A Radical Forgiveness

For those who do not know, I live in Tucson, Arizona.

Like many people here in Tucson and indeed, around the globe--I have spent a fair amount of time in the last several days thinking about, hearing about and reading about what happened here last weekend. I do not know if it is a direct result of all of this, but this story, which I first read about some time ago, just kept coming back to my mind over and over again. It is a true story. It is a story that has been included, over the years, in a number of books, ministerial sermons and various other treatments and anecdotes. Perhaps you have heard the story before. I re-read it many times a year.

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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A Little Something I Recently Wrote On Homelessness In America

Written early on Christmas morning 2010

There are those who will not give money to certain panhandlers because they believe they will use the money for alcohol and/or drugs. I have never truly understood this rationale and have asked friends who take this tact to explain their mental processes to me.

What I usually get in response is some mishmash of what appears to me to be a combination of judgment, self righteousness and a need to parent people who are often twice their own age, all wrapped up in a pretty package of middle class entitlement and with an equally pretty bow on top.

First, if I were homeless and/or living on the street and/or living in abject poverty there is a better than average chance I would be driven to drink and drug too (I currently do not engage in either) and I would venture to say the same is true for my friends who engage in this practice of refusing to give money to those they believe will use it for such things.

Second, how can they tell a person is going to use the money for alcohol or drugs? Is there some antennae such people are always wearing that I somehow consistently failed to notice after more than 25 years of working with the homeless in four different states and various environments? No, really. That's a serious question.

Third, what if, just what if the people aren't going to use the money for these purposes? Not  that I believe it matters. As one of my friends recently shared in a discussion I had with some people on this topic, what business is it of mine what the money is going to be used for?

I think this may be the place where those people come in who won't give money but instead say something along the lines of, "I'm not going to give you any money but there's a decent deli around the corner. I go there myself all the time. I'll buy you a meal there."

Okay. That's pretty cool. But you know what? I have personally known a number of seemingly good-hearted, hard working people--nice people, for almost 30 years, who have taken this tact. And I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's some reason this tact, as a default response, has always irked me as well. I think its because this one, while exponentially more generous than the other one, seems to have an air of, "Hey! You want my money? Then you gotta play by my rules, baby or Big Daddy (Big Momma) ain't gonna help ya!"

Mmmm, I just don't know.

These are just some thoughts that came to my mind early on this Christmas morning as I think about all the homeless people, children and families on this day. May All Beings Be Free.

© Raven/Sage Mahosadha

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