On October 2nd 2006 here in Lancaster County, PA, Charles Roberts went into an Amish schoolhouse in Nickel Mines and took ten girls hostage. He ended up killing five of them and seriously wounding another five before killing himself. This event made headline news around the world. As the days went by, and the funerals took place the response of the Amish community also made the news. Rather than speak in terms of retaliation or revenge, the Amish spoke a word of grace and extended their love for the family that Mr. Roberts had left behind, sharing in their grief and setting up a fund for his wife and children with money they received from openhearted donors.
When one elder was asked how they could do such a thing, he replied that every day they prayed the Lord’s Prayer, and in this prayer forgiveness was essential. It would not be the Amish who would continue the spiral of violence by calling either on God or humanity for more blood. As I watched the news unfold on national TV, I was struck by the inability of the television reporters and anchors to grasp the forgiveness as expressed by the Amish. They were befuddled, bemused, frustrated, and a few were, at times, critical that there was no desire for retaliation. But what the world witnessed from the Amish was precisely the heart of the Love of God for the world.
I compare this to the reports I frequently see on CNN where loved ones of murder victims cry out for retaliation, justice, or vengeance. I note that these loved ones often hope that the murderer will “burn in hell” or “get what they deserve.” This language echoes what our societies are built upon: retributive vengeance. We live in a world where we think that justice is a tit-for-tat mechanism, where everyone wants his or her “pound of flesh,” where the justice of “an eye for an eye” prevails. But as Gandhi has admonished us “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”
Violence in all its forms is the single reality that most scares us. Violence can take many forms, but they all have the same goal: the destruction of the other. There is verbal violence such as insults or gossip, put downs and nasty rhetoric; there is emotional violence such as obsession, coercion, and hatred; and there is physical violence from the beating of a child, and domestic abuse, to rape, murder, torture, and war. Many books try to define violence, arguing that some of these actions are not violent. However, they fail to see that all violence leaves deep and lasting scars on human relationships. Moreover violence inevitably calls forth more violence; it is a spiral or a cycle with no end.
Violence is like a virus that spreads almost imperceptibly. Take anger for instance. Dad has had a hard day at work, and the boss yelled at him, calling him incompetent. Fuming on the drive home, Dad wonders how he can get back at his boss. Upon arriving home, his wife has dinner prepared, but his latent hostility comes creeping out when he criticizes her cooking. Mom gets mad, but doesn’t say anything, later she will yell at the kids because they are watching TV and haven’t finished their homework. Sonny walks out of the room and gives Brutus, the family dog, a kick to get out of his way. Brutus, who has no one to kick, slinks away. In this scenario, anger is like the game of hot potato; no one wants it so it is non-consciously passed along, finally given to one who cannot do anything but endure it.
Lethal violence spreads like this as well. Gang warfare in the inner city is rife with the contagion of violence. It is played out on a global scale between nations. As I write this North Korea has threatened “a thousand-fold” retaliation against the United States should they perceive we are at war with them. A thousand fold! Imagine that. Here, even the rhetoric of violence has spiraled out of control. The war on terror has been declared to not have a foreseeable end because whatever the terrorists do to us, we will do to them, and when we do to them, they turn around and do to us. Back in the spiral of violence again…and again…and again. It just never stops.
The violence of our time is not unusual. Although the twentieth century was the most violent on record for the number of people killed, violence has been with us from the beginning. Remember Cain and Abel? The problem of violence that has plagued human culture since its origin also had a powerful structuring role in Jesus’ world. Other empires had long dominated Israel with their tyrants and taxes. In the Jewish historian Josephus, we read page after page after page of violent acts committed upon, and by, the Jewish people. There seems to be no end to killing, and like Ehud in Judges 3:15-23 or Phineas in Numbers 25:6-9, a lot of killing was done in the name of God, the Most High. Christians eventually adopted this posture that killing in the name of God can be sanctioned.
There is a deep irony to the problem of violence: my violence is good, your violence is bad. I always have reasons for my violence; you only have excuses for yours. Have you ever noticed when someone wrongs you, how much time you spend justifying your response in that conversation in your head? Retributive violence is the disease of the human condition. Justified vengeance is what is killing us. It is important to recognize that the problem of social retribution is real, and after all the time we have been on this planet as a species we do not know how to deal with it.
If retribution, or getting even, is one way to deal with the problem of violence, there is another, as shown by Jesus, the way of forgiveness. Forgiveness is the only way that forever cuts short, and ends, the cycle of retributive violence. It is the way of Jesus’ life and death. Finally, I would note that sometimes forgiveness is a journey, not a one-time act. Sometimes when we think we have forgiven someone, we find out that we have just begun the healing process, and so, must continue to see the other person as forgiven by God and hence by us. Forgiveness is not easy nor glibly given. If it doesn’t come from the deep wells within one’s soul, the relationship will not be healed.
This is from a friend of mine named Mike.
