Like most values of worth, forgiveness, compassion, and mercy are simple concepts that are easy to demand of others, but harder to implement in our own lives. We all agree that the world would be a better place if there were more of these virtues on display, but are usually content with lamenting their absence than we are with actually making them a part of how we interact with others. And often when we see true acts of forgiveness and compassion, we are struck by how “unnatural” they seem.
This was my response when I read the Daniel Burke’s wonderful article about Terri Roberts. On October 6, 2006, Roberts’ son entered a schoolhouse in the Amish community of Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, and shot ten students before taking his own life. Five of the victims died, while the other five students were severely injured.
The shootings received national attention—both for their brutal and arbitrary nature, as well as for the gracious way the small Christian community treated the family of the killer, embracing them and offering forgiveness and healing. How could anyone who has suffered so much be able to show such compassion? It seemed other-worldly.
Which, of course, it was.
But the story doesn’t end there.
The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
– The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I
Like most values of worth, forgiveness, compassion, and mercy are simple concepts that are easy to demand of others, but harder to implement in our own lives. We all agree that the world would be a better place if there were more of these virtues on display, but are usually content with lamenting their absence than we are with actually making them a part of how we interact with others. And often when we see true acts of forgiveness and compassion, we are struck by how “unnatural” they seem.
This was my response when I read the Daniel Burke’s wonderful article about Terri Roberts. On October 6, 2006, Roberts’ son entered a schoolhouse in the Amish community of Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, and shot ten students before taking his own life. Five of the victims died, while the other five students were severely injured.
The shootings received national attention—both for their brutal and arbitrary nature, as well as for the gracious way the small Christian community treated the family of the killer, embracing them and offering forgiveness and healing. How could anyone who has suffered so much be able to show such compassion? It seemed other-worldly.
Which, of course, it was.
But the story doesn’t end there. Terri Roberts, a devout Christian in her own right, sought to reach out to those affected by her son’s violent act. She and her husband Chuck began inviting the surviving students and their families to their house in nearby Strasburg for picnics and teas.
Roberts was drawn in particular to Rosanna King, a student who was paralyzed in the attack. Rosanna can no longer walk, talk, or eat on her own, and requires constant care. During one of the teas, Roberts approached Rosanna’s mother and offered to assist in the little girl’s care. Since that day, Roberts has visited Rosanna almost every Thursday, helping to clean her, change her clothes, and to read Bible stories to her.
“She’s got to be an awful strong woman to be able to do that,” said Christ King, Rosanna’s father. “Some of the evenings that Terri is there, Rosanna has a rough time or cries a lot. You can’t help but think about what happened and why she is like she is. I don’t know that I’d be that strong.”
When reading Terri’s story, it is easy to compare the responses of the Amish families and Terri Roberts with what would be “natural.” It would be “natural” for the victims’ families to be angry and bitter about what happened, and to project some of that anger on the parents of the man who committed this unspeakable crime. It would be “natural” for the mother of the killer to seek as much distance from the situation as possible, and to avoid any contact with those who have suffered as a result of her son’s actions.
The truth of the matter—the behavior of both the Amish and the Roberts was unnatural. In reality, it was supernatural—fruit of the Spirit bestowed by a God who displayed his mercy, compassion, and forgiveness by giving His son as a sacrifice for mankind. Human nature does not allow for such compassion, and to see it taking place is to see divine work being done through human vessels.
In The Merchant of Venice, Portia wants to deliver Antonio, indebted to the merchant Shylock who seeks his “pound of flesh.” In her plea to Shylock, Portia states that such mercy falls from heaven as a gift from God. It cannot be compelled, yet its presence ultimately benefits both the giver and the recipient. As wonderfully demonstrated in this case, the blessings of mercy are profound, bringing peace and comfort into a world of conflict and pain.