Two dozen guns, including AR-15s and semiautomatic handguns, were surrendered anonymously at Allisonville Christian Church on Sept. 19, and volunteers broke the weapons apart so a blacksmith could reforge the metal into garden tools, cookware and art. One car alone brought in two AR-15s and four semiautomatic handguns that could have sold for thousands of dollars, according to a volunteer who spoke with organizers.
The event was part of Guns to Gardens, a national faith-based movement described by Mirror Indy as an effort to get guns off the streets and provide a safe way to dispose of them. As WISH-TV reported, volunteers collected 24 guns anonymously at the Indianapolis church, breaking them down into pieces before handing off the metal to a blacksmith for repurposing. The program is described by WFYI as a nationwide, community-led initiative rooted in faith that enables communities to safely dispose of firearms.
A Mennonite Blacksmith Forges an AR-15 Barrel, Plans a Trowel
The blacksmith behind the transformation is Darren Bender-Beauregard, a 45-year-old Mennonite from Paoli, Indiana, who is also described as a pacifist. He forged the barrel of an AR-15 and planned to make it into a garden trowel, and said this was the first gun he had ever forged, per the same account. A bucket behind him held pieces from additional handguns and assault rifles collected the day before, sawed off by volunteers, according to a report from theindianacommons.com.
Bender-Beauregard was not the only one working the metal. Tandy Adams, 58, who moved her family to the Castleton area, hammered the AR-15 barrel herself. She said striking the weapon felt like taking her power back, the station's report noted.
Guns Surrendered With No Questions Asked
For each gun given up, the church offered a grocery-store gift card, including some worth hundreds of dollars, per the same account. The church's own outreach page lists $200 for working semiautomatic firearms and $100 for other working firearms, with nonworking guns accepted for disposal as well; it states plainly that all donated firearms will be destroyed and the remaining gunmetal repurposed into tools or works of art, according to Allisonville Christian Church. Nearly everyone who dropped off a weapon declined the gift cards anyway.
Among those who surrendered a firearm was Rik Spier, 75, who gave up a hunting rifle he had inherited. He said he had handled the rifle ignorantly and worried it could fall into the wrong hands or cause an accident, prompting him to finally get rid of it.
Church Leaders Frame the Effort as Prayer in Action
Beau Underwood, the church's senior pastor, said the goal was straightforward: “We will make sure these guns can never hurt somebody again or in the future.” Allisonville Christian Church, affiliated with the Disciples of Christ, had church members pray over the anonymously donated guns and sing hymns on Sunday at the church, repeating the words “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace” during the activity.
David and Kristine Eggert helped lead the event; Kristine, a 75-year-old retired pastor, said prayer should lead people to act against gun violence rather than simply offer thoughts and words. Mary Tuttle, a 50-year-old former Indianapolis school teacher who also sings in the church's praise band, served as what organizers called a shepherd of the guns, speaking with people who dropped them off. She said the surrendered weapons cannot be used in school shootings or by children killing each other.
The Backdrop: A City's Gun Violence Toll
Organizers framed the collection against sobering local numbers. There have been at least 245 incidents of gun violence in Indianapolis so far this year, according to Gun Violence Archive data cited by Mirror Indy, and that same data shows at least 80 people have been killed across the city in gun homicides, suicides or accidents. Statewide, firearm injuries remain among the leading causes of injury death in Indiana, with the CDC's last finalized data set showing 1,258 firearm-related deaths in 2023, according to WFYI.
For Spier, Adams, and the dozens of others who showed up on a Saturday morning to hand over weapons they no longer wanted in their homes, the event offered something more tangible than statistics — a chance to watch a gun that once fired bullets get hammered, piece by piece, into something meant only to dig in the dirt.
