
The 50-year-old died on the scene from a gunshot wound to the pinnacle.
Comperatore was thrust into national news, the one fatality of a shooting that has left his community in Western Pennsylvania in grief, shock, and trauma.
“There’s just numerous sadness,” Brandon Lenhart, senior pastor at North Main Street Church of God in Butler, told CT. “That any individual lost their life within the event, that that happened within the small town of Butler. It’s not a way we desired to be placed on the map, quite frankly.”
His church is on the opposite side of town from the Butler Farm Show, where Trump’s rally was held. It’s a conservative area—“you see pro-Trump signs in every single place,” Lenhart said—and other people drove in from surrounding towns to cheer on the Republican candidate.
Comperatore and his family got here from Sarver, just 16 miles southwest of the Farm Show. It’s small, with a population of 8,486, and was once only a tiny milling village. Its Wikipedia page lists only two notable figures: a pageant winner, and now, Comperatore.
The drive from Butler and Sarver winds through hilly farmland, a patchwork of corn, soy, and wheat fields, pastures stuffed with grazing livestock, and hay bales dotting the horizon. Many of its residents find work at nearby manufacturing facilities. Comperatore had been an engineer at a plastics plant.
At the Lernerville Speedway in Sarver, lots of gathered on Wednesday for a vigil in remembrance of their friend and neighbor. Many were wearing red, white, and blue. They sat on slippery bleachers across the racetrack, wet from a day downpour, to listen to pastors, friends, and firefighters pay tribute to “top-of-the-line men” they knew.
Members of Sonrise Community Church, one other congregation in Sarver, offered prayers and sang before the gang of 300. They repeatedly referenced Corey’s “greater love” and the way he was willing to put down his life for others. As his daughter Allyson wrote in tribute, “He truly loved us enough to take an actual bullet for us.”
“You’ve heard about who [Corey] is. … We’ve also heard an important part, about whose he’s,” said Fehl, Comperatore’s pastor. “He knew that he belonged to Jesus Christ. That’s the rationale he lived a lifetime of service the way in which he did. He was a witness to the grace of God at work in his life.”
The crowd bowed their heads for the Lord’s Prayer after which lifted glowing candles and iPhone flashlights while MercyMe’s “I Can Only Imagine” played over the speaker.
One attendee, Bonnie Waldenville, got here to the vigil because her husband graduated from highschool with Comperatore. “It really hurts here,” Waldenville pointed to her heart, “for his wife.”
Adam Salinas, a neighborhood chaplain and pastor within the Pittsburgh area, got here to supply support. He has prayed several times with the staff of local nursing homes within the wake of the rally. “It has been very sad for our whole community,” he said.
A non-public funeral might be held for Comperatore on Friday at Cabot Church, followed by a procession of fireside trucks.
At every church in the world, you discover individuals who knew Comperatore, who were on the rally themselves, or who’re still feeling the ache of the shooting and the scare of what might have been.
“Jesus, we’re at a special place than we were 24 hours ago,” David Janz, pastor of Butler First Church, a Methodist congregation, prayed on the Sunday morning after the rally. “Violence is throughout us, nevertheless it seems to have come home lots more strong and evident due to what happened last night.”
He prayed for Trump, the Comperatore family, and the 2 other individuals, David Dutch and James Copenhaver, who had suffered injuries through the shooting. He also prayed for the family of the shooter.
“We pray for them. We pray for our community. It doesn’t feel as protected because it used to,” he said. “Help us, Lord, to take these moments to repair our eyes again on Jesus.”
When Lenhart and his wife, Saralee, who’s worship pastor at North Main Street Church, heard in regards to the shooting, they were having a rare date at an Italian restaurant in neighboring Zelienople. They knew members of their congregation had been on the rally.
But getting back to the flock wasn’t really easy. The area had morphed into a criminal offense scene: Choppers scouted the air and law enforcement shuttered roads near the rally location and the hospital where they’d taken Trump. “It turned a 15-, 20-minute drive right into a 45-minute drive to take all of the alternate routes back into town,” Lenhart said. “It was a bit surreal.”
They made it to a house around a mile from the Butler Farm Show grounds.
One of their congregants had fled there with around 20 other rally goers who couldn’t make it home. She’d gotten a VIP ticket and had been within the stands behind Trump. Less than ten feet away, one row behind her and down the bench a bit of, had sat the Comperatores.
“Bullets were coming through that section of the stands. She’s pretty traumatized by what she saw,” said Lenhart, who prayed and spoke with them, also suggesting further resources of counseling and therapy.
The next day, he addressed his congregation before worship.
“It’s a traumatic event,” he told them. “So what can we do with all of this? We don’t react. We grow to be proactive. And you recognize what the believer in Christ does when there’s a crisis? Can I show you?”
Lenhart dropped to his knees and clasped his hands in a posture of prayer. The church applauded.
“I desired to be sure people understood our response is just not social media, our response is just not vitriol, picketing, protesting,” he said in an interview with CT. “As believers in Christ, our first response is all the time to hunt the Lord.”
Nearby churches are rallying to assist the community process and heal. On Saturday, North Main Street Church is hosting a free crisis response event with the Christian counseling agency it shares offices with. Christian Counseling Associates will speak to attendees in regards to the shooting and the fallout, then break into small groups for discussion.
Last weekend, Lenhart had stayed up wondering whether to scrap his sermon. Instead, he shared some reflections and quoted from Ecclesiastes and the book that happened to be Comperatore’s favorite, Romans.
“Regardless of what side of the aisle you sit on, violence is rarely warranted. And I feel we will agree, hopefully because the body of Christ, that this is just not only an abhorrent thing that happened in our area people, it’s something that, as believers in Christ, we should always never have a good time on one side or the opposite,” he said. “We are told in Romans chapter 12 that we will not be to beat evil with more evil, but to beat evil with good.”
