Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy (24 page)
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Authors: Donald B. Kraybill,Steven M. Nolt,David L. Weaver-Zercher
BOOK: Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy
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A second perspective holds that while God has given humans freedom of choice, God retains ultimate control and sometimes wills or allows certain things to happen for particular purposes. Although these purposes may not be obvious at the moment, if one were to have God’s big-picture perspective, one could see how something bad in the present will eventually be part of a greater good.
A third approach to this problem is similar to the second but wrapped in more ambiguity. It basically says this: evil happens in the world under God’s watch, and human beings will never know why. This view draws on the biblical book of Job. In it, a suffering man named Job listens to three friends explain to him why he is undergoing adversity. In the end, God scoffs at their explanations and challenges Job to consider his finite status relative to the One who created the universe. Job can respond with only, “Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee?” (Job 40:4).
There are of course other solutions to the problem of evil. The most prominent of these is an outright rejection of God’s existence. Many atheists have cited the problem of evil as grounds for their unbelief, asserting that a God who allows suffering is not God in any meaningful sense. We do not wish to belittle the objections of those who, after wrestling with the problem of evil, find belief in God impossible. Nevertheless, the Amish have not found that conclusion thinkable, let alone attractive. In all our conversations after the shooting, not one Amish person questioned the existence of a loving God. What then did the Amish say about God’s providence in the face of this horrific event?
Unlike some religious traditions, the Amish do not place a high priority on systematic theological reflection. They do affirm the Dordrecht Confession of Faith, an Anabaptist statement written in 1632. This confession, reviewed by bishops with those preparing for baptism, says that “there is one eternal, almighty, and incomprehensible God.” The confession also asserts that God “continues to rule and maintain his creation by his wisdom and by the power of his word.” By confessing that God governs the world and yet is ultimately incomprehensible, Dordrecht provides some clues to the Amish view of providence, yet the ideas it expresses are hardly unique to the Amish tradition.
To gain more insight into the Amish view of God’s providence, we interviewed people and read their letters in two Amish correspondence newspapers,
The Budget
and
Die Botschaft
. To this vexing question about God’s providence, Amish people offered various answers, many of which were similar to other Christians’ responses to tragedy. At the same time, the Amish emphasized the Old Order view of God’s providence, a view that facilitated the Amish ability to forgive the killer.
The Budget
and
Die Botschaft
. To this vexing question about God’s providence, Amish people offered various answers, many of which were similar to other Christians’ responses to tragedy. At the same time, the Amish emphasized the Old Order view of God’s providence, a view that facilitated the Amish ability to forgive the killer.
If there was one overriding theme that emerged in the correspondence newspapers, it was this: God was in charge. “What can one say?” asked a woman in her letter to
Die Botschaft
less than a week after the shooting. She answered confidently: “God is still in control.” “We trust him, yes,” said another writer, even though “what happened that Monday was enough to shake a person up, nerves and all.”
Die Botschaft
less than a week after the shooting. She answered confidently: “God is still in control.” “We trust him, yes,” said another writer, even though “what happened that Monday was enough to shake a person up, nerves and all.”
Despite the affirmations, the Nickel Mines shooting brought hard questions into sharp focus. In a discussion we had with several people around a kitchen table in an Amish home, one person suggested that the shooting was part of God’s plan. That assertion set off a vigorous debate between two brothers in their sixties about whether God causes things to happen or just allows them to happen: “Can angels stop things?” “If everything is preplanned, why pray?” “Do our prayers change God’s mind?” “Was this a battle of good and evil that touched down at Nickel Mines like a violent tornado?” The wide-ranging discussion produced no conclusions as they struggled with the questions. But even the person who thought the tragedy was part of a “plan” was not ready to say that God had
willed
it. In fact, a preacher at the funeral for one of the slain children was very clear: “It’s not God’s will that people kill each other,” he declared.
willed
it. In fact, a preacher at the funeral for one of the slain children was very clear: “It’s not God’s will that people kill each other,” he declared.
Human choice was a theme that emerged in circles of conversation across the Amish community as members searched for answers to explain the nagging questions. A middle-aged Amish mother was emphatic: “It wasn’t God’s will. God doesn’t intervene and stop all the evil in the world. God doesn’t stop people from making evil choices.” “We have free will,” offered a grandfather, “and the Devil also has things in his mind too.” Others underscored that point but often added, “But God doesn’t make mistakes.”
How could these two views—God did not will the killing but God was in control—be reconciled? Many Amish believe that God allowed the shooting to occur but then brought some greater good out of it. Bishop Eli recounted a conversation he had with one of the families who lost a daughter at Nickel Mines: “I have no idea what good will come from the event, but perhaps some.” Many others agreed that God could bring good from dreadful circumstances. “It wasn’t His will that someone would do such an awful thing,” wrote a correspondent in
Die Botschaft,
“but He only allowed what He chose to allow, and hopefully it can be used for our spiritual good.”
Die Botschaft,
“but He only allowed what He chose to allow, and hopefully it can be used for our spiritual good.”
As they sought to solve the riddle of divine providence, Amish people frequently cited the example of Jesus’ death on the cross. “Where was God when the school shooting happened?” asked one bishop. “I like to say he was at the same place he was when Jesus died on the cross.” A building contractor explained it this way: “When Jesus died for us, it was a bad thing, but he did it to help us. Look how much good came out. The shooting was evil, but the good that came out touched a lot of people.”
One Amish woman found a parallel in the New Testament book of Matthew. Recalling that King Herod had slaughtered “little children . . . in Bethlehem long ago,” an act that “God allowed to happen,” this woman wrote, “We don’t know why, but [we] do believe He can make good come out of all such happenings.” Amish elders concurred: “[God] will not force everyone to be good. But He will bring good out of every situation, if we allow Him to do so—no matter how evil the deed.” A letter in
Die Botschaft
suggested that family members’ deaths were God’s way of turning the minds of survivors heavenward. “If our precious family circle never was broken here below,” offered the writer in rhyming verse, “would we truly long for heaven where our loved ones we shall know?” Someone else cited the fact that two outsiders who had been embroiled in a conflict were reconciled by the story of forgiveness.
Die Botschaft
suggested that family members’ deaths were God’s way of turning the minds of survivors heavenward. “If our precious family circle never was broken here below,” offered the writer in rhyming verse, “would we truly long for heaven where our loved ones we shall know?” Someone else cited the fact that two outsiders who had been embroiled in a conflict were reconciled by the story of forgiveness.
A few Amish people, revealing a somewhat more evangelical bent than most of their fellow church members, advanced more specific reasons for why God might allow such an evil event to transpire. Pointing to the way the story of Amish forgiveness had been reported around the world in the shooting’s aftermath, one man observed, “The Lord works in mysterious ways. Is this his way of spreading the Word?” Another man told us that “an atheist wrote to us and wanted to know more about forgiveness.”
A mother who lost a daughter in the shooting summed up her own feelings, and likely those of many other Amish people, in these words: “Knowing that the forgiveness story has touched so many lives around the world has helped the healing process for me because we know the girls didn’t die in vain. It might have been a lot harder to accept all of this if the forgiveness story hadn’t happened.”
Despite searching for answers to the problem of evil, every Amish person with whom we spoke deferred in the end to divine mystery. With typical Amish humility, they all recognized that they did not know why this event had happened or, with certainty, what good might come from it. “Every religion has mystery,” said an Amish craftsman. “I like to say a religion without mystery is like a wagon without wheels.”
Indeed, although the Amish wrestle with questions of providence, they are not inclined toward endless speculation and do not expect to find answers to the theological questions they have. Not only do they wish to avoid the spiritual perils that sometimes come with theological speculation, but their willingness to give up questioning—another form of
uffgevva,
of giving up—also, in fact, fits their notion of God’s providence. “We must stop asking questions,” said one Amish person. “We will never have all the answers.” Some Amish ministers made the point even more emphatically: “We should not put a question mark where God puts a period.”
uffgevva,
of giving up—also, in fact, fits their notion of God’s providence. “We must stop asking questions,” said one Amish person. “We will never have all the answers.” Some Amish ministers made the point even more emphatically: “We should not put a question mark where God puts a period.”
A mother of school-age girls told us that the minister who gave the main sermon at one of the funerals compared the Amish community to Job, who early on in his suffering demanded an explanation from God. The minister acknowledged that it is only human to want explanations for suffering, but he urged his listeners to “stop asking questions,” for “we will never have all the answers for why it happened.” A man writing later in
Die Botschaft
echoed the minister’s counsel: “Some things in life we may never understand [so] let’s leave it all where it belongs, to a Higher hand.” He concluded his correspondence with these thoughts: “Death is in the Lord’s hands. The shooting was in the Lord’s hands. There’s a higher power and we simply need to bow down to it.”
Die Botschaft
echoed the minister’s counsel: “Some things in life we may never understand [so] let’s leave it all where it belongs, to a Higher hand.” He concluded his correspondence with these thoughts: “Death is in the Lord’s hands. The shooting was in the Lord’s hands. There’s a higher power and we simply need to bow down to it.”
It was not surprising that Amish attempts to find purpose in tragedy or to decipher why God might stop, permit, or endorse evil ended at the door of mystery. Not only did Job of old end up at that same door, but so do the learned theologians of today. What was different about the Amish response was not that they were willing to place their confidence in a higher power to manage the mysteries of the universe, but that they were willing to “ bow down to it” so quickly. Like the swift forgiveness itself, they were quick to say, “Thy will be done.” These words in the Lord’s Prayer flash across Amish minds frequently, especially when they face situations in which they are vulnerable. A seventy-year-old grandmother said that the phrase “is on my mind all the time. If I go on the road in the carriage I say it subconsciously all the time.”
Uffgevva,
in the words of one bishop, means “submitting to God’s perfect will.” It means not fighting or striving against God. One bishop paraphrased a few lines from one of his favorite German hymns to explain submission to God’s will: “God, you let it be so.Who are we to strive against you? Even if the tears fall, let it be so.” Another Amish elder emphasized the importance of submitting to God’s will quickly: “ The quicker you give up, the better things go. In our way of life it takes a lot of giving up.”
in the words of one bishop, means “submitting to God’s perfect will.” It means not fighting or striving against God. One bishop paraphrased a few lines from one of his favorite German hymns to explain submission to God’s will: “God, you let it be so.Who are we to strive against you? Even if the tears fall, let it be so.” Another Amish elder emphasized the importance of submitting to God’s will quickly: “ The quicker you give up, the better things go. In our way of life it takes a lot of giving up.”
Despite their simple trust in God’s will, the Amish are not mired in fatalism. For example, Amish women who own craft shops make strategic decisions every day. They plan, organize, and seek new markets for their products. Nevertheless, in the religious realm of life they exercise patience, and are willing to live without demanding answers from God. In a letter to one of us, an Old Order woman described
Gelassenheit
this way: “It’s a yieldedness to whatever God sends. Especially an untimely death of a loved one or a long-term sickness, but also the weather—drought, floods, extreme heat or cold, crop failure, missing the market, disease in animals, hail, fire [and so forth].” She concluded, “We don’t pray for rain. We wait for rain, and when it comes, we thank God for it.”
Gelassenheit
this way: “It’s a yieldedness to whatever God sends. Especially an untimely death of a loved one or a long-term sickness, but also the weather—drought, floods, extreme heat or cold, crop failure, missing the market, disease in animals, hail, fire [and so forth].” She concluded, “We don’t pray for rain. We wait for rain, and when it comes, we thank God for it.”
The Anabaptist emphasis on nonretaliation, love for the enemy, and defenselessness places the responsibility for punishment squarely on God rather than on humans. The sixteenth-century martyrs could die unjustly—and without attempts by others to avenge their deaths—precisely because they believed that ultimate justice lay on God’s desk. This long-term view of justice is in part what frees the Amish to forgive on earth. The Amish cite a passage in the New Testament book of Romans in which the Apostle Paul writes that we should not avenge ourselves but leave vengeance in God’s hands. In fact, Paul takes it one step further: we are to feed our enemies if they are hungry and give them something to drink if they are thirsty. “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good,” he writes (Romans 12:17-21).
Amish humility and their willingness to turn justice over to God sharply diverges from some hungry calls for revenge by outsiders. One English observer said he wanted Roberts’s ashes tossed into a dumpster. Never once in our conversations with Amish people did we hear calls for vengeance—not even God’s vengeance—against Charles Roberts. This stands in stark contrast to a parent’s response to a college dormitory fire in New Jersey in which three students died. Speaking at the sentencing for the young men who set the fire, the parent of one of victims warned the arsonists, “You will face a higher court one day, and when that day comes, the sentence of that court will be that you both rot in hell together.”
Even if some Amish people privately thought that the deceased gunman was condemned to eternal punishment, we never heard expressions of satisfaction or vindication about it. The people we spoke with expressed typical Amish humility on this point. “I am overcome with sadness that Roberts’s life ended without the opportunity for repentance,” said the mother of one of the slain girls. “I can’t say anything about Roberts in eternity,” said an Amish craftsman. “Only God knows. I wish him [Roberts] the same as I wish for myself.” When a Canadian Amish minister was asked by an English acquaintance shortly after the shooting, “Don’t you think the killer is burning in hell?” the minister was similarly noncommittal. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Only God can judge. All I can tell you is that I would not want to stand before God having done what that man did. But how God has judged him, I can’t say.”
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