Of the many quotes and Bible verses being tosses around the Internet and Twitter since the announcement of Osama Bin Laden’s death, one has risen to the top. It is actually an incorrect quote of Martin Luther King, Jr., but close enough to the real thing to warrant attention (thx to @Merobinaa for this.) The real quote is just as powerful, and might be dismissed as activist jargon if they were not hauntingly reminiscent of Christ’s words. MLK, Jr. writes
“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence and toughness multiples toughness in a descending spiral of destruction.” (from Strength to Love)
On September 11, 2001, I tried in vain to call my sister Kathy, who still lives where we grew up on Long Island. An executive at Motorola, she would often drive into the city to visit her Manhattan colleagues. When I finally reached her, I was comforted that she was safe, but experienced her tears for friends and colleagues who were lost in the attacks. We reminisced about our times in the city as kids, and I fought back tears every time I considered going back, which our family did only last year. It was a very emotional experience visiting Ground Zero.
It’s tough to imbibe the ethics of Jesus. It’s tough, particularly, in a political climate where words like “good” and “evil” can be tossed around loosely to describe whole nations and even regions of the world. Bible verses are called upon to justify whatever emotions we’re feeling. Our very basic and raw desire for revenge is satisfied in the death of one man. Facebook updates and ‘tweets’ talk of justice and jubilation. And it’s very, very difficult not to feel even a bit relieved, or perhaps even thankful, that a man who could plot something as evil as the World Trade Center attacks can no longer perpetuate evil.
And then we’re faced with Jesus. Jesus frustrated the ‘Zealots‘ of his day. Even Peter experienced this frustration. A reformed Zealot (or so we thought!), Peter cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant in a seeming act of noble Messiah-security. But Jesus quickly restored his enemy’s ear, rebuking Peter instead. This was not merely a Messiah who waxed eloquent about loving one’s enemies. When his life was on the line, he actually did it.
These things, of course, cannot be easily transformed into political policy, nor are they meant to be. But the actions of Jesus do get you thinking. For centuries after Jesus, Christians would succumb to the sword instead of taking up the sword against Rome. Why? It makes little sense. But then again, Paul would remind us that the Gospel is “foolishness.”
And then the inevitable questions come today:
Should I tell a woman who has been emotionally abused in her marriage to love her abuser?
Should I counsel a victim of sexual assault to forgive, or even to turn the other cheek?
These issues require more space, and I’ve written on this before. However, in this context, they’re worth revisiting, particularly among those who seek to follow Jesus, to become like him, to experience a life of self-sacrificial love.
As I’ve written this short blog series called Love at the Core, I’m struck more than ever by the centrality of love. And with that brings the difficulty of love. And it’s times like these that I’m quite happy not to be a politician, translating this difficult ethic into political action. Sometimes, it’s easier pontificating as a pastor in the blogosphere. What I do know, today and everyday, whether faced with OBL’s death or with the abusive spouse of a client, is that I’m compelled to wrestle with this ethic of love and forgiveness that Jesus presents.
That, I suspect, will take a lifetime to figure out. I certainly haven’t figured it out yet.