Forgiveness and the Kingdom
Two years ago, Constable Stephen Oake, a 40-year-old father of three and respected member of his local Baptist church, was stabbed to death during a counter-terrorism operation in Manchester. His father, also a career policeman, said at the time, 'I am praying for the perpetrator of this killing and seeking God's forgiveness for him - praying also that he may now seek God himself and find peace and forgiveness with him.'
Last week, the case of Abigail Witchalls, the 26-year-old mother of (now) two and a committed Catholic, who was stabbed in the neck and paralysed while walking with her young son in Surrey, was closed. The man who almost certainly committed the crime, Richard Cazaly, had killed himself shortly after the attack. Mrs Witchalls' father welcomed the announcement and said the family extended their sympathy and prayers to the Cazaly family for their loss.
This week, following the conviction of two young men for the racially motivated murder of her son, Andrew Walker, an inspiring young man from a devout Christian family, Gee Walker forgave her son's killers with these words:
'At the point of death, Jesus said: "I forgive them, they don't know what they do." I've got to forgive them - I still forgive them. My family and I still stand by what we believe - forgiveness."
These are miracles. Today's sceptical Westerners find the feeding of the 5,000 or Jesus walking on water incredible. But such acts of love, grace and mercy are no less miraculous.
Tragedies such as these demand retribution. Every moral fibre of our beings calls for vengeance. The very best we can hope for is hostile indifference.
But forgiveness like this is of another world.
Jesus told the Pharisees that the kingdom would not come 'with your careful observation'. It would not be seen by people who could point and shout, 'Here it is.' Rather, 'the kingdom of God is among you.'
The awe-inspiring example of the Oakes, the Witchalls and the Walkers show us how right he is. These terrible attacks - and, all too often, our own, instinctively hard-hearted responses to them - remind us that the victory is not yet complete. But that does not make it any less real.
Their forgiveness is a brilliant light, piercing a darkness that cannot understand it, still less overcome it. It is the light of dawn.
Nick Spencer
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