Sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor
Preached at Unity Temple Unitarian Universalist Congregation
September 19, 2004
Sermon:
An active member of our
congregation told me a week ago that he hopes that today’s sermon on vengeance
and forgiveness will focus more on vengeance! He said that he can’t comprehend
how the cycle of retribution among warring peoples can be overcome when in his
own work life he finds it so hard to get past grudges when he was wronged, and
worse, how attractive it is to hold on to these grudges.
Today marks the fourth day of the Jewish High Holy Days. This is a time for
Jews to take stock of the past year, to acknowledge wrongs done and to seek
forgiveness for each transgression, and to clean the slate within the Book of
Life. The High Holy Days culminate with Yom Kippur on Saturday. Yom Kippur is my
favorite holiday of all the world religions. It does not celebrate an event, a
person, or a season. Instead it celebrates the human capacity to change and
grow. Because of this holiday’s spiritual significance, I make it a spiritual
commitment to address the topic of forgiveness during the High Holy Days.
This year, I want to take on an aspect of forgiveness that I find the most
difficult. The question whether forgiveness is always possible. Or to put it
more starkly, in the face of violence and terrorism, is there any role that
forgiveness plays? As the cycle of violence continues to spiral out of control
in many places around the globe, what hope does the wisdom of Yom Kippur offer?
In my own life, I find forgiveness a challenge. I agree with C.S. Lewis, “If
we really want...to learn how to forgive, perhaps we had better start with
something easier than the Gestapo.” However, as egregious acts of violence
appear to be on the increase in our world, I want to take on the harder
question. What role does forgiveness play in situations of horrific violence? Or
is it simply an irrelevant idea touted by the soft-hearted and meek?
Simon Wiesenthal, a Polish Jew, survived two concentration camps. One day he
was taken from his labor brigade to talk with a mortally wounded Nazi soldier
named Karl. When Wiesenthal came to his bedside, Karl took his hand. He
explained to Wiesenthal how he had helped round up two hundred Russian Jews from
a small village and forced them into a building that was set on fire. He stood
outside and shot those who tried to escape. For this hideous event, he explained
that he needed the forgiveness of a Jew, on behalf of all Jews whom he wronged,
so that he could die in peace.
Wiesenthal had lost nearly ninety members of his own family in the Holocaust.
He couldn’t believe this request. Wiesenthal stared at the dying man for a
moment, and then he turned and left the room without saying a word. Ever since
Wiesenthal has wondered about the limits and possibilities of forgiveness. Must
we, can we, forgive a repentant criminal, no matter how heinous the crime? Can
we forgive crimes committed against others? What do we owe the victims?
Twenty-five years after the Holocaust, Wiesenthal asked leading intellectuals
what they would have done in his place and wrote up the results in his book,
The Sunflower. If you were in Wiesenthal’s place, would you forgive the
dying man? Was Wiesenthal’s response the moral thing to do?
Six years ago, another edition of The Sunflower was published, this
time with another generation of respondents. Most of the Jews and humanists said
they would not have forgiven the soldier. Many argued that Wiesenthal had no
right to forgive someone on behalf of other people. There likely were other
atrocities Karl committed. The extenuating circumstances were not an alibi. And
any forgiveness would be cheap grace. One quoted an ancient Rabbi who said,
“Whoever is merciful to the cruel will end by being indifferent to the
innocent.”
On the other hand, some of the Christians and Buddhists said that granting
forgiveness is the moral response in Wiesenthal’s situation. The Dalai Lama
said, “I believe one should forgive [those] who have committed atrocities
against oneself and mankind. But this does not mean one should forget…” A common
profound response was that Karl should ask God for forgiveness, not Simon. The
majority of Christian leaders said that forgiveness was the right response, that
forgiveness should always be given the contrite heart.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu argues that forgiveness is possible, and, not only
possible, but necessary for the future. Desmond Tutu argues that forgiveness
among many African peoples has to do with bringing truth to light, acknowledging
past oppression, and moving forward into the future in renewed right
relationship.
When the structures of apartheid were cast away in South Africa, rather than
forming a criminal tribunal, in 1996, the new government set up a Truth and
Reconciliation Commission. The intention was to balance the demands of justice
and forgiveness. Rather than go after the perpetrators of oppression, the
Commission sought to bring out the truth. Those who committed human rights
abuses during apartheid were provided amnesty if they would come forward and
confess their crimes. Many families of victims were not happy with this course
of action. Many still argue that the demands of justice far outweigh the demands
of forgiveness. However, in the case of South Africa, seeking out guilty parties
and bringing them to justice appeared virtually impossible.
Desmond Tutu was the chair the Truth and Reconciliation
Commission. In 1996, he took on the daunting tasks of investigating atrocities,
compensating victims and making former enemies into friendly neighbors.
According to the Archbishop, the recipe for achieving these goals is truth and
forgiveness. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was an extraordinary
experiment in human history. South Africa’s first black majority government
chose to pursue forgiveness, or at least reconciliation, over justice, and
reparation over retaliation. Was it successful? There’s considerable debate, but
people do know more about what happened to loved ones who perished, many who
were involved with the oppression of apartheid fessed up, and the country has
moved forward with far more promise and possibility than anyone could have
dreamed of ten years ago.
Tutu argues that the newly empowered South African blacks
largely forgave their white tormentors. Tutu said that they followed “the Jewish
rabbi who, when he was crucified, said, Father, forgive them, for they know
not what they do.” Tutu argues that if we look only to retributive justice,
“then we could just as well close up shop. Forgiveness is not some nebulous
thing. It is practical politics. Without forgiveness, there is no future.”
Meir Y. Soloveichik recently reflected on the difference of responses between
Jews and Christians to Simon Wiesenthal’s dilemma whether to grant forgiveness
to someone who had committed atrocities. Soloveichik argues that Judaism and
Christianity are different regarding forgiveness. He argues that the Jewish
faith calls people to hate those who are wicked. He cites several biblical
instances to back up his thesis. For him, forgiveness is utterly irrelevant and
impossible for wicked people who knowingly destroy the lives of other people.
Without justice, there is no forgiveness. He argues for the virtue of hate, that
the Jewish response to those who carry out terrorist acts should be, “Father do
not forgive them, for they do know what they do.” The title of his article is
“The Virtue of Hate.” Regarding Wiesenthal’s dilemma, Soloveichik agrees with
Cynthia Ozick whose response was: “Let the SS man die unshriven. Let him go to
hell. Sooner the fly to God than he.”
During the past two weeks, hundreds of families in Russia are grieving loved
ones killed by terrorists who held a school hostage. In Sudan, genocide unfolds.
In Israel, is there any end in sight for the Palestinian suicide attacks and the
Israeli oppression of the Palestinians? And throughout the world, Militant
Muslims vow to wreak greater destruction on the United States for its morally
suspect attack on Iraq and being caught in the act of torture.
In the most egregious examples of human evil, is forgiveness even a
possibility? I ask this, without having a clear answer. If the answer is no,
where does the line get drawn between what is forgive-able and what is not? Is
forgiveness possible for incest, rape, or adultery? How about abuse,
abandonment, or betrayal? Where can a line be drawn?
If there is no future without forgiveness, then I fear for the future of
Israelis and Palestinians, of the Russians and Chechens, of Iraqis and American
soldiers. The violence, torture and terrorism that is consuming many parts of
our world is breeding a hatred so blind that people cannot see the folly of an
eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
Martha Minow, in her book, Between Vengeance and Forgiveness, argues
that neither vengeance or forgiveness ought to be the goal among peoples who
have been gravely persecuted, but that there paths in between can be found. She
quotes Jadranka Cigelj, a woman from Bosnia who pursued international justice
after she and many other Bosnian women were raped and tortured:
When you come out of a place like Omarska, you’re filled with negative
emotions and it’s natural to seek revenge. To seek revenge you must hate. But
I remember the story of an 86-year-old woman whose 14 family members were
murdered and she had to bury all of them with her bare hands. And she said to
me, “How can you hate those who are so repulsive?” I realized that the people
I was directing my hatred toward were not worth that; they were only machines
for murdering people.
When you think of a 15-year-old girl whose entire world was destroyed,
who was supposed to have the experience of moving from childhood to womanhood
under a moon somewhere in somebody’s arms, when you think of how her youth was
stolen and how she was turned into a wounded animal, you realize that what is
important is to work toward a way to hold these people responsible and punish
them. Then one day you wake up and the hatred has left you, and you feel
relieved because hatred is exhausting, and you say to yourself, “I am not like
them.”
Yesterday, in my orientation class to Unitarian Universalism, as I explained
the core of Universalist theology, that God loves all people and that all shall
be saved, I couldn’t help but think how challenging it is to hold such a
theology in a post-holocaust world or even in a post 9-11 world. Our Unitarian
forebears also believed in the innate goodness of every individual; however, our
faith tradition all too often fails to adequately grapple with the evil so
clearly a part of the human experience.
During these holy days of the Jewish calendar, it behooves us to reflect on
the nature of forgiveness, and especially where we ourselves are in need of
forgiveness. When we cultivate the self knowledge of what is weak and fallible
in us, that we are capable of evil, then we can overcome it in ourselves and
provide the possibility for others to overcome it as well. We are able to
forgive only to the extent we recognize our own humanity.
In his little book on forgiveness, Patrick Miller says, “Every chronic hatred
began when someone attacked -- someone suffered, -- and no one forgave. These
insane examples were multiplied and passed on through the generations.” Anyone
who is committed to the future has to begin the work of moving beyond the past.
Someone needs to forgive and say, “No more!” The future is too important to
remain tangled up in the wrongs of the past. When the first person finally
realized this, the power of forgiveness entered human history.
One definition of forgiveness is ‘the ability to let go of the possibility of
a better yesterday.’ The ability to let go of the possibility of a better
tomorrow.
Forgiveness is a commitment to the future. Forgiveness is an acceptance that
we are more than the worst that we have done or experienced. Forgiveness
nourishes faith that we are perpetually in the process of becoming and that
forgiveness provides the freedom and grace to move towards our potential.
While forgiveness may not be possible in some instances, may we keep open the
possibility of reconciliation and the always latent possibility that people can
change and grow.
May we not forget that our amazing capacity for forgiveness rests upon a
power of forgiveness which we did not create and yet is available to all who
seek it.
May it be so. Amen.
© Copyright 2004 Alan C.
Taylor, All Rights Reserved.
