Corrie Ten Boom was a Dutch christian, an ordinary person, in an ordinary family, strong papa, dear mama, loving sisters. Their lives were flowing by with nothing of any great importance happening. And Corrie had every reason to believe she would reach the end of her life having lived a quiet, humble life. Then World War 2 happened and the Nazis swept into Holland and occupied it, dispatching the Jews and anyone who aided them. The quiet life ended. Corrie joined the underground, at age 45, and her family ended up hiding Jews in a secret space in their home. One of those women became so frightened she left the hiding place and made it known to one of the boy soldiers in their neighborhood. He was their childhood friend. And he gave them up. The family was arrested, thrown into a train with the town's Jews, and landed at Auschwitz. Papa, Mama, sisters, brother, nieces, nephews - all were sent to the ovens upon arrival. Only Corrie and her sister Betsy survived to go through events that even a horror writer's imagination couldn't conceive. Betsy died two years later, and Corrie survived until rescued by the Americans. She went on, for the rest of her life, as a speaker, healer, recounter of the Holocaust from her perspective as a Christian.
This is one of the stories she tells in her book, The Hiding Place. She was speaking at a meeting in America, four years after the war, telling her story. Urging the audience to forgive as God forgives us, not to hold hatred or grudges against the wicked, but to seek to bring them back from their darkness. When she was finished, a handsome young man came up to her and in a German accent told her this - he had been a guard at Auschwitz and had done evil. After the war he had come across some Christians who had ministered to him and he had completely repented and changed his life. He put out his hand and said, "I would like to ask your forgiveness and shake your hand as a brother in Christ." Corrie looked closer. She saw that he was indeed one of the guards who had beaten her sister and taken pleasure in the inmate's pain. Corrie was paralyzed. She felt hatred well up, pictures of the vile things he had done to her and her sister. She had visions of revenge. She most certainly was not going to shake his hand as if nothing had happened. And then, a strange thing happened. She thought, "God I can't shake his hand. If you want to, fine, but I won't." And with that, without any conscious motion on her part, her arm rose, her hand went out, the man took it and burst into tears. "Please, please, forgive me!" he begged. Corrie said everything changed. The coldness broke open and she embraced him as a brother.
This week, two young men, ordinary boys, living ordinary lives, friends, parents, extended family, education, a wife and child came to a boundary. They could choose this way or that way. One way to a constructive life, the other to destruction. For whatever reason, they chose destruction. Six months ago, a young boy, mentally ill, consumed by video games, executed 26 children in a school. He too had a choice at some point in his life, as did his parents, and he too chose the way of death instead of life.
We're supposed to hate them. I know what I think 'they' should do to them. I know what popular knowledge says should happen. But I just can't. Not because they aren't evil, and deadly, because they are and the events they caused are going down in history as holocausts. I don't take that lightly. But I don't want to be the person who hates, or judges. I can't carry that around with me. On a smaller scale, I've been a criminal, making the choice to do the destructive thing, stepping over that boundary with terrible consequences for someone else. And along with the regret I will always carry, I can't also carry the burden of knowing I'm not forgiven even though I've repented.
So I do the motion. I put my hand out. And hope the emotion follows.
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