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Iran
I have a six-year-old son who, despite my best efforts, is obsessed with guns and shooting. My only brother was murdered by fanatics in 1980 during the Islamic revolution that swept through Iran. Bahram was shot in the head when he was 24 for no other reason than that our father was a convert to Christianity and Bishop of the tiny Persian Anglican church. His killers walked free and justice was never done. I have good reason, therefore, for wanting to ban toy guns from the house and I have explained these to my son repeatedly. But my adult logic simply doesn’t wash. “It’s only pretend.” he argues, designing his latest weapon from a piece of wood, a half-eaten sandwich or anything else that comes to hand.
Gabriel’s behaviour and that of little boys the world over, seems to suggest that violence lurks within us all. At some level, this particularly boyish phase points an accusing finger at humanity. A propensity for violence is part of human nature. Perhaps it is circumstances and life experience that determine why, for some, childish make-believe turns to cruel reality in a variety of forms. I and my family have been victims of violence. Who knows whether, if my life had been different, I might have become a perpetrator. “There but for the grace of God…” This is not to excuse the violence, for to some degree we each bear responsibility for our actions. Rather, it is to try and understand the depths of depravity to which humanity can sink and in understanding, to keep hatred at bay and allow new possibilities to emerge.
In my family, whilst tears and anger and a deep sense of loss have undoubtedly played a part, over the years we have tried not to succumb to bitterness and hatred. This has meant a struggle with the Christian call to forgive. Not because forgiveness is the easy option but because it is the most compelling. Ultimately, as with all sin, only God can forgive the act of murder itself. For our part, we choose to forgive the wrong done to us and in so doing we free ourselves to remember Bahram unconstrained by bitterness and to live our lives unencumbered by hatred.
Each of us needs God’s forgiveness – a gift freely given, to be shared. How can we accept it for ourselves if we do not even try to offer it to others? No one ever said it would be easy or pain-free. Suffering and forgiveness are not religious clichés, cheaply bandied around until it becomes too difficult. They are, rather, fundamental to Christianity which has the cross as its central symbol. Suffering and forgiveness, whilst costly and painful, bring us nearer to Christ and give us an insight into the Good Friday story which leads eventually from agony to the joy of Easter day.
I was 13 when my brother was killed and it is only in adulthood that I have begun to ponder these things for myself. At the time, together with my sisters, we were led by the example of our parents who displayed for us a pattern of Christian forgiveness. Through the pain of grief, religious sentiments became living faith. Forgiveness brought the ability to banish hatred and continue loving when all seemed lost. For my own three children, my hope is that when they have outgrown the desire to play with toy guns, this reality will shine through for them.
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