Ouch! - January 8, 2011

I can usually take the world for whatever it offers. No doubt that’s from my training in philosophy and my long years of dealing with the human race as a minister, counselor, helper and friend. But there are moments when I receive a kick in the gut that winds me and I am left wordless and stunned. All I feel is stinging tears and a gulf of despair too awful to contemplate.

That’s happening this morning. The attempted assassination of a congressman in Arizona, for whatever the reason and by whomever the perpetrator, has assassinated me - momentarily. My usual confidence in the abiding care taking of God seem childish and futile. For the moment, the only thing that makes sense is retaliation and revenge. I assume the shooter(s) had some motive they thought reasonable. Now it’s our turn to wreck vengeance.

Hurt me and I’ll hurt you back, that’s the warning embedded in our DNA, isn’t it? I immediately recall the phenomenon I saw repeatedly in my counseling practice amongst survivors of drug and alcohol abuse, of family members in the wake of hellacious abuses, the scars that still ache for the despised, the disadvantaged, the exception to our society’s norms: it was a simple observation, "Hurt people hurt people".

The trouble with such observations is quite simply, it’s too pat, too obvious, it’s trying to soothe a bruise with a parental kiss and a reassuring hug. At moments like this, we do not want to be soothed, or comforted, we want blood. And for those like myself, who never was much good at inflicting physical pain on others, there is too often the other escape - despair. We find ourselves growling "I hate the human race", only to realize such a confession necessarily includes self-hatred, for we all belong to this despised race, whether we like it or not.

I do believe in God. I do believe in the possibilities of humanity. I cherish the progress I have seen, and in which I eagerly participate. I just can’t quite get past the hurt, the dismay, the horror that is exposed by an act like this. It is as if Satan himself had suddenly popped up in front of me grinning: "Go ahead, hate me" he gloats, "I want you to. Hate is my victory."

It is just such moments when I can completely understand the pathos of the cross and be humbled by the spirit of Jesus who simply prays "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."

I have a new neighbor that is taking some getting used to. In all my years I have not had a boombox neighbor before. The resonance of his stereo is felt and heard and slamming doors, and scraps of dropped trash finding their way unto my lawn only add to my dissatisfaction with him. I feel helpless, not wanting to be an old grouch, yet unable to deny I am feeling intensely grouchy. I’ve spent much time contemplating this situation and wondering what I could do about it.

As I pondered the tragedy of this senseless killing in Tucson, it suddenly struck me that I am preparing myself for just such an insane act myself, right here on Phillips Ct. My anger and my urge to retaliate springs from the same fountain of perversity that fed the act of that gunman who killed so wantonly in Arizona. He is not alone. We’ve seen this at Ft. Hood, and in Maryland, in an Amish schoolhouse and in sky scrappers in New York City. Never mind the motive, a woman killed in Paonia or a fallen president in Dallas, all are victims of that same propensity for hatred and violence. And my pouting at a trashy neighbor next door is first cousin to these criminals.

I have no answer to this demon that resides in me, but I do have an unshakable belief. I believe that God weeps with us. This was not, and could never be, the will of God. I also believe that God is not and will never be defeated by this hatred. God may be the composer of a grand symphony that gets interrupted by these squeals of a misplayed clarinet, but even these wails can be the inspiration of a new loveliness so desperately needed by the human soul.

Anne Frank, in her diary, reflecting on the evil and madness of the holocaust that was going on around her, maintained her faith in the human race. She wrote, "I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart". And Jesus on his cross could affirm that God was good and his creation redeemable. Perhaps I am redeemable too.

I pray God that those deaths in Arizona will not be wasted. If no other good comes from them, at least I shall look at my neighbor differently than I did before.







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