Recently, as I rummaged through some old files, I came across a column I wrote for the Record-Courier nearly twenty years ago, entitled “Forgiveness.” It caught my eye because, as we stand amidst the current election cycle, forgiveness is on my mind. Why, I wonder, is it impossible for powerful people, including politicians, to confess they’ve made mistakes and ask for forgiveness? Our country’s leaders are responsible for many decisions that I consider inhumane and unfair. I’m not judging them: they are simply wrong. I mean, isn’t it obvious?
Unfortunately, that question was immediately followed by this one: Isn’t my own lack of forgiveness also obvious? Ugh. All I want now is to hop off my soapbox and slink into the shadows. I wish I hadn’t found that old column. But I did.
In it, I wrote about an appalling tragedy that had recently occurred in Pennsylvania, in which young children were killed in a one-room Amish schoolhouse. I could not conceive of anyone being capable of such a cruel act.
But someone did commit this crime: a man known as a loving husband, father and neighbor. It is beyond my comprehension that such a “nice” man could do this. But the fact is that “everyday people”—in this case, a man carrying a burden of guilt, grief and mental instability—can, and do, commit such acts.
I also could not conceive of the fact that more than half of the people who attended the gunman’s funeral were Amish. That’s right: the small, close-knit Amish community, the people whose families were decimated and devastated by the gunman’s act, a group that tends to keep to itself, turned out to support the killer’s wife and young children.
Why should we be so surprised? All who claim to be Christian (or Jewish, Muslim or Buddhist, for that matter) are called to forgive those who trespass against them. The Amish community’s act of forgiveness and love, of extending themselves to those in need, is not out of character for them; they are people who live their faith, rather than merely giving lip service to it on Sundays. In their view, the man was a human being, a neighbor; his family deserved comfort and support in their grief. And they were required, as Christians, to provide it.
Why do we find this so amazing? Is it because we live in a society that leans towards retribution rather than redemption, that focuses on its perceived superiority rather than striving to understand others, that offers simple responses to complex world issues? I must confess that I find it much easier to vilify others than to extend my heart and hand to those with whom I disagree. And yet, all the major religions (and most moms and dads) teach that hate begets hate, and that only love and forbearance bring lasting peace.
The truth is, “they” are “us,” no matter who “they” are, no matter what “they” may have done. I still recall the statement made by the father of a young woman killed in the Oklahoma City bombing many years ago. He said that he was against the death penalty for the perpetrator because he knew his daughter would feel that taking another life in return for hers would solve nothing. I believe this too, in theory. But in such a situation, this man’s attitude feels remarkable to me.
It’s difficult to understand love and forgiveness on such a grand scale, but I want to believe it is possible to love that much, to forgive that wholeheartedly. To be able to deplore someone’s actions but still see their humanity.
All of us may need forgiveness–or need to forgive someone else–at some point; including a need to forgive ourselves. Forgiveness, I’ve found, is a journey, not simply two or three words that we (or the other guy) say just to end a misunderstanding or conflict. For it to be heartfelt may take much longer—maybe even a lifetime. But saying it is at least a good start. And we have to start somewhere, if we want to live in peace and harmony with one another.
Which I will try hard to remember, regardless of how the election turns out. Regardless of my view of what’s unfair or inhumane. It’s not my job to judge, but to see the humanity in every single person. Not easy, but I will try. Join me?