The Wound That Wants to Be Whole (Sept 2012)

By Matt Dabbs

By Angela Brenton

On a bright, sunny, crisp autumn morning on Oct. 6, 2006, a 32-year-old milkman named Charles Carl Roberts IV walked into a one-room schoolhouse in Amish Country, the West Nickel Mines Amish School. He ordered the teacher and a visiting parent and all the male students out of the schoolhouse and ordered ten little girls aged 7-13 to lie on the floor in front of the chalkboard. He tied their hands and feet. He told them, “I’m angry at God and I need to punish some Christian girls to get even with him.” Then he proceeded systematically to shoot each of them in the head, starting with Anna Mae Stoltzfus, 12, who begged him to shoot her first, hoping to spare her friends. Besides Anna Mae, Naomi Rose Ebersole, aged 7, Marian Fisher, 13, Mary Liz Miller, 8, and her sister Lena Miller, 7, died that day. Two of the other girls suffered massive injuries that resulted in lifelong disabilities. Finally, Roberts killed himself.

In several suicide notes he left for family members, Roberts talked about two motives. He talked about having sexually assaulted two family members over 20 years ago and not being able to live with his guilt, although when family members were interviewed, they said the assaults never happened. He also expressed bitterness, rage, and anger at God that had been building in him for nine years since his wife had given birth to their first child, a little girl who lived only 20 minutes.

In the midst of the shocking violence and loss, the Amish didn’t cast blame or demand vengeance. Forgiveness is so ingrained as a value and a way of life that family members immediately reached out with grace and compassion to the killer’s family. They went to visit his wife and children to offer sympathy and to encourage them to stay in the community. They invited his family to funerals of their children. More Amish people than his own family turned out to his funeral to offer respect. A week later, his wife wrote an open letter to the community. It said, “Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy you’ve extended to use. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.”

The Amish school shooting case has fascinated scholars, journalists, and theologians in the last five years because of its sharp contrast – Charles Roberts, the killer who was tormented by the inability to give or receive forgiveness contrasted with the Amish community with forgiveness woven tightly into their very identity and culture. I think few of us given a choice to leave in the grace-less and unforgiving world of Charles Roberts or the grace-drenched world of the Amish would choose unforgiveness, yet we often find ourselves wounded and trapped in a maze of bitterness, anger or guilt without a clear way out.

In fact, Thomas Kahane offers an excellent metaphor on forgiveness in his book Solving Tough Problems, a reflection on his years of international peacemaking from South Africa to Columbia. He had related an account of a particularly amazing session of confession and forgiveness to a colleague. He had been amazed by the ability of human beings to recover from unimaginable brutality after they had an opportunity to tell and hear the truth. His colleague commented that his experience reminded her of an incident with her husband. They had been boating on Lake Michigan when her husband fell from the boat and was sucked into the motor, causing a deep gash in his leg. They rushed him to a hospital, seeking help. The surgeon, upon examining the horrifying would counseled them, “This kind of wound is too serious and too prone to infection to stitch up. We can only keep it clean and sanitary. The wound wants to be whole, and eventually the sides will come together.”

Our God is a God of compassion and mercy toward his people. Nehemiah 9 provides a long view of God’s relationship with Israel. Even when his people chose evil over good, were unfaithful to their God, and exhibited pride and a lack of gratitude, time and time again God refused to turn his back on them and rescued them from distress. Consider these passages; “But you are a forgiving God, gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love. Therefore you did not desert them, even when they cast for themselves an image of a calf and said, “This is your God.” After years of evil when he allowed them to be captured by their enemies, he again heard their distress and “From heaven you heard them and in your great compassion, you gave them deliverers who rescued them from the hands of their enemies . . . and when they cried out to you again, you heard from heaven and in your compassion, you delivered them time after time.”

Jesus took human form and came to earth as a bridge to reconcile the relationship between God and man that had been severed in the garden of Eden. The apostle Paul’s treatise in Romans 5:6-11 tells us: “You see at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. . . God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us . . . Not only this, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.”

Perhaps no story is so poignant in showing God’s love and forgiveness than the parable of the prodigal son. You all know the story. The younger son asks his father for his inheritance (which at the time was equivalent to telling his father he wished he were dead). He goes to a far country and blows everything having a high ol’ time. Pride keeps him from returning until he finally finds himself, a good Jewish boy feeding pigs and not making enough to keep from starving. He prepares his apology and with humility prepares to ask his father to hire him as a servant. While the son is still far away, his father sees him and runs in an undignified way to meet him. He doesn’t even let him get the apology out of his mouth. He falls on his dirty, disgusting, beautiful boy, hugs and kisses him and commands his servants to bring him clothes and a ring, to kill the fatted calf and to throw a party on his return.

What does this tell us about God?

He never gave up hope for his son’s return and stood waiting and watching for him every day.

He gave his son free will. He allowed him to leave. He waited for him to return.

He forgave before his son returned. He didn’t wait for an apology.

He forgave with joy and completely restored the relationship.

He reached out with forgiveness to the judgmental older son as well.

Brendan Manning, in the Raggamuffin Gospel writes, “What a word of encouragement, consolation and comfort! We don’t have to sift our hearts and analyze our intentions before coming home. Abba just wants us to show up. We don’t have to be shredded with sorrow or crushed with contrition. We don’t have to be perfect or even very good before God will accept us. We don’t have to wallow in guilt, shame, remorse and self-condemnation. Even if we still nurse a secret nostalgia for the far country, Abba falls on our neck and kisses us. Even if we come back because we couldn’t make it on our own, God will welcome us. He will seek no explanations about our sudden appearance. He is glad we are there and wants to give us all we desire.”

When Jesus taught his disciples how to pray in Matthew 6, he sent a clear message about the relationship between God’s forgiveness of us and our forgiveness of others. Remember the passage in the Lord’s prayer, “Forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.” He follows the last stanza of the prayer with an admonition: “For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” I used to think that was the scariest verse in the Bible. Will God really withhold his forgiveness of us if we can’t forgive others in some divine quid pro quo? I’ve thought about that a lot, and that explanation doesn’t fit with God’s nature as revealed by his relationship with Israel, as revealed by his sending Jesus to reconcile the world to himself while we were still sinners, in the mad dash to welcome the prodigal son. God doesn’t need us to forgive or to be sinless for him to lavish his love and mercy on us. Because he made us, he knows that if we are not people of grace and forgiveness, it will be hard for us to accept and receive his forgiveness. And if we truly, deeply understand the depth of our sin and what we’ve been forgiven, it will be impossible not to have grace gush out from us and overflow to others.

Max Lucado writes in his work called In the Grip of Grace: “To believe we are totally and eternally debt-free is seldom easy. Even if we’ve stood before the throne and heard it from the King himself, we still doubt. As a result, many are forgiven only a little, not because the grace of the king is limited, but because the faith of the sinner is small. God is willing to forgive all. He’s willing to wipe the slate completely clean. He guides us to a pool of mercy and invites us to bathe. Some plunge in, but others just touch the surface. They leave feeling unforgiven.”

Forgiveness can also have a dramatic effect on those we forgive, especially when someone is weighted down and paralyzed by guilt. I have the opportunity to teach once a semester in a prison program which prepares inmates for their ultimate release from prison. Various teachers spend an evening talking about skills and perspectives the men will need to lead a successful life in the outside world. I teach about interpersonal conflict and forgiveness. I’ll never forget one middle-aged man named Louis sitting on the front row. As we began talking about forgiveness, he started to weep so loudly that everyone in the room could hear. Now, this is a tough place, a maximum-security prison where many of the inmates have been convicted of murder, assaults, rape, or other violent crimes. Men don’t let themselves be vulnerable to the others too often. Yet, here was Louis, weeping like a child. When he could speak, he simply said, “I killed a family’s only son. I took their seed. I’m so sorry. I’ve written them a dozen letters begging them to forgive me. But they’ll never be able to. Why should they? I don’t know how I’m going to be able to live with this for all my life.” Think of the new beginning and hope that forgiveness would have given Louis.

There are times when our forgiveness means nothing at all to the person who harmed or hurt us. Perhaps they are unaware they have hurt us, or maybe they don’t care. Maybe they have developed rationalizations or excuses for their action. Whether our forgiveness means a thing to the other party, forgiveness ALWAYS benefits us. John McArthur wrote: “Forgiveness unleashes joy. It brings peace. It washes the slate clean. It sets all the highest values of love in motion.” Hannah More adds: “Forgiveness is the economy of the heart . . . forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, and the waste of spirit.” Forgiveness in this pragmatic sense heals us, allows us to let go of past hurts and move forward to a more hopeful future.

Some would argue that expecting parties who have been enslaved, tortured, and oppressed to forgive without first restoring justice is placing all the burden of forgiveness on the oppressed party. This is the perspective taken by some in Northern Ireland as her people seek to recover from decades of violence. It is also deeply embedded in Jewish law and religious practice. If I have offended or injured a party, before I can ask for forgiveness¸ I must demonstrate repentance and make restitution. Once I have done so, the party I have offended is obligated to forgive.<br><br>Dag Hammarskjold, the former United Nations leader, took a different perspective. He stated, “Forgiveness breaks the chain of causality because he who forgives you out of love takes upon himself the consequences of what you have done. Forgiveness therefore always entails a sacrifice.”

Sara Paddison offered the additional thought, “Sincere forgiveness isn’t colored with expectations that the other party apologize or change. Don’t worry about whether they finally understand what they have done. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time.”

It is a difficult issue, but when we withhold forgiveness until the scales of justice are somehow balanced, the scales are never perfectly balanced, and the person who suffers the most from the forgiveness delayed is the victim who continues to live with bitterness, anger and vengeful feelings.

I have come to see forgiveness not just as a command of God, but as a gift of God. Ken Sande writes: “Above all, remember that true forgiveness depends on God’s grace. If you are trying to forgive others on your own, you are in for a long and frustrating battle. But if you continually ask for and rely on God’s strength, you can forgive even the most painful offenses.” We can see the offense and struggle to forgive not as a burden, but as stewardship and an opportunity to glorify God.

I’ll end with a final quote from Gary Hawk that offers the most beautiful description of the grace that God offers in healing our wounds that longs to be whole:

“Even though people may labor toward forgiveness through numerous internal states and stages, it is the experience of many people that one morning, we wake up and discover that what was done to us is no longer the focus of our daily attention. Like a river thawing in the middle of the night, we find that the hardness of our self-protection is falling away. Though we have knocked on a certain door a thousand times without gaining entrance, one morning it is suddenly and simply open. Though all of our best energies have been tied in the knot of memory, one day we discover that the knot has slipped out of the rope. Suddenly we are free of this constriction and the rope may be used to bind things together. This is the experience of transcendence. At times it comes to us more as an inexplicable gift than the result of a series of steps of our determined labor.”

In the end only the Great Healer can knit together the wound that wants to be whole.

categoria commentoNo Comments dataDecember 5th, 2013
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Profile photo of Matt DabbsThis author published 1581 posts in this site.
Matt is the preaching minister at the Auburn Church of Christ in Auburn, Alabama. He and Missy have been married 12 years and are raising two wonderful boys, Jonah and Elijah. Matt is passionate about reaching and discipling young adults, small groups, and teaching. Matt is currently the editor and co-owner of Wineskins.org.

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