(no subject)
- From: "Marilyn E. Lehman" <m.lehman@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: "Austin Mennonite Church" <amc@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Thu, 12 Oct 2006 09:59:45 -0500
I'm copying an article from one of my favorite spiritual and political writers:
From Where I Stand
By Joan Chittister, OSB
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The country that went through the rabid slaughter of children at
Columbine high school several years ago once again stood stunned at
the rampage in a tiny Amish school this month.
We were, in fact, more than unusually saddened by this particular
display of viciousness. It was, of course, an attack on 10 little
girls. Amish. Five dead. Five wounded. Most people called it
"tragic." After all, the Amish represent no threat to society,
provide no excuse for the rationalization of the violence so easily
practiced by the world around them.
Nevertheless, in a nation steeped in violence -- from its video games
to its military history, in foreign policy and on its streets -- the
question remains: Why did this particular disaster affect us like it
did? You'd think we'd be accustomed to mayhem by now.
But there was something different about this one. What was it?
Make no mistake about it: the Amish are not strangers to violence.
The kind of ferocity experienced by the Amish as they buried the five
girl-children murdered by a crazed gunmen two weeks ago has not
really been foreign to Amish life and the history of this peaceful
people.
This is a people born out of opposition to violence -- and, at the
same time, persecuted by both Catholics and Protestants in the era
before religious tolerance. Having failed to adhere to the orthodoxy
of one or the other of the controlling theocracies of their home
territories, they were banished, executed, imprisoned, drowned or
burned at the stake by both groups.
But for over 300 years, they have persisted in their intention to be
who and what they said they were.
Founded by a once-Catholic priest in the late 17century, as part of
the reformist movements of the time, the Mennonites -- from which the
Amish later sprung -- were, from the beginning, a simple movement.
They believe in adult baptism, pacifism, religious tolerance,
separation of church and state, opposition to capital punishment, and
opposition to oaths and civil office.
The Amish organize themselves into local house churches. They
separate from the "evil" of the world around them. They live simple
lives opposed to the technological devices -- and even the changing
clothing styles -- which, in their view, encourage the individualism,
the pride, that erodes community, family, a righteous society. They
work hard. They're self-sufficient; they refuse both Medicare and
Social Security monies from the state. And though the community has
suffered its own internal violence from time to time, they have
inflicted none on anyone around them.
Without doubt, to see such a peaceful people brutally attacked would
surely leave any decent human being appalled.
But it was not the violence suffered by the Amish community last week
that surprised people. Our newspapers are full of brutal and
barbarian violence day after day after day -- both national and
personal.
No, what really stunned the country about the attack on the small
Amish schoolhouse in Pennsylvania was that the Amish community itself
simply refused to hate what had hurt them.
"Do not think evil of this man," the Amish grandfather told his
children at the mouth of one little girl's grave.
"Do not leave this area. Stay in your home here." the Amish
delegation told the family of the murderer. "We forgive this man."
No, it was not the murders, not the violence, that shocked us; it was
the forgiveness that followed it for which we were not prepared. It
was the lack of recrimination, the dearth of vindictiveness that left
us amazed. Baffled. Confounded.
It was the Christianity we all profess but which they practiced that
left us stunned. Never had we seen such a thing.
Here they were, those whom our Christian ancestors called "heretics,"
who were modeling Christianity for all the world to see. The whole
lot of them. The entire community of them. Thousands of them at one
time.
The real problem with the whole situation is that down deep we know
that we had the chance to do the same. After the fall of the Twin
Towers we had the sympathy, the concern, the support of the entire
world.
You can't help but wonder, when you see something like this, what the
world would be like today if, instead of using the fall of the Twin
Towers as an excuse to invade a nation, we had simply gone to every
Muslim country on earth and said, "Don't be afraid. We won't hurt
you. We know that this is coming from only a fringe of society, and
we ask your help in saving others from this same kind of violence."
"Too idealistic," you say. Maybe. But since we didn't try, we'll
never know, will we?
Instead, we have sparked fear of violence in the rest of the world
ourselves. So much so, that they are now making nuclear bombs to save
themselves. From whom? From us, of course.
The record is clear. Instead of exercising more vigilance at our
borders, listening to our allies and becoming more of what we say we
are, we are becoming who they said we are.
For the 3,000 dead in the fall of the Twin Towers at the hands of 19
religious fanatics, we have more than 3,000 U.S. soldiers now killed
in military action, more than 20,600 wounded, more than 10,000
permanently disabled. We have thousands of widows and orphans, a
constitution at risk, a president that asked for and a Congress that
just voted to allow torture, and a national infrastructure in
jeopardy for want of future funding.
And nobody's even sure how many thousand innocent Iraqis are dead now, too.
Indeed, we have done exactly what the terrorists wanted us to do. We
have proven that we are the oppressors, the exploiters, the demons
they now fear we are. And -- read the international press -- few
people are saying otherwise around the world.
From where I stand, it seems to me that we ourselves are no longer so
sure just exactly what kind of people we have now apparently become.
Interestingly enough, we do know what kind of people the Amish we are
astounded at it. "Christian" they call it.
A Benedictine Sister of Erie, Joan Chittister is a best-selling
author and well-known international lecturer on spirituality and
religion in society. She presently serves as the co-chair of the
Global Peace Initiative of Women, a partner organization of the
United Nations. Sister Joan's most recent books include The Way We
Were and Called to Question, a 1st Place CPA 2005 award winner. She
is founder and executive director of Benetvision, a resource and
research center for spirituality and religion.
--
Marilyn E. Lehman, Graduate Program Coordinator
The University of Texas at Austin
History Department
1 University Station B7000
Austin, TX 78712-1163
(512) 471-6421
m.lehman@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
http://www.utexas.edu/cola/depts/history/graduate/
Other related posts: