THE BEST OF MOYO AFLAME 2011: Four True Stories That Just May Blow Your Heart And Mind Wide Open And Fill Them With A Brilliant Light

This piece originally appeared on Moyo Aflame on January 29, 2011


A Victim Treats His Mugger Right 

Julio Diaz has a daily routine. Every night, the 31-year-old social worker ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early, just so he can eat at his favorite diner.

But one night last month, as Diaz stepped off the No. 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening took an unexpected turn.

He was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy approached and pulled out a knife.

"He wants my money, so I just gave him my wallet and told him, 'Here you go,'" Diaz says.

As the teen began to walk away, Diaz told him, "Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you're going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm."

The would-be robber looked at his would-be victim, "like what's going on here?" Diaz says. "He asked me, 'Why are you doing this?'"

Diaz replied: "If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me ... hey, you're more than welcome.

"You know, I just felt maybe he really needs help," Diaz says.

Diaz says he and the teen went into the diner and sat in a booth.

"The manager comes by, the dishwashers come by, the waiters come by to say hi," Diaz says. "The kid was like, 'You know everybody here. Do you own this place?'"

"No, I just eat here a lot," Diaz says he told the teen. "He says, 'But you're even nice to the dishwasher.'"
Diaz replied, "Well, haven't you been taught you should be nice to everybody?"

"Yea, but I didn't think people actually behaved that way," the teen said.

Diaz asked him what he wanted out of life. "He just had almost a sad face," Diaz says.
The teen couldn't answer Diaz — or he didn't want to.

When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, "Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you."

The teen "didn't even think about it" and returned the wallet, Diaz says. "I gave him $20 ... I figure maybe it'll help him. I don't know."

Diaz says he asked for something in return — the teen's knife — "and he gave it to me."

Afterward, when Diaz told his mother what happened, she said, "You're the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch."

"I figure, you know, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It's as simple as it gets in this complicated world."

From a report from March 28, 2008, National Public Radio 

Listen to the story here

A Father's Story 

Julie Welch, a recent Marquette University graduate gifted in foreign languages served as a translator for the Social Security Administration at the Alfred E. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. On April 19, 1995 she attended morning Mass before heading for work. At 9:02 AM, she greeted her first clients. Then a bomb reduced the building to rubble. She, along with 167 others, was killed that day.

After Julie's death, her father Bud Welch, turned to drinking and smoking to ease the pain of her loss. Every day, Mr. Welch paced the chain-linked fence that ran along the perimeter of the bombing site.

Mr. Welch had always opposed the death penalty but he noted acquaintances would say, "if it ever happens to you, you will change your mind." When it happened to him, he did change his mind. He recalls, "the first month or so after the bombing, after Terry Nichols and Tim McVeigh were arrested and charged, I didn't even want trials for either of them, I wanted them fried." 

And then one morning he was standing under an elm tree at the site of the destruction, watching mourners walk along the fence. His head was hurting from drinking the night before, but he began probing his mind with three questions: "Do you need trials to begin now? Do you need convictions? Do you need executions?"

Reflecting on this last question, he remembered a conversation he had with Julie during a road-trip home from Marquette. A news report on the radio announced that the state of Texas had carried out an execution the previous night. Julie had turned to her father and said, "Dad, that makes me sick what they are doing down in Texas. All they are doing is teaching hate to their children and it has no social redeeming value." Recalling this statement, Mr. Welch was immediately struck, realizing that it would be wrong to execute Nichols and McVeigh. He said, "the day that we might kill either one of them would be a day of vengeance and rage, and vengeance and rage is exactly why Julie and 167 others are dead." In his mind, then, the question was answered. No, he did not want executions.

Shortly thereafter Mr. Welch stopped drinking. He became an eloquent spokesman against the death penalty. Through his speaking engagements, he derives great comfort in sharing stories about Julie's life, her compassion, her contributions.

One speaking engagement brought him to Buffalo, New York, near the area where Timothy McVeigh grew up and where his father and sister still lived. Mr. Welch recalled one evening, watching the news, and a reporter attempted to interview Mr. McVeigh. Mr. McVeigh avoided the reporter's questions and only once looked at the camera. Mr. Welch saw an undeniable grief in Mr. McVeigh's eyes. He recognized that grief because he was living it. At that moment Mr. Welch knew he wanted to meet Mr. McVeigh.

The meeting between Mr. Welch and Mr. McVeigh was awkward. But they found common ground as Catholics of Irish descent. The two talked in the McVeigh kitchen. Jennifer McVeigh, Timothy McVeigh's sister, joined them. Mr. Welch caught himself glancing very self-consciously, above the table at an 8"x10" high school photo of Timothy McVeigh. Finally he said, "God, what a good-looking kid." A tear rolled down Mr. McVeigh's face. 

At the end of the meeting Mr. Welch offered his hand to Mr. McVeigh and to Jennifer. Jennifer hugged him and began sobbing. Mr. Welch looked at her and said, "Honey, look, the three of us are in this for the rest of our lives. We can make the most of it if we choose. I don't want your brother to die and I will do everything I can to prevent it."

Timothy McVeigh was executed on June 11, 2001. Mr. Welch condemned the execution. Today, he regularly keeps in touch with Mr. McVeigh.

A Mother's Story

Brian Muha had just completed his freshman year at Franciscan University in Steubenville, Ohio. He was bright, athletic, and faithful - an all-American kid. At the end of the semester he returned home, but the stay was brief because he planned to attend summer classes at Franciscan. Before returning to school, he arranged to send roses to his mother. Mrs. Muha received them the day after he left and called to thank him. He wasn't home. Later that afternoon, the police informed the Muha family that Brian and his friend Aaron were missing. A search team began looking for the boys. After nearly a week, the bloodied bodies of Brian and Aaron were found on a hill under a canopy of wild roses. Three suspects were arrested. 

During that week when Brian's status went from 'missing' to murdered, Mrs. Muha relied on prayer. Her prayer was the Lord's Prayer. And she prayed it deliberately, reflectively, asking herself, challenging herself, "Can I pray this? What is this forgiveness that God wants?"

She forgave his killers. Even after she learned that the three men decided to murder her son for the 'thrill' of it and later bragged about it. Even after she learned that Brian was kidnapped, beaten with a gun, and forced to march up a hill to his death. Even after she learned that he was tormented and killed 'execution-style.' Even after she had to relive those horrific details while attending two trials. And even though the murderers were and remain unrepentant. 

"To forgive someone," she says, "does not mean to excuse them. It doesn't mean that you are saying that what they did is okay. ... It doesn't mean that you understand, or that they had good reason for their actions. It doesn't mean you are saying they shouldn't be punished. It means giving up anger, hatred, revenge, and bitterness towards someone who has hurt you. It means to have good will, to want what is best for that person and to help them get it. What is ultimately best for everyone is Heaven. Do what you can for those who have hurt you so that they can get to Heaven."

Mrs. Muha prays unceasingly for the conversion of her son's killers. She calls them her brothers. "They are my brothers and yours," she says, "because we are all children of the same Heavenly Father."

Mrs. Muha has gone further than praying for these men. She has advocated for them. She specifically requested that they not be executed although one was sentenced to death. And she speaks against the death penalty: "There is only one reason not to use the death penalty and I think that reason will prevail in the end. The reason is that each one of us was created. That means we belong to Someone - with a capital S - and that Someone has rights over our lives."

Mrs. Muha emphasizes that by rejecting the death penalty, she does not reject justice or punishment. Rather, by rejecting the death penalty, she embraces life. "We need to be radical witnesses for life," she says, "including very guilty life so that we can turn the tide toward a culture of life."

And she has provided just that sort of radical witness, honoring life, not with a call for vengeance, but with charitable deeds and hope. Mrs. Muha founded a scholarship in Brian's memory. The funds are available to inner-city youth from Pittsburgh, Steubenville and Columbus (Ohio), because Brian was from Columbus and the men who killed him are from Pittsburgh and Steubenville. She has also established a foundation to help fund various projects for inner-city youth. She purchased the home from which Brian and Aaron were kidnapped and converted it into an apartment for clergy and religious who cannot afford housing while studying at Franciscan. She asks those who stay there to pray for the men who killed Brian and Aaron.

Mrs. Muha's son Chris also embraced forgiveness for his brother's murderers. At the sentencing phase of the trial, Chris offered his forgiveness to the murderers in these poignant, faith-filled words: "I offer my forgiveness to you. I forgive you, not because you had a rough childhood, for that is not an excuse. I forgive you, not because you were depressed, because that is not an excuse. I forgive you because I have been forgiven."

A Radical Forgiveness 

After the abolition of apartheid in South Africa, a commission was established to bring the violence of apartheid to light and to give both victims and perpetrators a chance to be heard.

The Commission brought an elderly black woman face to face with the man, a Mr. Van de Broek, who had confessed to the murders of both her only son and her husband.

 The elderly black woman stood in an emotionally charged courtroom, listening to white police officers acknowledge the atrocities they had perpetrated in the name of apartheid. 

Officer Van de Broek acknowledged his responsibility in the death of her son. Along with others, he had shot her 18-year-old son at point-blank range. He and the others partied while they burned his body, turning it over and over on the fire until it was reduced to ashes. 

Eight years later, Van de Broek and others arrived to seize her husband. A few hours later, shortly after midnight, Van de Broek came to fetch the woman. He took her to a woodpile where her husband lay bound. She was forced to watch as they poured gasoline over his body and ignited the flames that consumed his body. The last words she heard her husband say were "Forgive them." 

Now, Van de Broek stood before her awaiting judgment. South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission asked her what she wanted.

The old woman replied: 

"I want three things," she said calmly. "I want Mr. Van de Broek to take me to the place where they burned my husband's body. I would like to gather up the dust and give him a decent burial." 

"Second, Mr. van de Broek took all my family away from me, and I still have a lot of love to give. I want, secondly, therefore, for Mr. Van de Broek to become my son. Twice a month, I would like for him to come to the ghetto and spend a day with me so I can be a mother to him."

"Third, I would like Mr. Van de Broek to know that he is forgiven by God, and that I forgive him, too. I would kindly ask someone to lead me to where he is seated, so I can take Mr. Van de Broek in my arms, embrace him and let him know that he is truly forgiven." 

The assistants came to help the old black woman across the courtroom. Mr. Van de Broek, overwhelmed by what he had just heard, fainted. And as he did, those in the courtroom---friends, family, neighbors, all victims of decades of oppression and injustice---began to sing "Amazing Grace." Gradually everyone joined in.

Harvey, A. (2009) The Hope: A Guide to Sacred Activism, New York: Hay House, Inc.

Prevallet, E. (2005) Toward a Spirituality for Global Justice: A Call to Kinship. Sowers Books and Videos.

The Long Road Home Leads to Forgiveness and Reconciliation

I am 100% against capital punishment. I have been for a very long time. I want to share here some of my story around this fundamental point of activism in my life.

I am a man of African descent. I grew up in an environment that included certain advantages that were not always afforded the typical black family of that time and age. I was born in 1960. My maternal grandfather had been a university professor from my first awareness of him as a distinct, individual person. He and my grandmother had met while they were both students at Fisk University, one of the most prestigious of the historically black colleges and universities in America. I grew up in a house with my maternal grandparents, my mother, who also had a college education, and my sister who was 22 months my senior. It was a good upbringing and environment. It was not perfect. It was not idyllic. I was never aware of any financial struggles. Although I imagine there were some.  We ate extremely well, even by today's standards. We took vacations every summer. Still, I believed my family was somewhat crazy until I entered college and met other students and heard the stories of their upbringings and their families. From that point forward I have viewed my family as more or less perfect.

For much of that time growing up, dinnertime at our house was a time where we all came together and talked openly, as a family, about all manner of things. It was my introduction to Socratic discourse. It prepared me for college in ways that far surpassed the preparation many of my peers had received. During one of those dinners when I was probably around ten, my grandfather brought up the subject of capital punishment. He introduced the subject by simultaneously expressing his support for it. Everyone else at the table, in one form or another, agreed with my grandfather. This topic was obviously done with and we were about to move on to the next when I proudly announced that I was not in favor of capital punishment. What I want to interject here is the fact that my grandfather remains, to this day, 22 years after his passing, the most positively influential person in my entire life and the person I view as the most important person in my life, hands down. So at age ten for me to challenge the person I most looked up to in the world, was a huge thing. It was not that my grandfather was some tyrant of a man who ruled his family with an iron fist and expected everyone in the family to bow to his will. Not at all. It was simply that my grandfather was such a brilliant man who, in my eyes, was the only person who made our family and to a lesser degree, the world, work for me. So this was huge.

I remember my grandfather looking at me with surprise. He then asked me what to this day I know was what he considered to be the ultimate rebuttal to my statement about not supporting capital punishment. I remember it as if it happened yesterday. My grandfather asked me, "What if someone came into this house right now, while we all are sitting here enjoying our dinner and shot and killed one or all of your family for no reason at all? Wouldn't you want to see that person die?" "No," I said, I wouldn't." That wouldn't bring any of you back to life." Everyone was stunned by my response and their faces reflected it. There was a silence that descended on the room due to everyone suddenly realizing there was a person sitting among them whom they had never seen before and had no idea where he had come from. I went on to eloquently state several more reasons why I didn't support capital punishment. The principles of forgiveness and reconciliation being among them. I had no idea where these thoughts were coming from. I had never expressed them before. I have never wavered in all these years.

At age sixteen I officially became a conscientious objector and a vegetarian (for the first time). At age eighteen (1978) I attended my first peace march. At age 36 I started facilitating a support group for people who had a loved one who was a victim of violent homicide. At age 42 I attended my first meditation sit in opposition to the execution that was about to take place inside the prison building I sat zazen outside of (San Quentin State Prison in Marin County in The San Francisco Bay Area). I have been to many others since. At age 51 I have been impacted by the execution of an American citizen of African descent named Troy Anthony Davis in ways that very much surprises me given the fact I have been doing this for so long. I have been revitalized in my efforts to abolish the death penalty in this country as a result of the Troy Anthony Davis case. My 10 year old self would be very proud of me.

Muslim Prayer For Peace (in the Middle East)

Salaam and Greetings of Peace:

“In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Praise be to the Lord of the universe who has created us and made us tribes and nations, that we might know each other. If the enemy inclines towards peace, do thou also incline towards peace, and trust in God, for the Lord is the One that hears and knows all things. And the servants of God, most gracious are those who walk on the Earth in humility, And when we address them, we say PEACE.”

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Four True Stories That Just May Blow Your Heart And Mind Wide Open And Fill Them With A Brilliant Light

A Victim Treats His Mugger Right

Julio Diaz has a daily routine. Every night, the 31-year-old social worker ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early, just so he can eat at his favorite diner.

But one night last month, as Diaz stepped off the No. 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening took an unexpected turn.

He was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy approached and pulled out a knife.

"He wants my money, so I just gave him my wallet and told him, 'Here you go,'" Diaz says.

As the teen began to walk away, Diaz told him, "Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you're going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm."

The would-be robber looked at his would-be victim, "like what's going on here?" Diaz says. "He asked me, 'Why are you doing this?'"

Diaz replied: "If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me ... hey, you're more than welcome.

"You know, I just felt maybe he really needs help," Diaz says.

Diaz says he and the teen went into the diner and sat in a booth.

"The manager comes by, the dishwashers come by, the waiters come by to say hi," Diaz says. "The kid was like, 'You know everybody here. Do you own this place?'"

"No, I just eat here a lot," Diaz says he told the teen. "He says, 'But you're even nice to the dishwasher.'"
Diaz replied, "Well, haven't you been taught you should be nice to everybody?"

"Yea, but I didn't think people actually behaved that way," the teen said.

Diaz asked him what he wanted out of life. "He just had almost a sad face," Diaz says.
The teen couldn't answer Diaz — or he didn't want to.

When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, "Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you."

The teen "didn't even think about it" and returned the wallet, Diaz says. "I gave him $20 ... I figure maybe it'll help him. I don't know."

Diaz says he asked for something in return — the teen's knife — "and he gave it to me."

Afterward, when Diaz told his mother what happened, she said, "You're the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch."

"I figure, you know, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It's as simple as it gets in this complicated world."

From a report from March 28, 2008, National Public Radio

Listen to the story here

A Father's Story

Julie Welch, a recent Marquette University graduate gifted in foreign languages served as a translator for the Social Security Administration at the Alfred E. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. On April 19, 1995 she attended morning Mass before heading for work. At 9:02 AM, she greeted her first clients. Then a bomb reduced the building to rubble. She, along with 167 others, was killed that day.

After Julie's death, her father Bud Welch, turned to drinking and smoking to ease the pain of her loss. Every day, Mr. Welch paced the chain-linked fence that ran along the perimeter of the bombing site.

Mr. Welch had always opposed the death penalty but he noted acquaintances would say, "if it ever happens to you, you will change your mind." When it happened to him, he did change his mind. He recalls, "the first month or so after the bombing, after Terry Nichols and Tim McVeigh were arrested and charged, I didn't even want trials for either of them, I wanted them fried."

And then one morning he was standing under an elm tree at the site of the destruction, watching mourners walk along the fence. His head was hurting from drinking the night before, but he began probing his mind with three questions: "Do you need trials to begin now? Do you need convictions? Do you need executions?"

Reflecting on this last question, he remembered a conversation he had with Julie during a road-trip home from Marquette. A news report on the radio announced that the state of Texas had carried out an execution the previous night. Julie had turned to her father and said, "Dad, that makes me sick what they are doing down in Texas. All they are doing is teaching hate to their children and it has no social redeeming value." Recalling this statement, Mr. Welch was immediately struck, realizing that it would be wrong to execute Nichols and McVeigh. He said, "the day that we might kill either one of them would be a day of vengeance and rage, and vengeance and rage is exactly why Julie and 167 others are dead." In his mind, then, the question was answered. No, he did not want executions.

Shortly thereafter Mr. Welch stopped drinking. He became an eloquent spokesman against the death penalty. Through his speaking engagements, he derives great comfort in sharing stories about Julie's life, her compassion, her contributions.

One speaking engagement brought him to Buffalo, New York, near the area where Timothy McVeigh grew up and where his father and sister still lived. Mr. Welch recalled one evening, watching the news, and a reporter attempted to interview Mr. McVeigh. Mr. McVeigh avoided the reporter's questions and only once looked at the camera. Mr. Welch saw an undeniable grief in Mr. McVeigh's eyes. He recognized that grief because he was living it. At that moment Mr. Welch knew he wanted to meet Mr. McVeigh.

The meeting between Mr. Welch and Mr. McVeigh was awkward. But they found common ground as Catholics of Irish descent. The two talked in the McVeigh kitchen. Jennifer McVeigh, Timothy McVeigh's sister, joined them. Mr. Welch caught himself glancing very self-consciously, above the table at an 8"x10" high school photo of Timothy McVeigh. Finally he said, "God, what a good-looking kid." A tear rolled down Mr. McVeigh's face.

At the end of the meeting Mr. Welch offered his hand to Mr. McVeigh and to Jennifer. Jennifer hugged him and began sobbing. Mr. Welch looked at her and said, "Honey, look, the three of us are in this for the rest of our lives. We can make the most of it if we choose. I don't want your brother to die and I will do everything I can to prevent it."

Timothy McVeigh was executed on June 11, 2001. Mr. Welch condemned the execution. Today, he regularly keeps in touch with Mr. McVeigh.

A Mother's Story

Brian Muha had just completed his freshman year at Franciscan University in Steubenville, Ohio. He was bright, athletic, and faithful - an all-American kid. At the end of the semester he returned home, but the stay was brief because he planned to attend summer classes at Franciscan. Before returning to school, he arranged to send roses to his mother. Mrs. Muha received them the day after he left and called to thank him. He wasn't home. Later that afternoon, the police informed the Muha family that Brian and his friend Aaron were missing. A search team began looking for the boys. After nearly a week, the bloodied bodies of Brian and Aaron were found on a hill under a canopy of wild roses. Three suspects were arrested.

During that week when Brian's status went from 'missing' to murdered, Mrs. Muha relied on prayer. Her prayer was the Lord's Prayer. And she prayed it deliberately, reflectively, asking herself, challenging herself, "Can I pray this? What is this forgiveness that God wants?"

She forgave his killers. Even after she learned that the three men decided to murder her son for the 'thrill' of it and later bragged about it. Even after she learned that Brian was kidnapped, beaten with a gun, and forced to march up a hill to his death. Even after she learned that he was tormented and killed 'execution-style.' Even after she had to relive those horrific details while attending two trials. And even though the murderers were and remain unrepentant.

"To forgive someone," she says, "does not mean to excuse them. It doesn't mean that you are saying that what they did is okay. ... It doesn't mean that you understand, or that they had good reason for their actions. It doesn't mean you are saying they shouldn't be punished. It means giving up anger, hatred, revenge, and bitterness towards someone who has hurt you. It means to have good will, to want what is best for that person and to help them get it. What is ultimately best for everyone is Heaven. Do what you can for those who have hurt you so that they can get to Heaven."

Mrs. Muha prays unceasingly for the conversion of her son's killers. She calls them her brothers. "They are my brothers and yours," she says, "because we are all children of the same Heavenly Father."

Mrs. Muha has gone further than praying for these men. She has advocated for them. She specifically requested that they not be executed although one was sentenced to death. And she speaks against the death penalty: "There is only one reason not to use the death penalty and I think that reason will prevail in the end. The reason is that each one of us was created. That means we belong to Someone - with a capital S - and that Someone has rights over our lives."

Mrs. Muha emphasizes that by rejecting the death penalty, she does not reject justice or punishment. Rather, by rejecting the death penalty, she embraces life. "We need to be radical witnesses for life," she says, "including very guilty life so that we can turn the tide toward a culture of life."

And she has provided just that sort of radical witness, honoring life, not with a call for vengeance, but with charitable deeds and hope. Mrs. Muha founded a scholarship in Brian's memory. The funds are available to inner-city youth from Pittsburgh, Steubenville and Columbus (Ohio), because Brian was from Columbus and the men who killed him are from Pittsburgh and Steubenville. She has also established a foundation to help fund various projects for inner-city youth. She purchased the home from which Brian and Aaron were kidnapped and converted it into an apartment for clergy and religious who cannot afford housing while studying at Franciscan. She asks those who stay there to pray for the men who killed Brian and Aaron.

Mrs. Muha's son Chris also embraced forgiveness for his brother's murderers. At the sentencing phase of the trial, Chris offered his forgiveness to the murderers in these poignant, faith-filled words: "I offer my forgiveness to you. I forgive you, not because you had a rough childhood, for that is not an excuse. I forgive you, not because you were depressed, because that is not an excuse. I forgive you because I have been forgiven."

A Radical Forgiveness

After the abolition of apartheid in South Africa, a commission was established to bring the violence of apartheid to light and to give both victims and perpetrators a chance to be heard.

The Commission brought an elderly black woman face to face with the man, a Mr. Van de Broek, who had confessed to the murders of both her only son and her husband.

 The elderly black woman stood in an emotionally charged courtroom, listening to white police officers acknowledge the atrocities they had perpetrated in the name of apartheid.

Officer Van de Broek acknowledged his responsibility in the death of her son. Along with others, he had shot her 18-year-old son at point-blank range. He and the others partied while they burned his body, turning it over and over on the fire until it was reduced to ashes.

Eight years later, Van de Broek and others arrived to seize her husband. A few hours later, shortly after midnight, Van de Broek came to fetch the woman. He took her to a woodpile where her husband lay bound. She was forced to watch as they poured gasoline over his body and ignited the flames that consumed his body. The last words she heard her husband say were "Forgive them."

Now, Van de Broek stood before her awaiting judgment. South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission asked her what she wanted.

The old woman replied:

"I want three things," she said calmly. "I want Mr. Van de Broek to take me to the place where they burned my husband's body. I would like to gather up the dust and give him a decent burial."

"Second, Mr. van de Broek took all my family away from me, and I still have a lot of love to give. I want, secondly, therefore, for Mr. Van de Broek to become my son. Twice a month, I would like for him to come to the ghetto and spend a day with me so I can be a mother to him."

"Third, I would like Mr. Van de Broek to know that he is forgiven by God, and that I forgive him, too. I would kindly ask someone to lead me to where he is seated, so I can take Mr. Van de Broek in my arms, embrace him and let him know that he is truly forgiven."

The assistants came to help the old black woman across the courtroom. Mr. Van de Broek, overwhelmed by what he had just heard, fainted. And as he did, those in the courtroom---friends, family, neighbors, all victims of decades of oppression and injustice---began to sing "Amazing Grace." Gradually everyone joined in.

Harvey, A. (2009) The Hope: A Guide to Sacred Activism, New York: Hay House, Inc.

Prevallet, E. (2005) Toward a Spirituality for Global Justice: A Call to Kinship. Sowers Books and Videos.

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Loving Your Enemies Talk, Martin Luther King, Jr. November 17, 1957

Loving Your Enemies

Dexter Avenue Baptist Church
Montgomery, Alabama
17 November 1957

I am forced to preach under something of a handicap this morning. In fact, I had the doctor before coming to church. And he said that it would be best for me to stay in the bed this morning. And I insisted that I would have to come to preach. So he allowed me to come out with one stipulation, and that is that I would not come in the pulpit until time to preach, and that after, that I would immediately go back home and get in the bed. So I'm going to try to follow his instructions from that point on.

I want to use as a subject from which to preach this morning a very familiar subject, and it is familiar to you because I have preached from this subject twice before to my knowing in this pulpit. I try to make it a, something of a custom or tradition to preach from this passage of Scripture at least once a year, adding new insights that I develop along the way out of new experiences as I give these messages. Although the content is, the basic content is the same, new insights and new experiences naturally make for new illustrations.

So I want to turn your attention to this subject: "Loving Your Enemies." It's so basic to me because it is a part of my basic philosophical and theological orientation the whole idea of love, the whole philosophy of love. In the fifth chapter of the gospel as recorded by Saint Matthew, we read these very arresting words flowing from the lips of our Lord and Master: "Ye have heard that it has been said, "Thou shall love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy." But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven."

Certainly these are great words, words lifted to cosmic proportions. And over the centuries, many persons have argued that this is an extremely difficult command. Many would go so far as to say that it just isn't possible to move out into the actual practice of this glorious command. They would go on to say that this is just additional proof that Jesus was an impractical idealist who never quite came down to earth. So the arguments abound. But far from being an impractical idealist, Jesus has become the practical realist. The words of this text glitter in our eyes with a new urgency. Far from being the pious injunction of a utopian dreamer, this command is an absolute necessity for the survival of our civilization. Yes, it is love that will save our world and our civilization, love even for enemies.

Now let me hasten to say that Jesus was very serious when he gave this command; he wasn't playing. He realized that it's hard to love your enemies. He realized that it's difficult to love those persons who seek to defeat you, those persons who say evil things about you. He realized that it was painfully hard, pressingly hard. But he wasn't playing. And we cannot dismiss this passage as just another example of Oriental hyperbole, just a sort of exaggeration to get over the point. This is a basic philosophy of all that we hear coming from the lips of our Master. Because Jesus wasn't playing; because he was serious. We have the Christian and moral responsibility to seek to discover the meaning of these words, and to discover how we can live out this command, and why we should live by this command.

Now first let us deal with this question, which is the practical question: How do you go about loving your enemies? I think the first thing is this: In order to love your enemies, you must begin by analyzing self. And I'm sure that seems strange to you, that I start out telling you this morning that you love your enemies by beginning with a look at self. It seems to me that that is the first and foremost way to come to an adequate discovery to the how of this situation.

Now, I'm aware of the fact that some people will not like you, not because of something you have done to them, but they just won't like you. I'm quite aware of that. Some people aren?t going to like the way you walk; some people aren't going to like the way you talk. Some people aren't going to like you because you can do your job better than they can do theirs. Some people aren't going to like you because other people like you, and because you're popular, and because you're well-liked, they aren't going to like you. Some people aren't going to like you because your hair is a little shorter than theirs or your hair is a little longer than theirs. Some people aren't going to like you because your skin is a little brighter than theirs; and others aren't going to like you because your skin is a little darker than theirs. So that some people aren't going to like you. They're going to dislike you, not because of something that you've done to them, but because of various jealous reactions and other reactions that are so prevalent in human nature.

But after looking at these things and admitting these things, we must face the fact that an individual might dislike us because of something that we've done deep down in the past, some personality attribute that we possess, something that we've done deep down in the past and we've forgotten about it; but it was that something that aroused the hate response within the individual. That is why I say, begin with yourself. There might be something within you that arouses the tragic hate response in the other individual.

This is true in our international struggle. We look at the struggle, the ideological struggle between communism on the one hand and democracy on the other, and we see the struggle between America and Russia. Now certainly, we can never give our allegiance to the Russian way of life, to the communistic way of life, because communism is based on an ethical relativism and a metaphysical materialism that no Christian can accept. When we look at the methods of communism, a philosophy where somehow the end justifies the means, we cannot accept that because we believe as Christians that the end is pre-existent in the means. But in spite of all of the weaknesses and evils inherent in communism, we must at the same time see the weaknesses and evils within democracy.

Democracy is the greatest form of government to my mind that man has ever conceived, but the weakness is that we have never touched it. Isn?t it true that we have often taken necessities from the masses to give luxuries to the classes? Isn't it true that we have often in our democracy trampled over individuals and races with the iron feet of oppression? Isn't it true that through our Western powers we have perpetuated colonialism and imperialism? And all of these things must be taken under consideration as we look at Russia. We must face the fact that the rhythmic beat of the deep rumblings of discontent from Asia and Africa is at bottom a revolt against the imperialism and colonialism perpetuated by Western civilization all these many years. The success of communism in the world today is due to the failure of democracy to live up to the noble ideals and principles inherent in its system.

And this is what Jesus means when he said: "How is it that you can see the mote in your brother's eye and not see the beam in your own eye?" Or to put it in Moffatt?s translation: "How is it that you see the splinter in your brother's eye and fail to see the plank in your own eye?" And this is one of the tragedies of human nature. So we begin to love our enemies and love those persons that hate us whether in collective life or individual life by looking at ourselves.

A second thing that an individual must do in seeking to love his enemy is to discover the element of good in his enemy, and everytime you begin to hate that person and think of hating that person, realize that there is some good there and look at those good points which will over-balance the bad points.

I?ve said to you on many occasions that each of us is something of a schizophrenic personality. We?re split up and divided against ourselves. And there is something of a civil war going on within all of our lives. There is a recalcitrant South of our soul revolting against the North of our soul. And there is this continual struggle within the very structure of every individual life. There is something within all of us that causes us to cry out with Ovid, the Latin poet, "I see and approve the better things of life, but the evil things I do." There is something within all of us that causes us to cry out with Plato that the human personality is like a charioteer with two headstrong horses, each wanting to go in different directions. There is something within each of us that causes us to cry out with Goethe, "There is enough stuff in me to make both a gentleman and a rogue." There is something within each of us that causes us to cry out with Apostle Paul, "I see and approve the better things of life, but the evil things I do."

So somehow the "isness" of our present nature is out of harmony with the eternal "oughtness" that forever confronts us. And this simply means this: That within the best of us, there is some evil, and within the worst of us, there is some good. When we come to see this, we take a different attitude toward individuals. The person who hates you most has some good in him; even the nation that hates you most has some good in it; even the race that hates you most has some good in it. And when you come to the point that you look in the face of every man and see deep down within him what religion calls "the image of God," you begin to love him in spite of. No matter what he does, you see God?s image there. There is an element of goodness that he can never sluff off. Discover the element of good in your enemy. And as you seek to hate him, find the center of goodness and place your attention there and you will take a new attitude.

Another way that you love your enemy is this: When the opportunity presents itself for you to defeat your enemy, that is the time which you must not do it. There will come a time, in many instances, when the person who hates you most, the person who has misused you most, the person who has gossiped about you most, the person who has spread false rumors about you most, there will come a time when you will
have an opportunity to defeat that person. It might be in terms of a recommendation for a job; it might be in terms of helping that person to make some move in life. That?s the time you must do it. That is the meaning of love. In the final analysis, love is not this sentimental something that we talk about. It?s not merely an emotional something. Love is creative, understanding goodwill for all men. It is the refusal to defeat any individual. When you rise to the level of love, of its great beauty and power, you seek only to defeat evil systems. Individuals who happen to be caught up in that system, you love, but you seek to defeat the system.

The Greek language, as I?ve said so often before, is very powerful at this point. It comes to our aid beautifully in giving us the real meaning and depth of the whole philosophy of love. And I think it is quite apropos at this point, for you see the Greek language has three words for love, interestingly enough. It talks about love as eros. That?s one word for love. Eros is a sort of, aesthetic love. Plato talks about it a great deal in his dialogues, a sort of yearning of the soul for the realm of the gods. And it?s come to us to be a sort of romantic love, though it?s a beautiful love. Everybody has experienced eros in all of its beauty when you find some individual that is attractive to you and that you pour out all of your like and your love on that individual. That is eros, you see, and it?s a powerful, beautiful love that is given to us through all of
the beauty of literature; we read about it.

Then the Greek language talks about philia, and that?s another type of love that?s also beautiful. It is a sort of intimate affection between personal friends. And this is the type of love that you have for those persons that you?re friendly with, your intimate friends, or people that you call on the telephone and you go by to have dinner with, and your roommate in college and that type of thing. It's a sort of reciprocal love. On this level, you like a person because that person likes you. You love on this level, because you are loved. You love on this level, because there?s something about the person you love that is likeable to you. This too is a beautiful love. You can communicate with a person; you have certain things in common; you like to do things together. This is philia.

The Greek language comes out with another word for love. It is the word agape. And agape is more than eros; agape is more than philia; agape is something of the understanding, creative, redemptive goodwill for all men. It is a love that seeks nothing in return. It is an overflowing love; it's what theologians would call the love of God working in the lives of men. And when you rise to love on this level, you begin to love men, not because they are likeable, but because God loves them. You look at every man, and you love him because you know God loves him. And he might be the worst person you?ve ever seen.

And this is what Jesus means, I think, in this very passage when he says, "Love your enemy." And it?s significant that he does not say, "Like your enemy." Like is a sentimental something, an affectionate something. There are a lot of people that I find it difficult to like. I don?t like what they do to me. I don?t like what they say about me and other people. I don?t like their attitudes. I don?t like some of the things
they?re doing. I don?t like them. But Jesus says love them. And love is greater than like. Love is understanding, redemptive goodwill for all men, so that you love everybody, because God loves them. You refuse to do anything that will defeat an individual, because you have agape in your soul. And here you come to the point that you love the individual who does the evil deed, while hating the deed that the person does. This is what Jesus means when he says, "Love your enemy." This is the way to do it. When the opportunity presents itself when you can defeat your enemy, you must not do it.

Now for the few moments left, let us move from the practical how to the theoretical why. It?s not only necessary to know how to go about loving your enemies, but also to go down into the question of why we should love our enemies. I think the first reason that we should love our enemies, and I think this was at the very center of Jesus? thinking, is this: that hate for hate only intensifies the existence of hate and evil in the universe. If I hit you and you hit me and I hit you back and you hit me back and go on, you see, that goes on ad infinitum. [tapping on pulpit] It just never ends. Somewhere somebody must have a little sense, and that?s the strong person. The strong person is the person who can cut off the chain of hate, the chain of evil. And that is the tragedy of hate, that it doesn?t cut it off. It only intensifies the existence of hate and evil in the universe. Somebody must have religion enough and morality enough to cut it off and inject within the very structure of the universe that strong and powerful element of love.

I think I mentioned before that sometime ago my brother and I were driving one evening to Chattanooga, Tennessee, from Atlanta. He was driving the car. And for some reason the drivers were very discourteous that night. They didn?t dim their lights; hardly any driver that passed by dimmed his lights. And I remember very vividly, my brother A. D. looked over and in a tone of anger said: "I know what I?m going to do. The next car that comes along here and refuses to dim the lights, I?m going to fail to dim mine and pour them on in all of their power." And I looked at him right quick and said: "Oh no, don?t do that. There?d be too much light on this highway, and it will end up in mutual destruction for all. Somebody got to have some sense on this highway."

Somebody must have sense enough to dim the lights, and that is the trouble, isn?t it? That as all of the civilizations of the world move up the highway of history, so many civilizations, having looked at other civilizations that refused to dim the lights, and they decided to refuse to dim theirs. And Toynbee tells that out of the twenty-two civilizations that have risen up, all but about seven have found themselves in the junkheap of destruction. It is because civilizations fail to have sense enough to dim the lights. And if somebody doesn?t have sense enough to turn on the dim and beautiful and powerful lights of love in this world, the whole of our civilization will be plunged into the abyss of destruction. And we will all end up destroyed because nobody had any sense on the highway of history. Somewhere somebody must have
some sense. Men must see that force begets force, hate begets hate, toughness begets toughness. And it is all a descending spiral, ultimately ending in destruction for all and everybody. Somebody must have sense enough and morality enough to cut off the chain of hate and the chain of evil in the universe. And you do that by love.

There?s another reason why you should love your enemies, and that is because hate distorts the personality of the hater. We usually think of what hate does for the individual hated or the individuals hated or the groups hated. But it is even more tragic, it is even more ruinous and injurious to the individual who hates. You just begin hating somebody, and you will begin to do irrational things. You can?t see straight when you hate. You can?t walk straight when you hate. You can?t stand upright. Your vision is distorted. There is nothing more tragic than to see an individual whose heart is filled with hate. He comes to the point that he becomes a pathological case. For the person who hates, you can stand up and see a person and that person can be beautiful, and you will call them ugly. For the person who hates, the beautiful becomes ugly and the ugly becomes beautiful. For the person who hates, the good becomes bad and the bad becomes good. For the person who hates, the true becomes false and the false becomes true. That?s what hate does. You can?t see right. The symbol of objectivity is lost. Hate destroys the very structure of the personality of the hater. And this is why Jesus says hate [recording interrupted] . . . that you want to be integrated with yourself, and the way to be integrated with yourself is be sure that you meet every situation of life with an abounding love. Never hate, because it ends up in tragic, neurotic responses. Psychologists and psychiatrists are telling us today that the more we hate, the more we develop guilt feelings and we begin to subconsciously repress or consciously suppress certain emotions, and they all stack up in our subconscious selves and make for tragic, neurotic responses. And may this not be the neuroses of many individuals as they confront life that that is an element of hate there. And modern psychology is calling on us now to love. But long before modern psychology came into being, the world?s greatest psychologist who walked around the hills of Galilee told us to love. He looked at men and said: "Love your enemies; don?t hate anybody." It?s not enough for us to hate your friends because?to to love your friends?because when you start hating anybody, it destroys the very center of your creative response to life and the universe; so love everybody. Hate at any point is a cancer that gnaws away at the very vital center of your life and your existence. It is like eroding acid that eats away the best and the objective center of your life. So Jesus says love, because hate destroys the hater as well as the hated.

Now there is a final reason I think that Jesus says, "Love your enemies." It is this: that love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals. That?s why Jesus says, "Love your enemies." Because if you hate your enemies, you have no way to redeem and to transform your enemies. But if you love your enemies, you will discover that at the very root of love is the power of redemption. You just keep loving people and keep loving them, even though they?re mistreating you. Here?s the person who is a neighbor, and this person is doing something wrong to you and all of that. Just keep being friendly to that person. Keep loving them. Don?t do anything to embarrass them. Just keep loving them, and they can?t stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the beginning. They react with bitterness because they?re mad because you love them like that. They react with guilt feelings, and sometimes they?ll hate you a little more at that transition period, but just keep loving them. And by the power of your love they will break down under the load. That?s love, you see. It is redemptive, and this is why Jesus says love. There?s something about love that builds up and is creative. There is something about hate that tears down and is destructive. So love your enemies.

I think of one of the best examples of this. We all remember the great president of this United States, Abraham Lincoln?these United States rather. You remember when Abraham Lincoln was running for president of the United States, there was a man who ran all around the country talking about Lincoln. He said a lot of bad things about Lincoln, a lot of unkind things. And sometimes he would get to the point that he would even talk about his looks, saying, "You don?t want a tall, lanky, ignorant man like this as the president of the United States." He went on and on and on and went around with that type of attitude and wrote about it. Finally, one day Abraham Lincoln was elected president of the United States. And if you read the great biography of Lincoln, if you read the great works about him, you will discover that as every president comes to the point, he came to the point of having to choose a Cabinet. And then came the time for him to choose a Secretary of War. He looked across the nation, and decided to choose a man by the name of Mr. Stanton. And when Abraham Lincoln stood around his advisors and mentioned this fact, they said to him: "Mr. Lincoln, are you a fool? Do you know what Mr. Stanton has been saying about you? Do you know what he has done, tried to do to you? Do you know that he has tried to defeat you on every hand? Do you know that, Mr. Lincoln? Did you read all of those derogatory statements that he made about you?" Abraham Lincoln stood before the advisors around him and said: "Oh yes, I know about it; I read about it; I?ve heard him myself. But after looking over the country, I find that he is the best man for the job."

Mr. Stanton did become Secretary of War, and a few months later, Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. And if you go to Washington, you will discover that one of the greatest words or statements ever made by, about Abraham Lincoln was made about this man Stanton. And as Abraham Lincoln came to the end of his life, Stanton stood up and said: "Now he belongs to the ages." And he made a beautiful statement
concerning the character and the stature of this man. If Abraham Lincoln had hated Stanton, if Abraham Lincoln had answered everything Stanton said, Abraham Lincoln would have not transformed and redeemed Stanton. Stanton would have gone to his grave hating Lincoln, and Lincoln would have gone to his grave hating Stanton. But through the power of love Abraham Lincoln was able to redeem Stanton.

That?s it. There is a power in love that our world has not discovered yet. Jesus discovered it centuries ago. Mahatma Gandhi of India discovered it a few years ago, but most men and most women never discover it. For they believe in hitting for hitting; they believe in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth; they believe in hating for hating; but Jesus comes to us and says, "This isn?t the way."

And oh this morning, as I think of the fact that our world is in transition now. Our whole world is facing a revolution. Our nation is facing a revolution, our nation. One of the things that concerns me most is that in the midst of the revolution of the world and the midst of the revolution of this nation, that we will discover the meaning of Jesus? words.

History unfortunately leaves some people oppressed and some people oppressors. And there are three ways that individuals who are oppressed can deal with their oppression. One of them is to rise up against their oppressors with physical violence and corroding hatred. But oh this isn?t the way. For the danger and the weakness of this method is its futility. Violence creates many more social problems than it solves. And I?ve said, in so many instances, that as the Negro, in particular, and colored peoples all over the world struggle for freedom, if they succumb to the temptation of using violence in their struggle, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate night of bitterness, and our chief legacy to the future will be an endless reign of meaningless chaos. Violence isn?t the way.

Another way is to acquiesce and to give in, to resign yourself to the oppression. Some people do that. They discover the difficulties of the wilderness moving into the promised land, and they would rather go back to the despots of Egypt because it?s difficult to get in the promised land. And so they resign themselves to the fate of oppression; they somehow acquiesce to this thing. But that too isn?t the way because non-cooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good.

But there is another way. And that is to organize mass non-violent resistance based on the principle of love. It seems to me that this is the only way as our eyes look to the future. As we look out across the years and across the generations, let us develop and move right here. We must discover the power of love, the power, the redemptive power of love. And when we discover that we will be able to make of this old world a new world. We will be able to make men better. Love is the only way. Jesus discovered that.

Not only did Jesus discover it, even great military leaders discover that. One day as Napoleon came toward the end of his career and looked back across the years?the great Napoleon that at a very early age had all but conquered the world. He was not stopped until he became, till he moved out to the battle of Leipzig and then to Waterloo. But that same Napoleon one day stood back and looked across the years, and said: "Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and I have built great empires. But upon what did they depend? They depended upon force. But long ago Jesus started an empire that depended on love, and even to this day millions will die for him."

Yes, I can see Jesus walking around the hills and the valleys of Palestine. And I can see him looking out at the Roman Empire with all of her fascinating and intricate military machinery. But in the midst of that, I can hear him saying: "I will not use this method. Neither will I hate the Roman Empire." [Radio Announcer:] (WRMA, Montgomery, Alabama. Due to the fact of the delay this morning, we are going over with the sermon.) [several words inaudible] . . . and just start marching.

And I?m proud to stand here in Dexter this morning and say that that army is still marching. It grew up from a group of eleven or twelve men to more than seven hundred million today. Because of the power and influence of the personality of this Christ, he was able to split history into a.d. and b.c. Because of his power, he was able to shake the hinges from the gates of the Roman Empire. And all around the world this morning, we can hear the glad echo of heaven ring:

Jesus shall reign wherever sun, Does his successive journeys run; His kingdom spreads from shore to shore, Till moon shall wane and wax no more. We can hear another chorus singing: "All hail the power of Jesus name!" We can hear another chorus singing: "Hallelujah, hallelujah! He?s King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Hallelujah, hallelujah!" We can hear another choir singing: In Christ there is no East or West. In Him no North or South, But one great Fellowship of Love Throughout the whole wide world. This is the only way.

And our civilization must discover that. Individuals must discover that as they deal with other individuals. There is a little tree planted on a little hill and on that tree hangs the most influential character that ever came in this world. But never feel that that tree is a meaningless drama that took place on the stages of history. Oh no, it is a telescope through which we look out into the long vista of eternity, and see the love of God breaking forth into time. It is an eternal reminder to a power-drunk generation that love is the only way. It is an eternal reminder to a generation depending on nuclear and atomic energy, a generation depending on physical violence, that love is the only creative, redemptive, transforming power in the universe.

So this morning, as I look into your eyes, and into the eyes of all of my brothers in Alabama and all over America and over the world, I say to you, "I love you. I would rather die than hate you." And I'm foolish enough to believe that through the power of this love somewhere, men of the most recalcitrant bent will be transformed. And then we will be in God?s kingdom. We will be able to matriculate into the university of eternal life because we had the power to love our enemies, to bless those persons that cursed us, to even decide to be good to those persons who hated us, and we even prayed for those persons who despitefully used us.

Oh God, help us in our lives and in all of our attitudes, to work out this controlling force of love, this controlling power that can solve every problem that we confront in all areas. Oh, we talk about politics; we talk about the problems facing our atomic civilization. Grant that all men will come together and discover that as we solve the crisis and solve these problems "the international problems, the problems of atomic energy, the problems of nuclear energy, and yes, even the race problem" let us join together in a great fellowship of love and bow down at the feet of Jesus. Give us this strong determination. In the name and spirit of this Christ, we pray. Amen.

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First Lady Michelle Obama's Open Letter to Arizona Parents

Dear parents,

Like so many Americans all across the country, Barack and I were shocked and heartbroken by the horrific act of violence committed in Arizona this past weekend.  Yesterday, we had the chance to attend a memorial service and meet with some of the families of those who lost their lives, and both of us were deeply moved by their strength and resilience in the face of such unspeakable tragedy.

As parents, an event like this hits home especially hard.  It makes our hearts ache for those who lost loved ones.  It makes us want to hug our own families a little tighter.  And it makes us think about what an event like this says about the world we live in – and the world in which our children will grow up.

In the days and weeks ahead, as we struggle with these issues ourselves, many of us will find that our children are struggling with them as well.  The questions my daughters have asked are the same ones that many of your children will have – and they don’t lend themselves to easy answers.  But they will provide an opportunity for us as parents to teach some valuable lessons – about the character of our country, about the values we hold dear, and about finding hope at a time when it seems far away.

We can teach our children that here in America, we embrace each other, and support each other, in times of crisis.  And we can help them do that in their own small way – whether it’s by sending a letter, or saying a prayer, or just keeping the victims and their families in their thoughts.

We can teach them the value of tolerance – the practice of assuming the best, rather than the worst, about those around us.  We can teach them to give others the benefit of the doubt, particularly those with whom they disagree.

We can also teach our children about the tremendous sacrifices made by the men and women who serve our country and by their families.  We can explain to them that although we might not always agree with those who represent us, anyone who enters public life does so because they love their country and want to serve it.
Christina Green felt that call.  She was just nine years old when she lost her life.  But she was at that store that day because she was passionate about serving others.  She had just been elected to her school’s student council, and she wanted to meet her Congresswoman and learn more about politics and public life.

And that’s something else we can do for our children – we can tell them about Christina and about how much she wanted to give back.  We can tell them about John Roll, a judge with a reputation for fairness; about Dorothy Morris, a devoted wife to her husband, her high school sweetheart, to whom she’d been married for 55 years; about Phyllis Schneck, a great-grandmother who sewed aprons for church fundraisers; about Dorwan Stoddard, a retired construction worker who helped neighbors down on their luck; and about Gabe Zimmerman, who did community outreach for Congresswoman Giffords, working tirelessly to help folks who were struggling, and was engaged to be married next year.  We can tell them about the brave men and women who risked their lives that day to save others.  And we can work together to honor their legacy by following their example – by embracing our fellow citizens; by standing up for what we believe is right; and by doing our part, however we can, to serve our communities and our country.

Sincerely,
Michelle Obama

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President Barak Obama's Speech at the Tucson Memorial, January 12, 2011, Full Text

To the families of those we’ve lost; to all who called them friends; to the students of this university, the public servants gathered tonight, and the people of Tucson and Arizona: I have come here tonight as an American who, like all Americans, kneels to pray with you today, and will stand by you tomorrow.

There is nothing I can say that will fill the sudden hole torn in your hearts. But know this: the hopes of a nation are here tonight. We mourn with you for the fallen. We join you in your grief. And we add our faith to yours that Representative Gabrielle Giffords and the other living victims of this tragedy pull through.

As Scripture tells us:

          There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.

On Saturday morning, Gabby, her staff, and many of her constituents gathered outside a supermarket to exercise their right to peaceful assembly and free speech. They were fulfilling a central tenet of the democracy envisioned by our founders – representatives of the people answering to their constituents, so as to carry their concerns to our nation’s capital. Gabby called it “Congress on Your Corner” – just an updated version of government of and by and for the people.

That is the quintessentially American scene that was shattered by a gunman’s bullets. And the six people who lost their lives on Saturday – they too represented what is best in America.

Judge John Roll served our legal system for nearly 40 years. A graduate of this university and its law school, Judge Roll was recommended for the federal bench by John McCain twenty years ago, appointed by President George H.W. Bush, and rose to become Arizona’s chief federal judge. His colleagues described him as the hardest-working judge within the Ninth Circuit. He was on his way back from attending Mass, as he did every day, when he decided to stop by and say hi to his Representative. John is survived by his loving wife, Maureen, his three sons, and his five grandchildren.

George and Dorothy Morris – “Dot” to her friends – were high school sweethearts who got married and had two daughters. They did everything together, traveling the open road in their RV, enjoying what their friends called a 50-year honeymoon. Saturday morning, they went by the Safeway to hear what their Congresswoman had to say. When gunfire rang out, George, a former Marine, instinctively tried to shield his wife. Both were shot. Dot passed away.

A New Jersey native, Phyllis Schneck retired to Tucson to beat the snow. But in the summer, she would return East, where her world revolved around her 3 children, 7 grandchildren, and 2 year-old great-granddaughter. A gifted quilter, she’d often work under her favorite tree, or sometimes sew aprons with the logos of the Jets and the Giants to give out at the church where she volunteered. A Republican, she took a liking to Gabby, and wanted to get to know her better.

Dorwan and Mavy Stoddard grew up in Tucson together – about seventy years ago. They moved apart and started their own respective families, but after both were widowed they found their way back here, to, as one of Mavy’s daughters put it, “be boyfriend and girlfriend again.” When they weren’t out on the road in their motor home, you could find them just up the road, helping folks in need at the Mountain Avenue Church of Christ. A retired construction worker, Dorwan spent his spare time fixing up the church along with their dog, Tux. His final act of selflessness was to dive on top of his wife, sacrificing his life for hers.

Everything Gabe Zimmerman did, he did with passion – but his true passion was people. As Gabby’s outreach director, he made the cares of thousands of her constituents his own, seeing to it that seniors got the Medicare benefits they had earned, that veterans got the medals and care they deserved, that government was working for ordinary folks. He died doing what he loved – talking with people and seeing how he could help. Gabe is survived by his parents, Ross and Emily, his brother, Ben, and his fiancée, Kelly, who he planned to marry next year.

And then there is nine year-old Christina Taylor Green. Christina was an A student, a dancer, a gymnast, and a swimmer. She often proclaimed that she wanted to be the first woman to play in the major leagues, and as the only girl on her Little League team, no one put it past her. She showed an appreciation for life uncommon for a girl her age, and would remind her mother, “We are so blessed. We have the best life.” And she’d pay those blessings back by participating in a charity that helped children who were less fortunate.

Our hearts are broken by their sudden passing. Our hearts are broken – and yet, our hearts also have reason for fullness.

Our hearts are full of hope and thanks for the 13 Americans who survived the shooting, including the congresswoman many of them went to see on Saturday. I have just come from the University Medical Center, just a mile from here, where our friend Gabby courageously fights to recover even as we speak. And I can tell you this – she knows we’re here and she knows we love her and she knows that we will be rooting for her throughout what will be a difficult journey.

And our hearts are full of gratitude for those who saved others. We are grateful for Daniel Hernandez, a volunteer in Gabby’s office who ran through the chaos to minister to his boss, tending to her wounds to keep her alive. We are grateful for the men who tackled the gunman as he stopped to reload. We are grateful for a petite 61 year-old, Patricia Maisch, who wrestled away the killer’s ammunition, undoubtedly saving some lives. And we are grateful for the doctors and nurses and emergency medics who worked wonders to heal those who’d been hurt.

These men and women remind us that heroism is found not only on the fields of battle. They remind us that heroism does not require special training or physical strength. Heroism is here, all around us, in the hearts of so many of our fellow citizens, just waiting to be summoned – as it was on Saturday morning.

Their actions, their selflessness, also pose a challenge to each of us. It raises the question of what, beyond the prayers and expressions of concern, is required of us going forward. How can we honor the fallen? How can we be true to their memory?

You see, when a tragedy like this strikes, it is part of our nature to demand explanations – to try to impose some order on the chaos, and make sense out of that which seems senseless. Already we’ve seen a national conversation commence, not only about the motivations behind these killings, but about everything from the merits of gun safety laws to the adequacy of our mental health systems. Much of this process, of debating what might be done to prevent such tragedies in the future, is an essential ingredient in our exercise of self-government.

But at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized – at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do – it’s important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.

Scripture tells us that there is evil in the world, and that terrible things happen for reasons that defy human understanding. In the words of Job, “when I looked for light, then came darkness.” Bad things happen, and we must guard against simple explanations in the aftermath.
For the truth is that none of us can know exactly what triggered this vicious attack. None of us can know with any certainty what might have stopped those shots from being fired, or what thoughts lurked in the inner recesses of a violent man’s mind.

So yes, we must examine all the facts behind this tragedy. We cannot and will not be passive in the face of such violence. We should be willing to challenge old assumptions in order to lessen the prospects of violence in the future.

But what we can’t do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on one another. As we discuss these issues, let each of us do so with a good dose of humility. Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame, let us use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and remind ourselves of all the ways our hopes and dreams are bound together.

After all, that’s what most of us do when we lose someone in our family – especially if the loss is unexpected. We’re shaken from our routines, and forced to look inward. We reflect on the past. Did we spend enough time with an aging parent, we wonder. Did we express our gratitude for all the sacrifices they made for us? Did we tell a spouse just how desperately we loved them, not just once in awhile but every single day?

So sudden loss causes us to look backward – but it also forces us to look forward, to reflect on the present and the future, on the manner in which we live our lives and nurture our relationships with those who are still with us. We may ask ourselves if we’ve shown enough kindness and generosity and compassion to the people in our lives. Perhaps we question whether we are doing right by our children, or our community, and whether our priorities are in order. We recognize our own mortality, and are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame – but rather, how well we have loved, and what small part we have played in bettering the lives of others.

That process of reflection, of making sure we align our values with our actions – that, I believe, is what a tragedy like this requires. For those who were harmed, those who were killed – they are part of our family, an American family 300 million strong. We may not have known them personally, but we surely see ourselves in them. In George and Dot, in Dorwan and Mavy, we sense the abiding love we have for our own husbands, our own wives, our own life partners. Phyllis – she’s our mom or grandma; Gabe our brother or son. In Judge Roll, we recognize not only a man who prized his family and doing his job well, but also a man who embodied

America’s fidelity to the law. In Gabby, we see a reflection of our public spiritedness, that desire to participate in that sometimes frustrating, sometimes contentious, but always necessary and never-ending process to form a more perfect union.

And in Christina…in Christina we see all of our children. So curious, so trusting, so energetic and full of magic.

So deserving of our love.

And so deserving of our good example. If this tragedy prompts reflection and debate, as it should, let’s make sure it’s worthy of those we have lost. Let’s make sure it’s not on the usual plane of politics and point scoring and pettiness that drifts away with the next news cycle.
The loss of these wonderful people should make every one of us strive to be better in our private lives – to be better friends and neighbors, co-workers and parents. And if, as has been discussed in recent days, their deaths help usher in more civility in our public discourse, let’s remember that it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this tragedy, but rather because only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to our challenges as a nation, in a way that would make them proud. It should be because we want to live up to the example of public servants like John Roll and Gabby Giffords, who knew first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that we can question each other’s ideas without questioning each other’s love of country, and that our task, working together, is to constantly widen the circle of our concern so that we bequeath the American dream to future generations.

I believe we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here – they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us. I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.

That’s what I believe, in part because that’s what a child like Christina Taylor Green believed. Imagine: here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship; just starting to glimpse the fact that someday she too might play a part in shaping her nation’s future. She had been elected to her student council; she saw public service as something exciting, something hopeful. She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model. She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism or vitriol that we adults all too often just take for granted.

I want us to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as she imagined it. All of us – we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children’s expectations.

Christina was given to us on September 11th, 2001, one of 50 babies born that day to be pictured in a book called “Faces of Hope.” On either side of her photo in that book were simple wishes for a child’s life. “I hope you help those in need,” read one. “I hope you know all of the words to the National Anthem and sing it with your hand over your heart. I hope you jump in rain puddles.”

If there are rain puddles in heaven, Christina is jumping in them today. And here on Earth, we place our hands over our hearts, and commit ourselves as Americans to forging a country that is forever worthy of her gentle, happy spirit.

May God bless and keep those we’ve lost in restful and eternal peace. May He love and watch over the survivors. And may He bless the United States of America.

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