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Soon
after choosing this issue’s theme, I found an e-mail
message on my computer screen: “Last week one of
my colleagues, a Christian RN, and four patients
were killed at the hands of one of the patients
she had dedicated her life to caring for. I was
a nurse on duty that night. I would like to write
a first-person article on this tragedy and also
how my faith is helping me to deal with the aftermath.”
Although
I encouraged her to write her story, she never submitted
an article. In fact, I eventually lost track of
her completely and worry about whether she received
the support she desperately needed. However, other
nurses did submit their stories of violence and
abuse. In doing so, they offer us a gift born of
their suffering.
Along
with these manuscripts, queries came from other
nurses who wanted to tell their stories but just
couldn’t finish the job. Writing about personal
encounters with violence is hard work. It requires
an author to relive horrendous memories and try
to make sense of the senseless. The process can
be deeply healing, but terribly exhausting.
While
victims of public violence may receive an outpouring
of support and encouragement, victims of hidden
violence suffer alone with their dreadful secrets—child
abuse, domestic violence, sexual abuse from teachers,
clergy and other authority figures, as well as the
abuse of power and control by supervisors on the
job. The problem is not new, and it’s not going
away until Jesus returns to usher in the new heaven
and new earth (Rev 21:1-4).
We
first read about the encroachment of violence in
Genesis 4:8, when Cain killed his brother Abel.
By Genesis 6:11 the violence had spread, “Now the
earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth
was filled with violence.” After that, God sent
a flood to wipe out the evil people, but as soon
as the ark landed, violence resumed within the circle
of “righteous” people who had been saved from the
flood. Centuries later, the prophet Habakkuk implored,
“O LORD, how long shall I cry for help, and you
will not listen? Or cry to you ‘Violence!’ and you
will not save?” (Hab 1:2).
We
cannot deny the violence in our midst, yet we do.
Within six months of the World Trade Center explosions,
most Americans were back in denial—living as if
this could never happen again, tired of the gory
news reports and numb to the pain of the victims
and their families.
To
a much greater extent, we deny the problem of domestic
violence and other forms of abuse that occur when
perpetrators hold positions of trust. We don’t want
to believe that our clergy sexually abuse the young
and the vulnerable, or that schoolteachers or health
care professionals take advantage of those in their
charge. It is easier to remain skeptical or to blame
the victim.
Confronting
violence head on can be nasty. Those who try to
expose violence and abuse may become secondary victims.
Acknowledging the violence that occurs in our midst
erodes our confidence in the security of our environment.
We don’t want to know about the problem and we don’t
want to deal with the potential consequences—upheaval,
shame, embarrassment, retribution and litigation.
Abuse in a Christian setting confronts us with the
reality of sin in our midst and in ourselves. Instead
of facing that actuality, we deny that such things
could ever happen here.
After
all, doesn’t God promise us peace? Isaiah 60:18
tells us, “Violence shall no more be heard in your
land, devastation or destruction within your borders;
you shall call your walls Salvation, and your gates
Praise.” So what’s going on? Why do Christians have
to deal with the ugliness of violence and abuse?
We must, because we live in a now and not-yet
kingdom. Although we live in the hope of God’s promises,
and to some degree experience the first fruits
of kingdom living, we also must deal with the problem
of sin in today’s world.
Jesus
gave us a clear example for dealing with violence
when he told the story of the Good Samaritan in
Luke 10:25-37. The man by the side of the road was
a victim of violence. He had been robbed, beaten
and left for dead. Just as the Samaritan in Jesus’
parable cared for that man, we are to care for the
victims of violence, even if it means putting ourselves
in danger—or, at best, being inconvenienced. We
don’t ask, “What was this person doing traveling
alone on such a dangerous road, anyhow?” We simply
take care of the wounds, provide for long-term care
and assist in any way we can.
To
do that, we have to face the violence head on. We
can’t, with integrity, walk to the other side of
the road and pretend not to see. It means listening
to victims with full attention, asking the right
questions, responding with compassion and being
aware of resources where victims can go to find
healing. Victim support will never be a quick fix.
It is a long-term commitment.
Psalm
72:13-14 describes the good king: “He has pity on
the weak and the needy, and saves the lives of the
needy. From oppression and violence he redeems their
life; and precious is their blood in his sight.”
As followers of Jesus, that is our job as well.
—JAS
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