By
Robert R. Schwarz
Forgive:
to give up resentment against or the desire
to
punish ; stop being angry with ; pardon…
(
Webster's New World College Dictionary )
To
forgive someone is for us. You don't do
it for
that person. It doesn’t mean forgetting
any
evil done. .. ( Dr. Vernon Bell, psychiatrist,
addictive behaviorist specialist )
Father,
forgive them; for they do not know
what
they are doing…( Jesus being crucified:
Luke 23:34 )
The three quotes
above might tell the reader that all the
books in the world could not exhaust the
subject of "forgiveness "nor, likely, could any two people
today agree on the best way to write a how-to-do-it manual about it. Nevertheless, here are a few
true-life scenes which I believe display the many facets of forgiving
someone despite how badly he or she has
wounded us or the wickedness of the deed. One is about a saintly Dutch woman
who forgave a murderous concentration camp guard during World War I ; another
is a healing service conducted in a suburban church outside Chicago by a priest
whose family were victims of the Rwanda genocide in 1994 ; also there is a
retired U.S. Army general and an army chaplain I interviewed about forgiveness
as a key ingredient in healing the so-called moral wounds of our combat
soldiers; and , lastly , I write about
the poignant scene of my mother again
forgiving dark side behavior of
my schizophrenic brother.
I Corrie ten Boom Could he
erase her death simply for the asking ?… The most
difficult and heart-wrenching act of forgiveness I know of was related
on a network radio station four
or five decades ago. The radio voice was that of Corrie ten Boom ,
who related how after the war, she
forgave , face to face, the Nazi guard
in the concentration camp where she had been
interned and where her sister and hundreds of others died
slow deaths.
Born in 1892 in
Amsterdam , the Netherlands, Cornelia
ten Boom , a Christian and a watchmaker, along with her father and other family
members, helped many Jews escape the Nazi Holocaust . For this, she was
imprisoned in the Ravensbruck camp. The following are excerpts from her book ,
"The Hiding Place", as
appeared in the July 24, 2014 internet post of Guideposts :
"It was in a
church in Munich that I saw him, a balding heavyset man in a gray overcoat, a
brown felt hat clutched between his hands. People were filing out of the
basement room where I had just spoken, moving along the rows of wooden chairs
to the door at the rear. It was 1947 and I had come from Holland to defeated
Germany with the message that God forgives...The solemn faces stared back at
me, not quite daring to believe.. People stood up in silence, collected their
wraps, and left the room…
"Betsie and I
had been arrested for concealing Jews in our home during the Nazi occupation of
Holland; this man had been a guard at Ravensbrück concentration camp where we
were sent. Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: 'A fine message, fräulein! How good it
is to know that, as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea! '
"And I, who
had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take
that hand. He would not remember me, of course. How could he remember one
prisoner among those thousands of women? But I remembered him and the leather
crop swinging from his belt. It was the first time since my release that I had
been face to face with one of my captors, and my blood seemed to freeze.
“ 'You mentioned
Ravensbrück in your talk,' he was
saying. 'I was a guard in there.' No, he
did not remember me.
“ 'But since that
time', he went on, 'I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me
for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as
well, Fräulein (again the hand came out) will you forgive me '?
"And I stood
there–I whose sins had to be forgiven every day –I could not. Betsie had died
in that place. Could he erase her slow
terrible death simply for the asking?
"It could not
have been many seconds that he stood there, hand held out, but to me it seemed
hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do. For I
had to do it–I knew that. The message that God forgives us has a prior
condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. If you do not forgive men their trespasses,
Jesus says, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.
"I knew it
not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of
the war I had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who
were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the
outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those
who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible
as that.
"And still I
stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an
emotion–I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can
function regardless of the temperature of the heart.
“Jesus, help me! I
prayed silently. I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the
feeling.
"And so
woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And
as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder,
raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth
seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
“I forgive you, brother!” I cried. “With all my heart!
"For a long
moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner.
I had never known God’s love so intensely as I did then.
"
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned at 80 years of age, it’s that I can’t
store up good feelings and behavior–but only draw them fresh from God each day.
"
II They had come to be healed; but first, to
forgive…They had come to be healed
on the morning of last March 11 of their illness or affliction or an emotional
wound for which , presumably , no
doctor had been able to heal . Many among the standing-room only "Mass with Healing Prayers "
service in the Arlington Heights ( Illinois)
church were likely surprised when advised that a condition for this healing was their "opening five
doors," one being that the individual forgive anyone who had hurt him or
her either physically, mentally, or
other wise. The man telling them this
was Fr. Ubald Rugirangoa, a priest from Rwanda . He had lived through the genocide there in 1994 which took the lives
of 45,000 of his parishioners, among
them 80 members of his own family.
As a prelude to
the healing ritual, Fr. Ubald spoke not only about forgiveness
but also on the other
"four doors" which, he exhorted ,
had to be "opened ".
Among these doors were professing faith in God , acknowledging gratitude
for all that God had done for the
individual, and a decision to
"connect" to Jesus Christ.
Taking hold of the monstrance ( a golden, cross-shaped vessel in which the consecrated communion host is exposed for adoration ) , Fr. Ubald then slowly paced up and down each of the four aisles while making the sign of a cross with the monstrance as he paused now and then to bless the more than 500 people sitting in pews. As he did this for an estimated 20 minutes, the people chanted the word "Jesus" to the tune of Amazing Grace . Many crossed themselves with arms raised in praise.
At the end, after
much praying by Fr. Ubald and the
people, the priest and his
assistant, Monique Stevens , went to the apse ( lectern ) . Fr. Ubald
whispered to Monique each
particular healing which he believed had just occurred. As he did, Monique called out
each healing over a microphone.
Next, the priest invited all
those who could now lay "claim" to their healing to come up and
relate it the congregation. At least 20 people did, many choked with
emotion and praising God for healing
them or a loved one. They told of
pending divorces and other serious marriage or family problems, various
types of cancer , an inability to fall
asleep at night, epilepsy of a loved one, chronic unemployment, intestinal and
stomach afflictions, the conversion of
a child, and an inability to forgive someone.
"The Lord
makes known to Fr. Ubald the healings that have occurred during his service,
and he then relays this to the people ," Monique told me. She said two years ago , at
a church in Green Bay, Wisconsin, Fr.
Ubald healed her of a serious allergy that caused sunlight to harm her skin.
' Extreme
Horror Requires Extreme Forgiveness '
[ note:
the following are excerpts from Fr. Ubald's
websites, https://frubald.files.wordpress.com/.../extren-horror- requieresextrenforgiveness-upd...or
www. frubald.com ]
 |
| Fr. Ubald holding a monstrance at a "healing Mass" in 2016 in the Kigali stadium in Rwanda |
III A psychiatrist comments…Many years
ago, as a journalist, I reported on a
lecture by Dr Vernon Bell, a psychiatrist
who specialized in addictive behavior. The following are some of his comments
about forgiveness:
" Asking to
be forgiven doesn't mean you’re being asked to give up your rights."
" It doesn't
mean you'll be restored to wholeness; that's God's job."
" The value
of forgiving someone is that it will prevent you from dwelling upon the
hurt or the harm you did."
" Don't
expect the person to accept it."
IV Forgiving
ourselves to heal a moral wound…Earlier this year I reported on a
panel discussion in Chicago about
the moral wounds of American
combat soldiers involved in the killing of the enemy . Leading the panel was Major
General ( ret) James Mukoyama , a veteran of the Vietnam war and founder of
Military Outreach USA . Sitting around
him were an Army chaplain , a clinical psychologist the a Veterans
Administration hospital, and the author of the book They Don't Receive Purple
Hearts.
Not being able to forgive ones' self for causing a
combat death of the enemy has led to an alarming rate of suicide and
homelessness among veterans, the panel
concluded. In my feature story that
appeared in the Daily Herald ( Dec. 1, 2016 ) ,
I reported: " For years, Mukoyama has maintained that 'the main approach for moral injury is not a
medical doctor with prescription drugs,
but rather an approach that includes the forgiveness and grace of moral
authority ."
V A Mother forgiving her mentally ill son…My brother
Lester before his death several years ago
at age 75, had been afflicted with paranoid schizophrenia for
most of his adult life . He was dropped from the U.S. Air Force officers training school and
later given a general discharge with a 100 per cent disability: then followed a
divorce, joblessness year after year, a prison sentence when he failed to take
his meds and discharged a firearm while driving, and a long succession of stays in
veteran-sponsored retirement homes and hospitals. He was a college
graduate and , until the outbreak of his
illness , his character had been
spotless
When able, Lester
would visit his 80-year-old mother once
twice weekly in her Arlington Heights ( IL ) nursing home. Lester's behavior when he was not in a care-giving
facility was known only to my mother .
She had chosen not to share with me what she knew until
the afternoon I intruded on a
whisper-quiet conversation she was
having with my brother in her room.
I remember the details—most of which I'd rather forget—of this
particular meeting.
" Bring in a chair for your brother," Mom told my brother ,whom I noticed was
well-groomed this day—clean blue jeans, a haircut, and a red sport shirt
without the usual two or three food stains.
Lester got the
chair and then went for the door. "
See you later, Robert, " he said.
"Don't go
, son, " Mom said. "You know how I love to see
you two together."
" We just saw
each other Monday," Lester said,
and left.
I asked my mother what she and Lester had been talking about . Mom lowered her head. " I shouldn't
tell you."
"Yes, Mom,
you should. "
" He does
things he shouldn't," she said.
" Please tell
me."
While she spoke, I saw the anguish of a mother helpless to stop her child from further damning himself with behavior
incited , in large, by his mental illness.
With her head bowed long
pauses, Mom told me of Lester's solitary
drinking in his retirement home
room, his late night drives to a
porno shop , and , most alarming,
the skipping of his anti-psychotic meds whenever he could fake swallowing them in front of the nurse who
knocked daily on his retirement home
door.
"He tells all of
this to you, his mother !" I said
angrily . later regretting being angry with my mother.
" Who else is
there? " she said . "He's
hurting so and he hates what he does, Robert.
But please, dear, don't say anything to him. Promise ? "
" But, Mom, he keeps doing it! "
"Your brother says
he's sorry. He can't help it, Robert. "
" Then what do you say
!" I demanded.
" I tell him it's all
right… Oh, son , your brother so
badly needs to hear that it's all
right."
My mother's words
would always mean to me that my brother had made a confession to her and
that she had--once again--forgiven
him.
Finally, my mother looked at me and, as if sharing a long-concealed secret, softly said, " I love Jesus and pray to Him every
night ."
When leaving Mom's room on another day, a
nurse walked in, followed a few seconds later by two volunteers. Curious , I paused outside the door to
eavesdrop. Soon everyone in the room was chatting as if at a tea party. At my next visit , I asked that nurse in the hallway what had been going on in my
mother's room that day. She said, "Oh, we go in there now and then to get cheered up by your
mother. "
My wife and I were at
Lester's bedside at the Veteran's hospital in North Chicago a few weeks before he died. With us was one of the hospital
chaplains, Fr. VanderHey . The nurse
removed Lester's oxygen mask. My brother was wide-eyed and attentive , a
face I had not seen in decades.
Lester
had made his profession of faith .
My brother, I thought , appeared as serene as he did that day Mom in
her room asked him to pull up a chair
for me.
When the three of us exited Lester's room, Fr. VanderHey took us aside and , referring
to the conversion of a psychotically ill
person in I.C.U. , he exclaimed,
"In my twenty years as chaplain, I've only seen
this [ kind of conversion ] twice
!"
While rummaging through old family documents after
my mother's death nine years later, I
came across this poem she wrote, I know, with
a child-like innocence at age 18—the only poem she would ever wrote.
She had quit her job as an
Illinois Bell telephone switchboard
operator to marry my father and was now pregnant with Lester.
Where did you
come from, Baby Dear?
By
Dorothy Eleanor Schwarz
Out
of the Everywhere into here…
Where did you get those eyes so
blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.
What makes the
light in them sparkle and spin ?
Some of the starry spikes
were let in.
What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
I saw something better than anyone knows.
Where did you get that pearly ear
?
God spoke,
and it was made to hear.
Where did you get those arms and
hands?
Love itself made those arms and hands.
But how did you come to us, you
dear ?
God thought about you, and so you
are here.
After I had read
it three times, I began to sense a holiness
in my mother , a sense of pure innocence that resonated from
her poem and sounded in her voice when she had told me about my brother
. My discernment brought thoughts about the love which the
Holy Mother felt for her Son Jesus as
she cradled Him at the foot of His
cross. This man, I recalled,
had taken ownership of all the
sins of humankind , including those infinitely more wicked than Lester's. I next found
these words of Paul the Deacon, an 8th Century Benedictine monk: "And she [Mary ] knows how to have compassion on
human weakness, because she knows of
what we are made. "
I had similar
thoughts that day about my father's
steadfast loyalty to Lester throughout those scandalous years. It made me think of the loyalty
Joseph gave to Mary when pregnant
with God's Son and how her sheltered Him that night in Bethlehem. I'm sure the world has many, many Marys and
Josephs like my parents.
The
End
All comments
are welcome.
© 2017 Robert
R. Schwarz
