September 20, 2009

Freedom in Forgiveness

The Rev. Mark Ward, Minister
Unitarian Universalist Church of Asheville

Asheville, NC

SERMON

There was something familiar about the face I saw in a newspaper photograph about a month ago, and so my eyes shot up to the headline on the story: “Former Army Officer Convicted in My Lai Killings Apologizes.” The brief wire service story recounted how in an appearance before the Kiwanis Club of Columbus, Georgia, William Calley, convicted 40 years ago in the massacre of 500 men, women and children in Vietnam, had issued a public apology for the killings.

“I feel remorse for the Vietnamese who were killed, for their families, for the American soldiers involved and their families. I am very sorry,” the story quoted Calley as saying.

For anyone in the 60s who was of age to remember, the My Lai massacre stands out as one of the darkest moments of the Vietnam War. Witnesses to the event testified that at the direction of Calley, a 24-year-old Army lieutenant, and with his assistance, soldiers brutally assaulted, tortured and murdered hundreds of civilians who offered them no resistance. The army attempted to cover up the incident, but word later got out and 26 American soldiers were put on trial. Only Calley was convicted, after admitting as a witness that he personally had executed civilians, though he insisted at the time he was only acting under orders.

Calley was sentenced to life in prison, but President Nixon reduced the sentence to three years of house arrest. After the sentence ended, he got a job in his father-in-law’s jewelry shop. Ever since, he has lived quietly in Atlanta, refusing, until his appearance at the Kiwanis Club, to discuss publicly the events at My Lai.

Each year at this season I invite us to reflect on the nature of and need for forgiveness. I choose this time of year to coincide with the Jewish celebration of the high holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In this ancient series of celebrations and rituals, Jews are invited to reflect on the ways they have missed the mark in how they have conducted their lives in the past year – what mistakes they have made, whom they have offended, what regrets they carry – and look for ways to atone for them. They are invited, even urged, to ask forgiveness of those they have offended. And those who receive these requests are also invited, even urged, to find it in their hearts to give it, so that they both may enter the new year with a clean state with each other.

The mythical element of this celebration is that it is also said to mark the time when God created the Earth. The forgiveness given and received at the high holidays also marks the opportunity for a new start in the lives of those who participate.

While this celebration has not historically been part of our Unitarian Universalist tradition, I have introduced an observance of this time into our worship life because I believe it offers us a wise way of addressing a human need that transcends culture or tradition: to admit our individual fallibility with respect and care while acknowledging the greater pull of our larger life together. It is, after all, through forgiveness, and nothing less, that we heal the rifts among us, and the sooner we are about it, the better we are able to move on with our lives, to grow, to deepen our relationships, to free ourselves of our regrets, our guilt, our shame, and find the path to peace.

All that said, though, the path is not an easy one. Jewish tradition makes clear that forgiveness is not something we can really give in the abstract. To say, “Please forgive me for any wrong I’ve done,” is nice, but it doesn’t really cut it. Just as the act that causes offense is a specific deed done by a specific person, so the request for forgiveness should acknowledge the specific wrong done and who it was done to.

It makes the transaction of forgiveness more meaningful, and, in a sense, more intimate. That, Rob Eller-Isaacs told me when we visited Unity Unitarian Church last year, is why he framed the litany that we read together as an individual confession. That is also part of what makes it so hard. And it may say something about the difficulty of that act that when his litany was added to our hymnal the editors changed that noun from singular to plural: “We” rather than “I.”

And let’s not forget that the difficulty extends to both sides of the transaction. On one side, in admitting an offense against another person and asking forgiveness we are letting down our guard and making ourselves vulnerable to that person. On the other side, receiving that request for forgiveness we are asked to look beyond the offense against us and remain in relationship in some way with the person who committed it. Depending on the offense and the circumstances, either side of that equation can be difficult to accomplish, and we should not diminish that difficulty.

Forgiveness, after all, is most meaningful when it serves justice. Simply going through the motions or being forced to mouth the words accomplishes little and can even cause greater damage, cultivating contempt for the very act that could bring about a new start.

The Truth and Reconciliation process in South Africa is probably the greatest testament to the power of making individual accountability central to making forgiveness work. After Apartheid ended, the new African leadership under Nelson Mandela had the power to wreak vengeance on the white power structure that had oppressed them for so long. But anticipating that such a strategy would only lead to more violence, they chose a different path. Instead, they offered to forgive, that is to offer amnesty to, those, white or black, who had perpetrated evil against others, if they truly confessed their actions and sought the forgiveness of their victims or their victims’ families.

The process was slow, often messy and tinged with controversy, yet its effect was transformative for many of those on both sides of the equation. Episcopal Archbishop Desmond Tutu attributed the success of the process at least in part to the African concept of ubuntu, the notion that, in his words, “My humanity is caught up in yours, and if you are dehumanized, I am dehumanized, and anger and resentment and retribution are corrosive of this great good, the harmony that has got to exist between people.”

At the heart of the act of forgiveness, after all, is the belief that another person’s hurts matter to us, that, as the Unitarian Universalist first principle puts it, we each have inherent worth and dignity, and we each are due mutual respect and care. And so, if I have done something to harm or diminish you, that matters. It deserves my attention. And my respect for you demands that I seek to make things right between us.

Not long ago, researchers studying the Middle East peace process explored whether there might be ways of making headway in negotiations between Israelis and Palestinians if, rather than centering the talks on practical considerations, negotiators focused on long-established moral concerns. They surveyed some 4,000 Palestinians and Israelis across the political spectrum over four years, asking them to respond to three possible scenarios.

 Under one, they offered the usual array of solutions that they said most Westerners consider common sense, like trading land for peace. There was very little interest. Why? Most said the proposals didn’t respect their values. Israelis insisted the land was given to them by God and they could not consider giving it up. Palestinians viewed their claim to full sovereignty over Jerusalem in a similar light.

Under the second scenario, they kept the negotiating positions the same, but offered to sweeten the pot with increased foreign aid and other forms of assistance. The response from both sides to this proposal was nearly uniform disgust, as if, the authors wrote, “we had asked them to sell their children.”

The third scenario, though, offered some hints for hope. In this one, negotiations began with a gesture from each side that involved what the researchers called “a symbolic sacrifice of one of its sacred values.” For example, Palestinians were more willing to consider recognizing the right of Israel to exist if Israelis offered an official apology for Palestinian suffering in the 1948 war. Similarly, Israelis said they might be willing to consider land trades if major Palestinian groups recognized Israel’s right to exist.

What these gestures had in common was recognition of the humanity of the other side, which gave each a rightful claim on the other. Few would be foolish enough as to suggest that the Gordian knot of conflict in the Middle East could be cut with a single gesture, but the study points to a strategy that could offer dividends, one that honors and seeks to address the deeply-felt values of each side.

Similarly, it would be unreasonable to suggest that William Calley’s words alone 40 years after the event could heal the gaping wound that the My Lai massacre inflicted on both this country and the Vietnamese people. Yet, his gesture opens the door to the possibility of progress toward that goal. And the fact that the words of apology of this 66-year-old man who for so long had secluded himself from the larger world were said to have been greeted by a standing ovation by the Kiwanis members in attendance in Columbus, Georgia, is evidence of the healing power that forgiveness can have.

We need to be reminded that forgiveness is not just a response to a particular incident: it is ultimately a practice, a spiritual practice embodying a way of being in the world that acknowledges our individual fallibility and our capacity to change and grow. Over time we can learn how to accept our and others’ mistakes and make amends in meaningful ways that deepen our relationships and help us become more centered in the values that guide our lives.

Last year at this time of year we dedicated a Forgiveness Garden just outside our sanctuary leading out to the back parking lot that had been developed by our Peace and Environmental Justice group. Our hope was that by setting that garden in a prominent place where it is viewed by many entering and leaving our church building we might invite people to bring to mind the healing power of forgiveness in the work that we do here and in the larger world.

 If you haven’t taken a look at the garden in a while, I invite you to do so today as a reminder of the ongoing work of forgiveness that is part of the work that we do as a community. And just like the work of forgiveness, our garden continues to evolve. This past spring children from our Religious Education classes added more plants and built a walkway into the garden. And today, to remind us of the importance of this crucial work, I am presenting this plant from our home garden that I will dig into the garden later as a way of contributing to the growth of this challenging practice in our lives together, that in time we all may free ourselves of the burden of regret and shame from our lives.

So, as Mark Belletini urges us, let’s set it all down, you and me: the disappointments, the frustrations, the focus on foolish things. Let’s toss them, the inarticulate suspicions, the self-doubt, the grudges and gripes.

Let’s sink them all like stones, like stones in the pool of peace that is our hope for our gathered lives. Let’s support each other in this still cradle of the world, new-born, ready for anything.