Thursday of the Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time
On October 2, 2006, Carl Roberts IV entered a one-room Amish school house in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania while class was in session. He told all the boys and the teacher to leave the school. They did. And the teacher ran to a nearby Amish farm and called the police. (Amish are allowed to have phones. They’re just not supposed to be in the house.)
His intentions were pretty obvious given the weapons and other supplies he brought—to sexually assault the girls who remained in the school and then kill them.
His intentions were thwarted when the police showed up, surrounded the school, and tried to get him to surrender. He didn’t. Instead, he shot the ten girls (five died and most of the others suffered severe injuries). And then shot himself.
It is a horrifying story. Perhaps you heard about it at the time.
As horrifying as it was, what non-Amish folks struggled with even more than the event itself was how the Amish responded to it.
They forgave him. A few of their leaders—a bishop and even a father who lost his daughter on that day—showed up at Roberts’ widow’s home on the very day of the shooting. They wanted her to know that they had forgiven her husband and her and her family. She cried as they told her this.
How could they forgive him? How could she ever forgive him? How could she forgive herself for being married to someone who would do something like that? How could her children ever forgive him?
Some Amish even attended Roberts’ funeral. Even as they were mourning the loss of five little Amish girls.
Reports of these acts of forgiveness were all over local and national news. Not surprisingly, many folks were baffled, even appalled. What is wrong with these people? Forgiving a man like that? Who took so much from them? In such a horrific way? How could they do that?
The Amish take the “Our Father” very seriously. They believe that Jesus meant what he said when he taught us to pay: “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
The Amish live the conviction that they cannot expect God to forgive their sins if they do not forgive the sins of others. This is part of their profound humility. It is not for them to judge others. That is for God. Their task is to live Jesus’ prayer, as best they can.
The Amish will be the first to tell you that they are broken just like everybody else. They have their problems. Just like we all do. That said, if we have eyes to see we can learn from them. And it’s not just about how to make great mashed potatoes, broasted (aka fried) chicken, and fruit pies. It’s about following Jesus.
Not seven times, Peter. But seventy-seven times. In other words, you are called to forgive more times than you can count.
That’s a tall order. And it’s important to note that the Amish don’t do this forgiving thing alone. They do it together. They do it as a community because they know that following Jesus is really hard. You can’t do it alone. If you’d like to read more about this, I highly recommend the book, Amish Grace.
If you’ve seen the film, Women Talking (If you haven’t, I really hope you do) you learn that the Amish are complicated. In a tiny settlement in Bolivia (based on a true story), women and girls were given tranquilizers meant for livestock and then were raped by their so-called brethren. 150 girls and women aged 5 to 65. Over and over. Women Talking is about these women coming to terms with what had been done to them and finding the courage to leave. Together.
Jesus isn’t telling us to endure violence and oppression. To forgive and take it some more. Sometimes leaving is the answer. Sometimes calling the police is the thing to do. And, perhaps, also forgiveness—from a place of safety.
It is through these stories and lenses that I contemplate this very challenging passage from Matthew. I hope my response is of some use to you.