Redrawing the Lines that Divide into Circles of Forgiveness
by Joe Nassal, cpps

            John Fanestil, executive director of the San Diego Foundation for Change, was arrested recently for serving communion at the U.S.-Mexico border fence in Friendship Park. In the October 7, 2008 issue of The Christian Century, Fanestil writes, “For generations residents of San Diego and Tijuana have gathered at Friendship Park to visit with family and friends through the border fence.” Every Sunday afternoon since June 1, Fanestil has served communion through the chain-link fence. Until recently, when “passing the bread through the fence” became “a customs violation.”
We live in a world where it is “us” against “them.” Certainly in the last several years with the war on terrorism, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the cultural and political divisions in the United States, and the battle over immigration resulting in the construction of the fence at the border between the U.S. and Mexico, the lines are drawn on the landscape of our lives more clearly than ever. Whether it is the color of their skin, their ethnic origin, the content of their creed, their sexual orientation or gender, their political affiliation or ideology, people in one camp may say of another, “He’s one of them.”
In a divided world, when we demonize what we fear and fail to see anything good in the other, we are thinking and acting contrary to the kingdom of God. As Thomas Keating writes, “In the kingdom of God, communion is more important than worship. Worship is hypocrisy and a pious sham if we have not first passed through the gate of reconciliation. Thus mutual forgiveness is presented as the top priority in the gospel. I am not speaking of the feeling of forgiveness, which requires certain psychological steps, but the intention and will to forgive, which may be the best that we can do for now.”
Our challenge as people of faith who believe all “who once were far off have been brought near through the blood of Christ…who made the two of us one by breaking down the barrier of hostility that kept us apart (Ephesians 2, 13-14),” is to make forgiveness the rule rather than the exception. Recently I read about an African tribe that makes forgiveness a fundamental practice of their common life. When a person does something that hurts another or ruptures a relationship or damages the fabric of love that fashions their communal life, the work of the village comes to a halt and the perpetrator is brought before the entire tribe. The people of the village encircle the “offender,” and “one by one they begin to recite everything he has done right in his life; every good deed, thoughtful behavior, and act of social responsibility.”
            It is just the opposite of the old “chapter of faults” once practiced in religious life, or the catalogue of catastrophic failures many still recite when celebrating the sacrament of reconciliation, making a list and checking it twice like a shadow Santa more focused on the naughty than the nice.
            By what he has done or failed to do, the offender has drawn a line of division in the community. But in this ritual of reconciliation, this line is redrawn into a circle of respect as members of the community recall the acts of kindness the person has shown in the past. This is a circle of truth because the stories must be true and spoken with sincerity and conviction. But the purpose is to help the person who perpetrated the behavior that was harmful to another person or damaged the bonds of family or community life to embrace his better self and remember why his presence is essential to the life of the community.
            This ritual reveals that while forgiveness is “a process, not a moment,” according to Harvard psychiatrist Edward M. Hallowell in his book, Dare to Forgive, “forgiveness has to be cultivated because it goes against a natural human tendency to seek revenge.” That is why Hallowell recommends we need help—“of friends, a therapist, or through prayer”—to practice forgiveness or else the wisdom of Confucius will be realized: “If you devote your life to seeking revenge, first dig two graves.”
            Earlier this year on National Public Radio’s “Story Corp,” Hector Black reflected the process and power of forgiveness in telling the story of his daughter Patricia Ann who was murdered. She came home from work and surprised a burglar hiding in the closet. When she opened the closet door, he jumped out and tied her up. Then, according to Hector, his daughter and this man, Ivan Simpson, had a conversation. Ivan told her she should put bars on her windows and always leave a light on. Patricia Ann told him he should get treatment for his drug problem. Then, when Patricia Ann refused Ivan’s demand for sex saying, “You’d have to kill me first,” Ivan did.
            Simpson was arrested and convicted. Hector said he wanted Ivan to hurt as much as he was hurting. But he also wanted to know more about Ivan Simpson and “find out what kind of monster could have done such a thing like this.” He discovered Simpson was born in a mental hospital. When he was 11 years old, his mother took his older brother, younger sister, and Ivan to the swimming pool and tried to drown all three. He and his brother escaped but they could not keep their mother from drowning their younger sister.
            When Hector Black was invited to address the court and speak directly to the man who murdered his daughter, he said, “I don’t hate you, Ivan Simpson, but I hate with all my soul what you did to my daughter.” Before he was led from the courtroom, Ivan asked to speak to Hector and his wife. With tears streaming down his face, Ivan told them, “I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you and your family.”
That night, Hector said, he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned and then he said he felt “a tremendous weight” lifting from his body. At that moment, he said, “I knew that I had forgiven him.” Through Hector’s openness to God’s grace, the yoke of hate that had weighed upon his heart broke, and he was free.
            Whenever lines are drawn in the sand—or around the altar or at the border in the form of a 700-mile fence—there is division and not communion. And offering communion to another through the chain-link fence becomes an act of civil disobedience. These lines drawn on the landscape of our lives will only be erased when we draw those with whom we disagree, those who have hurt us, those with whom we are divided into the circle of our love through the power of forgiveness.

Joe Nassal, cpps