In tragedy's wake,
grace visited us again,
sharing love's mercy.
Through the embrace of
compassion and forgiveness,
grace found expression.
What infinite love
can bestow on humankind
occasions wonder.
Adding prose to my weekly poem is a departure for me. However, after the families of those slaughtered in a Charleston church said they forgave the killer, I have reflected a great deal about what forgiveness means. And, it turns out that the issue of forgiveness has a great deal to do with coming to terms with MS.
First, let me address the Charleston event. For the South Carolina victim families, the heavy lifting required just to voice, "I forgive you," surely must have been overwhelmingly hard. Yet, that's what many did, leaving the rest of the world in awe of their graciousness; thereby, encouraging us to examine the nature of forgiveness and grace in our lives.
Inspired by the remarkable example of the families, I was led to ask myself, where have I failed to exercise forgiveness? The answer landed me squarely on MS' lap. We MSers struggle in varying ways while coming to terms with how MS has altered our lives. One's body seems to turn on itself destructively, which can feel like a vicious, random, and senseless attack. The impact may alter so comprehensively the person one used to be, some might say that person died.
But, who or what can we blame for that? Understandably, we turn MS into a villain toward which we direct our anger, resentment, and fear. Yet, as
Robert Parker reminds us, MS does not exist as an entity.
The irony is we end up becoming both victim and victimizer. Certainly, one loses and likely grieves for the person one used to be. However, MS could be viewed, too, as the killer who also might need forgiveness. Because how do I separate MS from who I am physically? Am I making my emotional and perhaps physical healing more difficult by viewing MS with anger and loathing? Do I then end up hating and loathing my body? If MS can assume a separate existence at all, shouldn't it be integrated affirmatively into whatever characterization I hold of my physical body? Is it necessarily a matter of It versus Me? Is there an act of forgiveness I can embrace that will limit self-destructive behavior?
In saying, "We have no room for hate. We have to forgive," what can the South Carolina families teach me? If they were able to respond so magnanimously to an act of such horror, how can I embrace their forgiving nature with respect to my MS?
I say that, thinking that following their example surely seems laudable. Yet, in a practical sense, what difference does it make for me to forgive the "entity" which destroyed my life as I knew it? What real impact does forgiving MS or the process of MS or simply my body's physical breakdown have on my life? This is especially challenging since MS will likely cause a never-ending cascade of losses and grieving. How can I forgive and move on if the process of loss seems endless?
Or is the act of forgiveness encapsulated in the following haiku, which I removed from the above poem because I wasn't sure I wholly accepted its meaning?
Remaining open
to grace's bountiful gifts
ensures renewal.
I would like to rise to such a noble sentiment. Yet, in a practical sense, I am not sure what it means. I want to avoid the hazards of what some have called "cheap grace." I am assuming those commentators were alluding to the need to keep forgiveness from being an empty act, and that forgiveness can, and perhaps should, require emotional, spiritual, and psychological hard work.
Yet, again, I am led back to the question, what does that mean for me in a practical sense?
I'm hoping you will illuminate me.
*****
I sought your counsel, and you did not disappoint. Your
comments have illuminated
me. Forgiving MS is a slippery concept, both in understanding it and in
applying it. Several among you have said they could not forgive MS.
Some have said that through their anger they gain strength in their
ability to live with MS. Others have said that perhaps it is peace we
seek, rather than forgiveness. Some believed that it is really the human
condition we need to forgive, that condition which opens us to
experiencing both joy and pain.
I'm afraid that figuring this out
may be above my pay grade. Perhaps some noticed that out of my post's
42 sentences, more than a third were questions. Even after your input, I
still have mostly questions. I remain, though, grateful for the deep
reflection this issue has generated for me and for others. I suspect
for me it will remain an open question, generating ongoing thought.
The
issue, though, perhaps boils down to, who is in control? It may seem
laughable to some that I invoke control in dealing with MS. Isn't MS,
after all, an illness over which we currently have little control other
than delaying the process of decline? True, but we have ways of
finessing that lack of control; indeed, of wresting total control from
MS or any similarly dire circumstance.
I have been fond of citing
Holocaust aurvivor Viktor Frankl's concept of the ultimate freedom,
which is the ability to choose one's attitude regardless of
circumstance. Since he developed this concept in light of the Holocaust,
I feel safe in assuming that he thought the concept applied even in
extreme circumstances, where one's life is at stake.
In the
particular case of the Charleston families, someone shared with me an
unusual take on how forgiveness possibly applied in that circumstance.
He suggested that with their apparently noble act of forgiveness, the
families (unwittingly perhaps) acted with passive-aggressive hostility
in saying to the killer that they forgave him. That is, by expressing
their forgiveness so publicly, the families essentially neutered the
killer's intention to create public pain and mayhem. Whether their
forgiveness was a passive-aggressive act or not, the point is that the
families took control of their story. They took away his power to
control their lives any more. They decided how they were going to feel,
what their attitude would be. It was their choice, not the killer's.
So
the issue of MS and forgiveness may boil down to, how does one take
control of one's story? Would forgiveness do that? Would anger?
Depression maybe? Even, as several friends have done, ending one's life?
It could be all of the above. Or none. Forgiveness, for example, could
be dismissed in favor of seeking peace or some other goal. My belief,
though, is that each person can choose freely what the attitudinal
response will be.
