I read a very positive book recently that I strongly recommend for our times, especially as we are about to enter the season of Advent. 'Called to Forgive' by Anthony B. Thompson is the story of the hurtful experience of the Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston, South Carolina. On a warm evening in June 2015, a young white supremacist, Dylann Roof took part in a bible study class in a traditionally African American place of worship. It was the ultimate act of blasphemy as Roof took part in the discussion of scripture and had the experience of being made unconditionally welcome by this community of faith. An hour later nine free people were dead, victims of hatred and bitterness. He left the massacre after telling the only survivor that he would commit suicide and needed her to tell the story to the world; his racial madness was motivated by his cry that 'they have to go!' How many times have we heard that very same statement directed at anyone who may be different? The person of colour? The refugee? The one who goes to a different place of worship? We hear these words of hate, but Roof, the young, misguided man, empowered by hate groups on the web and easy access to a Glock 41, was arrested the following day-obviously re-thinking his suicide threat.

In the ensuing enquiry, it was found that Roof was groomed by fellow racists who encouraged his hatred of anyone who was not white or Christian. I really do have to wonder about the faith of those 'Christians' who deny our Jewish heritage and who show none of the tolerance and acceptance of Jesus. The detailed FBI investigation showed that his radicalisation was entirely conducted online showing up the horrors of the dark web. People were also very well aware of the hateful and racist rhetoric that was being used in the 2016 Presidential election campaign. Our leaders and public figures have a great responsibility to ensure balance in their use of language. Now I am not saying that this excessive campaign language caused the deaths of the Charleston Nine, but it certainly did not help build up a community of tolerance. Empowered by fellow racist cowards forming an online community of hate in an atmosphere of political negativity, Dylann Roof was found guilty of murder, attempted murder and hate crimes; remorse or sorrow does not seem to be part of his vocabulary as he chillingly wrote, "I would like to make it crystal clear, I do not regret what I did. I am not sorry. I have not shed a tear for the innocent people I killed." ('New York Times' 04/01/2020).

In 2019, the basketball player Stephen Curry and the actress Viola Davis joined together to produce a documentary film, 'Emanuel', about the church massacre. Anthony Thompson published his personal account: 'Called to Forgive.' Thompson dedicated his book to the memory of the Emanuel Nine, including his wife Myra, the leader of the Bible study group that Roof had joined. For years Myra had studied to become a minister and that very night had finally received her preaching license. The fateful Bible study at Emmanuel church was the first that she led—and the last.

The book and film both show us a community steeped in years of racist violence and hate—but it is also a community that offer us a way forward. Thompson freely admits his angry past. He tells of the person he used to be: an angry black man who worked for twenty-five years in the South Carolina Department of Parole and Probation, where he had been the butt of racial insults and discrimination. Along the way he met God, and his life turned around. Thompson quit his job, studied theology, and became a pastor. Now he was left without his wife of sixteen years, a victim of a hate crime. He speaks of his anger and desire for retribution, but the haunting message of Jesus interrupted his prayer of anger: "Father, forgive them" (Lk 23: 34). Over the next few days Rev. Thompson thought back to other scenes of forgiveness. The Amish people in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, who embraced the family of the man who had shot ten of their schoolchildren. Corrie ten Boom, who came to forgive the guard who had abused her in a Nazi concentration camp. Jesus' disciple, the Deacon Stephen, who forgave his killers even as they were stoning him to death. He experienced that call to repentance that John the Baptist preached and lies deeply at the heart of the season of Advent. What was he going to do? He was aware that this shooting could spark a whole series of revenge attacks that would lead to open violence and a blood bath on the streets of Charleston. There were so many precedents that Roof's actions could trigger yet another cycle of never-ending race hatred. Someone had to make a stand.

Thompson was invited to give a victim impact statement and while he had not even planned to attend the hearing until his children begged him to go. In the packed courtroom, Thompson slowly walked to the podium, staring at Dylann Roof's face on the flat-screen monitor.

"I forgive you," he said to Dylann. "And my family forgives you. But we would like you to take this opportunity to repent. Repent. Confess. Give your life to the One who matters the most: Jesus Christ, so that he can change it and change your attitude."

Sadly, there was no 'Damascus Road' conversation for Roof, but it did bring about a radical change in the community. That public act of forgiveness helped to set a tone of reconciliation. The Charleston authorities had braced themselves for protests and riots in the shooting's aftermath. They did not happen. There were no arrests, no assaults, and no bloodshed. Instead, more than 15,000 people of all colours and faiths joined hands, creating a human chain that stretched for two miles across a bridge connecting Charleston to a nearby white community—a visible sign of reconciliation and peace. At his wife's funeral, the State Governor, Nicki Haley proclaimed, "Myra Thompson taught our state and country how to love; Anthony, you and your family taught our state and our country how to forgive."

In these unusual times, perhaps past hurts have resurfaced, or you have experienced acts of bitterness, jealousy and hatred. What happened in Charleston shows the power of forgiveness, the power of grace. In our own lives, each of us will face times—with a spouse, with children, or an employer, or neighbour—when we feel wronged. At such a time forgiveness may seem utterly impossible. Maybe it is, without that unconditional love, forgiveness and support of God.

Forgiveness is not an option, no matter how hard it might be. If we need that forgiveness of God in our own lives, then we have a duty to share it too. It does not mean that wicked people like Roof do not have to face punishment for their crimes; rather we cannot allow the rhetoric and actions of evil to control our lives. The great poet Alexander Pope reminds us that 'to err is human and to forgive is divine.' We are all flawed human beings. In relationships, mistakes –the biggies and the not-so-biggies –happen. They often lead to disagreement, strife, sorrow, or a sense of betrayal. Forgiveness is human too, despite what the eminent Mr. Pope had to say! Though you may think of God as the final dispenser of forgiveness, you and I have the power to forgive as well. Doing so can help us avoid bitterness and resentment and often will salvage a relationship. The 'Charleston Massacre' unusually led to the 'Charleston Forgiveness'—a universal action that we can all learn from. It lets us regain our personal power. Our anger, regret, hatred, or resentment towards someone means that we are giving up our power to that person. Think of a chain around your neck, held by the one who wronged you. Until you can forgive, you cannot break that chain and the person will still have an unhealthy hold on you. Forgiveness is for our own growth and happiness. When we hold on to hurt, pain, resentment, and anger it harms us far more than it harms the offender. Anthony B Thompson learnt this lesson in the hardest way possible, as he relates in the book:

I forgave Dylann because I was called to forgive. I believe forgiveness recognizes that the love of God is more powerful than white racist hatred. When I made the conscious decision and commitment to forgive Dylann Roof, my forgiveness meant that Dylann would not be allowed to control my life forever. My decision came from God's strength, not from my human weakness.

As we all enjoy this new season of peace and goodwill, we can reach out to those who need our forgiveness—those who have hurt us deeply. We also need to remember to be open to receive forgiveness too: I know I have harmed and hurt family and friends. What better time for me to beg that forgiveness too.? This prayer of Pope Francis for mercy can be ours today:

Loving Jesus, you are the visible face of the invisible Father, of the God who manifests his power above all by forgiveness and mercy: let the Church be your visible face in the world, its Lord risen and glorified.

You willed that your ministers would also be clothed in weakness in order that they may feel compassion for those in ignorance and error:

Let everyone who approaches them feel sought after, loved, and forgiven by God.

Send your Spirit and consecrate every one of us with its anointing, and your Church, with renewed enthusiasm, may bring good news to the poor, proclaim liberty to captives and the oppressed,

and restore sight to the blind.

We ask this through the intercession of Mary, Mother of Mercy,

you who live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit for ever and ever.

Amen

Author: Fr Gerry O'Shaughnessy SDB

Image: Photo by Dương Hữu on Unsplash