Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy (10 page)
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Authors: Donald B. Kraybill,Steven M. Nolt,David L. Weaver-Zercher
BOOK: Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy
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Motivated in part by this discomfort, some Amish people made special efforts to speak publicly about the foundation of their faith. The father of one of the children who was killed emphasized that “God is the one who should get the blessing in this when it’s all over and done. It should be God, not us.” The parents of another girl who died in the schoolhouse wrote a letter to a Lancaster newspaper saying, “It is only through our faith in Jesus Christ that forgiveness is possible. He is the one who deserves the praise and glory, not us Amish.”
Speaking publicly about faith is not a common practice in most Amish communities. Generally, the Amish do not support or engage in organized evangelistic work; in fact, the Amish are criticized by some evangelical Christians for their lack of missionary zeal. Preferring actions over words, the Amish provide material aid to refugees and disaster-stricken people rather than try to convert others to their views. In their minds, verbal evangelism involves the subtle use of coercive persuasion that focuses on individual conversion rather than community faithfulness.
For this reason, the Amish are drawn to the metaphor from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount: a light on the hill that shines in the darkness and provides a witness to God’s grace by faithful practice. An Amish shop worker referred to this image as he considered how stories of Amish forgiveness had spanned the globe: “This forgiveness story makes me think of Matthew 5 and a light set on the hill. ‘Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid’” (Matthew 5:14).
“Sometimes some of our people think we should do more evangelistic work or begin a prison ministry,” said one Amish farmer, reflecting on all the press coverage of forgiveness. “But this forgiveness story made more of a witness for us all over the world than anything else we can ever do.” Gid agreed: “Maybe this was God’s way to let us do some missionary work. Maybe He used the media to help spread the word.” Not every Amish person drew this missionary-minded conclusion, but some clearly did. “The message [of forgiveness] really was a light to the world,” said Amos, the minister. “We’re supposed to be a light to the world, but we’re not supposed to say, ‘See what I’m doing.’ . . . It’s important that we put the honor where the honor belongs [to God].”
A father who lost a daughter at the schoolhouse stressed again and again that forgiveness is more than words. Sitting at his kitchen table, he told us, “Our forgiveness is not in our words, it’s in our actions; it’s not what we said, but what we did. That was our forgiveness.” At the bottom of his faxed correspondence, another Amish man included a phrase that he had borrowed from a church sign: “Preach the gospel, and if necessary, use words.” The Amish were preaching, but rarely with words.
When forgiveness arrived at the killer’s home within hours of his crime, it did not appear out of nowhere. Rather, forgiveness is woven into the very fabric of Amish life, its sturdy threads having been spun from faith in God, scriptural mandates, and a history of persecution. The grace extended by the Amish surprised the world almost as much as the killing itself. Indeed, in many respects, the story of Amish forgiveness became
the
story—the story that trumped the narrative of senseless death—in the days that followed the shooting. Amish grace, and the way it affected the world, did not rob the tragedy of its horror, nor did it eradicate the grief of those left behind. Still, it may have been an answer to Amish prayers that somehow, somewhere, some good would come out of this terrible event.
the
story—the story that trumped the narrative of senseless death—in the days that followed the shooting. Amish grace, and the way it affected the world, did not rob the tragedy of its horror, nor did it eradicate the grief of those left behind. Still, it may have been an answer to Amish prayers that somehow, somewhere, some good would come out of this terrible event.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Reactions
What if the Amish were in charge of the war on terror?
—DIANA BUTLER BASS, RELIGION COLUMNIST
I
t’s not often that forgiveness becomes the topic of a national conversation. Wayward religious leaders repenting of their sins have sometimes triggered talk about the virtues of forgiveness. President Clinton’s confessions following his dalliances with Monica Lewinsky stirred similar discussions. Rarely, however, has this spiritually oriented topic gained much traction at the nation’s dinner tables and water coolers.
t’s not often that forgiveness becomes the topic of a national conversation. Wayward religious leaders repenting of their sins have sometimes triggered talk about the virtues of forgiveness. President Clinton’s confessions following his dalliances with Monica Lewinsky stirred similar discussions. Rarely, however, has this spiritually oriented topic gained much traction at the nation’s dinner tables and water coolers.
The Amish response at Nickel Mines kick-started a national conversation—with the help, of course, of the news media. Within two days of the Monday shooting, Amish forgiveness had become the primary theme in the media’s coverage of the incident, outpacing both the details of the rampage and the killer’s curious motives. On Thursday and Friday, the girls’ funerals assumed center stage, but even then the media’s theme of healing suggested that the Amish had forgiven the person whose actions had made the funerals necessary. At about the same time, a swell of op-ed pieces pondering Amish forgiveness began to appear, a rising tide that crested a week after the shooting. In all of this, the Amish had suddenly vacated their standard role in the American imagination as technophobic, buggy-driving, plain-dressing folks. To the endless wonder of observers, and to their own surprise, the Amish had become the world’s most forgiving people.
Understanding why a story gains attention in the media is never easy. What makes an event newsworthy? Needless to say, the media first came to Lancaster County because of the killing itself, a vicious crime magnified by its context: a one-room schoolhouse in a quiet hamlet. The shock that such horror could visit Amish Country offered a compelling storyline, and the gracious acts that followed it only added to the drama. Perhaps too the media hoped to offer something redemptive in the midst of tragedy, something that would reassure their audiences of the enduring goodness of America’s heartland. Many journalists, astonished by what they had heard and seen, also sensed that the story would appeal to readers and viewers. Whatever the reasons, the story of the shooting at Nickel Mines quickly stimulated a national conversation, both about the Amish and about forgiveness.
The most prominent response to emerge from the story was amazement. Time and again commentators expressed astonishment that the Amish were able to forgive, and to forgive so quickly. Occasionally the bewilderment turned to skepticism, as when reporters asked if the Amish were simply seeking good publicity. Generally, however, observers believed that the Amish had genuinely forgiven Roberts and his family—acts they found utterly amazing. One columnist, writing in Helena, Montana, summed up the sentiment of many observers: “I am profoundly moved by what is happening in Nickel Mines.”
In addition to being surprised, the vast majority of pundits also lauded Amish forgiveness, calling it worthy of admiration. “What wonderful people they are,” wrote a woman living nearby in Lititz, Pennsylvania. “If all people would follow their examples of faith and forgiveness, what a much better world this would be.” A writer in Philadelphia concurred; not only should Americans “feel indebted” to the Amish for what they did, but they should also endeavor to “learn from their example.” In the
Sacramento Bee,
a columnist cautioned that she didn’t want to “idealize” the Amish community, which “has its problems, too.” Still, she wanted her readers to consider “for just a moment how remarkable their calm display of human kindness is.” “We should all be that odd, strange, and offbeat,” wrote yet another observer.
Sacramento Bee,
a columnist cautioned that she didn’t want to “idealize” the Amish community, which “has its problems, too.” Still, she wanted her readers to consider “for just a moment how remarkable their calm display of human kindness is.” “We should all be that odd, strange, and offbeat,” wrote yet another observer.
Such views of Amish forgiveness led many commentators to ask what it was about the Amish that enabled them to forgive. For many, the answer was relatively simple: the Amish embodied an uncorrupted Christian faith. “The Amish have shown the rest of the world what true Christianity is really like,” wrote a columnist for a Fort Wayne, Indiana, newspaper. Other observers cited a simple authenticity among the Amish. Still others tied the Amish response to an altruism to which all people could aspire. “This is not about being Amish,” wrote one commentator. “This is about living our lives with a calm courage that understands that survival lies in reaching out, not striking back.”
Finally, many observers found that the Amish response at Nickel Mines gave them an opportunity to reflect on their own lives and American society. These reflections often revealed a sense of unease about modern culture, which most found wanting compared to Amish life. Numerous observers lamented rising secularism in the country, including one commentator who, in a debatable comparison, equated “the faith of the Amish” with “the Christian faith of our forefathers.” After the shooting a Binghamton, New York, newspaper ran an op-ed piece titled “A Society So Modern It’s Sickening,” which noted four words that have lost currency in contemporary American life:
innocence, decency, reverence,
and
manners
. The commentary mentioned the Amish only at the end, when the writer identified
forgive
as a fifth word she hoped would now make a comeback. “Modern society’s sophisticates sneer at the Amish for their ‘backward’ ways,” she concluded, but their extension of forgiveness at Nickel Mines demonstrates “that they may be far more advanced than the rest of us.”
innocence, decency, reverence,
and
manners
. The commentary mentioned the Amish only at the end, when the writer identified
forgive
as a fifth word she hoped would now make a comeback. “Modern society’s sophisticates sneer at the Amish for their ‘backward’ ways,” she concluded, but their extension of forgiveness at Nickel Mines demonstrates “that they may be far more advanced than the rest of us.”
Contrary to this writer’s assertion, few people sneered at the Amish in the aftermath of the shooting. In fact, these four themes—amazement at the act of forgiveness, admiration of the Amish who did it, a largely favorable view of Amish life, and a lament about mainstream American life—characterized the vast majority of op-ed pieces and commentaries following the tragedy.
Together these themes built on a much longer tradition of public tribute to Amish life. The Amish have long captivated outsiders with their tight-knit communities and resistance to modern technologies, prompting some to wonder if the Amish have something good the English are missing. In the aftermath of the Nickel Mines shooting, this tune of amazement played in a slightly different key. Not only did the Amish
have
something good that others lacked, but in many people’s eyes the Amish
were
good—or at least better than the vast majority of their American neighbors. Three months later, when the editors at
Beliefnet.com
named the “Most Inspiring People of 2006,” their selection confirmed the overwhelming choice of their readers: the Amish of Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania.
have
something good that others lacked, but in many people’s eyes the Amish
were
good—or at least better than the vast majority of their American neighbors. Three months later, when the editors at
Beliefnet.com
named the “Most Inspiring People of 2006,” their selection confirmed the overwhelming choice of their readers: the Amish of Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania.
Despite the widespread admiration of Amish forgiveness, a small but insistent chorus emerged on the other side. An early and stinging critique of Amish forgiveness appeared in the
Boston Globe
the Sunday after the shooting. In a frequently reprinted op-ed piece titled “Undeserved Forgiveness,” Jeff Jacoby admitted that it was “deeply affecting” to watch the Amish strive to follow Jesus’ admonition to return good for evil. Still, he insisted, “hatred is not always wrong, and forgiveness is not always deserved.” Jacoby asked his readers, “How many of us would really want to live in a society in which no one gets angry when children are slaughtered?” The problem was not with forgiveness per se, he said; in fact, “to voluntarily forgive those who have hurt you is beautiful and praiseworthy.” No, the problem in this case, wrote Jacoby, was that the persons who granted forgiveness forgave a person who hurt
others
. “I cannot see how the world is made a better place by assuring someone who would do terrible things to others that he will be readily forgiven afterward.” Appealing to the Bible, the same authority that the Amish often cite, Jacoby reminded his readers that Ecclesiastes teaches that “there is a time to love and a time to hate.” He concluded by quoting from Psalm 97: “Let those who love the Lord hate evil.”
Boston Globe
the Sunday after the shooting. In a frequently reprinted op-ed piece titled “Undeserved Forgiveness,” Jeff Jacoby admitted that it was “deeply affecting” to watch the Amish strive to follow Jesus’ admonition to return good for evil. Still, he insisted, “hatred is not always wrong, and forgiveness is not always deserved.” Jacoby asked his readers, “How many of us would really want to live in a society in which no one gets angry when children are slaughtered?” The problem was not with forgiveness per se, he said; in fact, “to voluntarily forgive those who have hurt you is beautiful and praiseworthy.” No, the problem in this case, wrote Jacoby, was that the persons who granted forgiveness forgave a person who hurt
others
. “I cannot see how the world is made a better place by assuring someone who would do terrible things to others that he will be readily forgiven afterward.” Appealing to the Bible, the same authority that the Amish often cite, Jacoby reminded his readers that Ecclesiastes teaches that “there is a time to love and a time to hate.” He concluded by quoting from Psalm 97: “Let those who love the Lord hate evil.”
Jacoby was not alone in his criticism of Amish forgiveness. “Why Do the Amish Ignore Reality?” was the headline for Cristina Odone’s opinion piece in Britain’s
Observer
. Odone called the Amish community’s response to their daughters’ killer “disturbing.” “They have responded to the massacre of their innocents by repeating that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” she complained. In many respects, Odone’s concern was less about forgiveness than it was about what she called the “fatalism” inherent in Amish life. In her view, the Amish acceptance of whatever comes their way, combined with their commitment to pacifism, means that they “inhabit a hopeless universe where senseless massacres are accepted. Not even the charming old-fashioned horse and buggy can make up for that.”
Observer
. Odone called the Amish community’s response to their daughters’ killer “disturbing.” “They have responded to the massacre of their innocents by repeating that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” she complained. In many respects, Odone’s concern was less about forgiveness than it was about what she called the “fatalism” inherent in Amish life. In her view, the Amish acceptance of whatever comes their way, combined with their commitment to pacifism, means that they “inhabit a hopeless universe where senseless massacres are accepted. Not even the charming old-fashioned horse and buggy can make up for that.”
These critiques, though relatively few in number, provided a sharp counterpoint to the acclaim heaped on the Amish in the days after the shooting. Moreover, they picked up on themes that some critics of Amish life had cited long before writers at the
Boston Globe
and the
Observer
had ever heard of Nickel Mines. In a poem published in 1996, Denise Duhamel recounted the death of an Amish boy at the hands of a drunk driver and his family’s response to that tragedy. “My Amish neighbors / forgive,” wrote Duhamel, who then offered her perspective. “I prefer seeing it all,” she wrote. “I prefer a good fight / a wailing of grief,” quite unlike the gift-shop Amish dolls that “want it silent.” Duhamel’s implication was that Amish people deal with their grief like soulless dolls—by simply stifling emotional pain. In the days following the Nickel Mines shooting, a
USA Today
blogger made a similar complaint: “This extreme event needs time for emotions to settle, not suppress and suppress. After all, this was not someone who broke a window and was sorry!”
Boston Globe
and the
Observer
had ever heard of Nickel Mines. In a poem published in 1996, Denise Duhamel recounted the death of an Amish boy at the hands of a drunk driver and his family’s response to that tragedy. “My Amish neighbors / forgive,” wrote Duhamel, who then offered her perspective. “I prefer seeing it all,” she wrote. “I prefer a good fight / a wailing of grief,” quite unlike the gift-shop Amish dolls that “want it silent.” Duhamel’s implication was that Amish people deal with their grief like soulless dolls—by simply stifling emotional pain. In the days following the Nickel Mines shooting, a
USA Today
blogger made a similar complaint: “This extreme event needs time for emotions to settle, not suppress and suppress. After all, this was not someone who broke a window and was sorry!”
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