Voices from Rwanda

Voices from Rwanda Forgiveness in the TrencheS

It’s been 16 years since a horrific genocide tore like a forest fire through Rwanda, leaving over 800,000 dead in 100 days. Faced with overcrowded prisons and a 150-year backlog of untried killers, in 2003 Rwandan President Paul Kagame began releasing elderly, sick, and “common” (not ringleaders) Hutu killers and looters who confessed their crimes. To date approximately 60,000 have been released, returning to their villages where many now live next door to their Tutsi victims and their families. Many of these have been tried in gacaca court, the traditional people’s court. Out of the ashes has risen a small but spreading movement of forgiveness and even reconciliation. The process is slow, ongoing, and extremely costly for both victims and perpetrators. The Rwandan people bravely offer up their nation as a learning laboratory for reconciliation, helping the whole world come to grips with such questions as “What is forgiveness?” and “How do we forgive?” Here we assemble a handful of those voices — victims, pastors, researchers — and ask what the Western church can learn from Rwanda’s tragedy and triumphs.

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made my mind sick. I would try to remember them, to honor them, all by name: Mutegwamaso Drocelle… Muvubyi Emmanuel… Nyiramajigija Verediane… Kanakuze Mediatrice… Umutesi Chouchou… Muhongayire… I would not allow myself to forget even one, no matter how distant a relative they were. Bitterness felt like my right as a survivor. I savored its flavor, and though I thought it was nourishing my broken heart, it was a kind of poison that God had to expel. When I heard my pastor share the gospel, the battle in me started. I knew God was asking the unthinkable. If I wanted God to forgive me of my sin, I would have to forgive the enemy. After attending Restoration Church for a time, I would leave feeling so encouraged by the speakers who came to minister to us. They spoke often of how God could heal and mend our brokenness and of the deep love of God. I desperately needed to know of God’s love. Hearing countless messages about the need to forgive others was hard to swallow. I knew it was God speaking, but I did not want to confront this truth.When the apostle John ate God’s Word in Revelation, some of it tasted bitter and even gave him stomach pains (Rev. 10:10). Much like this, as a new believer, I was learning quickly that God’s Word comforts but also disciplines. The various servants of God who came to speak to us knew our country’s history; they knew we were in need of restored hearts. God would often lay on their hearts the medicinal words we needed, which was most often a word about true forgiveness. Initially, when a visiting pastor from a foreign country came to preach on forgiveness, it would sting twice as much, though I knew it was true. Such sermons were not

“SeventyTimes Seven” A genocide survivor recounts how he found the will to forgive b y E ric I riv u z u m u gabe

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but 70 times seven.” Matthew 18:21–22 I remember my first encounter with a Hutu after genocide. I was walking down the street, and I felt overcome with anger and panic. My breath stopped as we passed by one another. I was particularly fearful whenever I would have to pass by more than one Hutu walking together. I tried to come up with a rational view of humanity. Perhaps God created mankind in two types — those who are good and those who are bad. I knew instinctively such a conclusion was too simplistic. But at that point in my life I was not able to see that God also created Hutus in his image. But then I would hear of Hutus who rescued Tutsis during genocide, so I was left with unresolved theories. Some can show mercy? Some risked their own life for Tutsis? More and more evidence said that not every Hutu supported genocide. The segregation among Rwandese was obvious when people started returning to their villages. Our country was in a relational crisis.You could see the bitterness on the faces of Tutsis and the shame in the eyes of Hutus. Tutsis were struggling to just survive a day, as their possessions had been plundered. Hutus were trying to figure out how to approach coexisting with Tutsis. Such difficulties seemed irreconcilable, so we lived separate lives. Eventually we would have to face each other. Throughout the long months following genocide, I found myself trying to get a stronger grip on all the memories I had of my cousins, great-aunts, sisters, and other family members. The thought of forgetting anyone who was killed

Eric Irivuzumugabe and his brother Mogabo sitting on the steps at the government site where their mother and baby brother were shot and their mother died.

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“To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, b easily accepted by genocide survivors. Understandably, we felt entitled to not trust, to not offer forgiveness. History was on our side in our suspicions. But God began to show me that healing had to happen in me before I could even attempt to forgive. As I opened more of myself to God, I experienced more healing. And soon he began to point me toward the walls I had set up in my heart. He showed me they were a false security, walls created by genocide. I was beginning to believe I didn’t have to live this way and I really could be free. For a time it seemed I could feel a healing happening deep within me. I tried to fiercely trust God and surrendered to him all the hate I had tried to hide in my heart. God’s plan for my life was about more than my job, my ministry, or any title I would pursue — it was about making me whole. Everything God was asking me to do, I felt a freedom to obey him and do, as a child of God, not a victim. More and more I wanted to fulfill his will, not my own — even when it meant going beyond the restricting walls I had built within. As I became more involved at church, I found myself in common circles with a Hutu named Comrade Uwamungu. We met through our youth fellowship at church. I was not naturally inclined to seek out a Hutu’s companionship, but I also knew that true peace would not come until I learned to be open and welcome the relationships God was placing in front of me. I was fighting with the Spirit, who was telling me that my true family was found within the body of Christ. I had been comfortable with just loving God and not necessarily those God wanted me to love. Slowly I began to see that God was doing something unexplainable in me. I wanted to be Comrade’s friend. As we grew closer, Comrade and I talked about what had happened to our country. He openly showed his grief for me as he intently listened to me share the circumstances that I had to overcome as a victim. When I saw his deep concern toward me, our friendship grew. The Holy Spirit continued to speak to me about him, telling me to seek his friendship. Still I continued to argue in my heart with God. I kept reminding God that even Hutu Christians were killers during genocide. How could he expect me to pursue a relationship with someone who might kill me? But then I heard God speak to me in a way that silenced my rebuttals. God said, “Eric, I did speak to the Christian Hutus during genocide, but they did not listen to me. That is why Christians acted the same as those who did not know me. If you do not listen to me, you are just like the Christian Hutus of genocide.” That day I accepted and obeyed the Holy Spirit concerning my view of Hutus. When I opened my heart to both Hutus and Tutsis — to Comrade — God began sending people

“I want you to know of my struggle so that you too many feel the call to forgive.” Eric Irivuzumugabe

to me just to say, “Eric, I love you as a brother in Christ.” Such affirmation was enabling me to also open my heart to love, which had not been possible before. Comrade is one of my closest friends today, and we still pray together.What had once seemed impossible to me continues to happen again and again in my church. I’m in a place in my life where healthy relationships are growing.The tribal lines are becoming blurry, and we are moving toward God’s plan of being known as just Rwandans — God’s people. If you personally have been profoundly hurt by another person, it’s tempting to want to hold on to the anger and the pain. Maybe you, like me, have been hurt by someone you thought was safe. Perhaps you are afraid to offer trust to one reaching out to you. I believe relational pain is the slowest kind to heal. A price must be paid to hold on to bitterness; a price must be paid when we open our hearts to forgiving others. God wants so much more for the brokenhearted than for us to be paralyzed by sorrow and hurt. He wants us to lean hard into him, past the pain. He will lead you beyond your suffering as he begins to show the blessing that is beyond the struggle. Have you ever thought of your trials and your enemies as a path toward God’s will for your life? When we move our eyes off the enemy, we can see the other side of our pain and allow God to make us new people. Forgiveness takes prayer and time. Relationships are messy because we are all sinners. Who is God asking you to forgive? Even before Jesus took his last breath on the cross, he asked his heavenly Father to “forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). I want you to know of my struggle so that you too may feel the call to forgive. Bitterness can rob you of all God has for you. I believe my life was spared in part to offer a message of forgiveness to others. Perhaps you have turned your heart away from God because of unexplainable hurt without realizing it, as I once did.You may have shouted out in anger at God, “Where were you when I needed your protection? Where were you when you could have easily stopped the

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ecause God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.” C.S. Lewis can offer. Any survivor knows that complete reconciliation can’t come without forgiveness, and for that we have to appeal to the supernatural strength of God. n

enemy from harming me?” I am here to tell you that he hears your cries for mercy, though you may feel like they fall on deaf ears. He sees your pain. He sovereignly sees. And he is much bigger than our passing feelings that we think give us control. Because of our humanness, often we feel we cannot forgive unless we fully understand. But often God asks us to let go of our need to know the unexplainable and simply trust. The reality I face every day is that genocide is an unexplainable evil — one of the most complex strategies of hate the enemy has ever invented. As the days pass, God continues to give me a better understanding of my own fallenness and my desperate need for his mercy. No earthly justice I can come up with would look like God’s love, and that is something I trust beyond my finite mind. When I decided to become a Christian, I knew the Bible taught that our salvation comes at a price — it means forgiving “70 times seven.” This is my cross to bear. I feel now a different kind of dilemma. Genocide left me with faceless enemies. I can’t look the Interahamwe (the Hutu paramilitary organization) in the eyes and seek reconciliation, as many fled or are in prison. It is easier to be mad at an abstract group of deranged radicals than it is to confront a killer face-to-face.This was a real strategy of the radical Hutus. They killed in groups so no one had to face this responsibility as an individual. They also hid, seeing themselves as faceless killers not individually guilty of genocide. So I too have hid behind hating a mass of killers, not wanting to be confronted with the real face of an individual Hutu. Still I pray God will show me fully what forgiveness looks like. Perhaps one day I may meet one of the killers face-to-face. But mostly they still remain faceless enemies that I witnessed in masses while I was in hiding. I desire to love the faceless Hutus I have not met who tried to kill my brother, who killed my mother, who killed my sisters. I must see them as individual people in need of God’s grace. Slowly, God is helping me to see them as real people who are in need of his forgiveness too. They too bear the image of God. Mother Teresa once said, “Hitler was also an image bearer of God.” I’m learning that God’s capacity to love unconditionally is above my understanding of love and forgiveness. I know I’m not there yet. God isn’t asking me to dismiss my pain and just blindly trust and move on. He is just asking me to let go of my false crutches of security and let him protect my heart. For this part of my story reminds me of the growth I still have ahead of me, where I feel most vulnerable. God continues to challenge me to trust and to forgive. I am confident that he will continue to teach me about the mysteries of forgiveness, the most difficult lesson for a genocide survivor. To my surprise, I’m finding that forgiveness is one of the greatest gifts a victim

Eric Irivuzumugabe was 16 when the genocide occurred. He survived by hiding in a cypress tree for 15 days, without food or water, often witnessing the slaughter of other Tutsis in the fields below him. He tells his story in My Father, Maker of the Trees: How I Survived the Rwandan Genocide (Baker, 2009), from which this article was excerpted. It is reproduced here by kind permission of Baker Publishing Group. In 2005 he founded Humura Ministries (freewebs.com/HumuraMinistries) to help orphans in Rwanda.

As We Forgive Laura Waters Hinson’s poignant, award-winning documentary As We Forgive focuses on two Rwandan women who come face-to-face with the men who slaughtered their family members during the genocide. The journey to forgiveness for these women and men tells a stunning story of shame, rage, fear, heartbreak — and reconciliation. At the time the film was being made, Hinson served on the creative arts team at her church in Washington, DC. A fellow team member, writer Catherine Claire Larson, saw some early cuts of the film and found herself yearning to know more. Inspired by the stories Hinson had filmed, Larson decided to write a book about the reconciliation process and travelled to Rwanda to meet the people in the film as well as other survivors who were walking the road to forgiveness. Like the film that motivated it, the resulting book, As We Forgive: Stories of Reconciliation from Rwanda, asks excruciating but essential questions about the human community: Can people truly forgive violent acts against their loved ones? How does forgiveness happen? What is the cost to the victim — and to the perpetrator? What is required to take people beyond forgiveness to reconciliation and restoration? PRISM spoke with filmmaker Laura Waters Hinson and author Catherine Claire Larson about what they learned from those Rwandans who so bravely shared their stories.

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“Forgiveness is a gift one gives to change the forgiven? Forgiving is one thing, but embracing your oppressor in friendship?

PRISM: Before going to Rwanda for the first time, you had your own ideas about forgiveness. What surprised you most about what you encountered there?

Larson: This is a mystery, but where forgiveness genuinely occurs there is always some kind of spiritual dimension at work, whether people acknowledge it or not. Because of that spiritual element, I think it’s possible for there to be such a closeness. One person has completely humbled himself. Another person has completely relinquished her rights.When you think about it, there is hardly any experience more profoundly self-denying than deep repentance or deep forgiveness. I think this is why such deep, spiritual bonds can be formed in the midst of this totally unique experience.

Laura Waters Hinson

Hinson: I think one thing that helps in Rwandan culture is that people are so interdependent.You rely on your neighbor in ways we don’t here. As you see in the film, Saveri sincerely asked Rosaria for forgiveness for killing her sister. Then he went and helped build a home for her. For a couple of years, on a weekly basis, he tried to make it clear to her that he wanted to help her. Little by little he won her over. And they are neighbors, literal neighbors, living just a few feet from each other. I think because of his diligence in asking forgiveness, and the need for interdependence in their village, he was able to reestablish a relationship with her. All I can conclude from it is that God is so much bigger and more capable than we give him credit for. It’s really convicting when you see, as in Rwanda, what happens when people truly open themselves up to God’s work in their lives. Whereas we only let God so far into our lives, to keep these tidy little worlds we create for ourselves, in Rwanda there is nothing neat and tidy, so God’s been allowed to work in people’s lives there in a way that people here never see. Oh, me of little faith!

Catherine Claire Larson

Laura Waters Hinson: I really didn’t know it was possible to forgive someone who hurt you as badly as people hurt each other in Rwanda. It’s easy to think,“They’re Africans — their culture is different, maybe they’re more disposed to forgive than we would be.” But I saw in an authentic way that forgiveness of great wrongs really is possible if the person is willing to allow it to happen. These people are no different from me — except that they have a lot fewer things to comfort them; some of these people lost their entire family, they live in a mud hut, they have no water, and yet they’re able to forgive. So I saw that maybe it would be possible in my own life — if a miracle happened. Forgiveness is a kind of miracle. Catherine Claire Larson: Before going to Rwanda, I realized that, theologically speaking, in order to forgive it is helpful to have a higher sense of justice. When you understand that one day everyone will face justice before a perfect and just God, it is easier to relinquish the right to seek vengeance now. But my biggest epiphany in interviewing victims was what these Rwandans showed me about Isaiah 53: Christ carried our sorrows to the cross.That means that the cross is not only a comfort in the sense that it is the place where justice is fulfilled, but it is also a comfort in the sense that these Rwandans can see their sorrows also nailed to the cross. Christ bore their sorrows in his crucifixion, and they do not have to bear the weight of their sorrow alone. The comfort in knowing Christ as not only the sin-bearer but also the sorrow-bearer has helped many of the Rwandans I met to forgive.

PRISM: How widespread is the reconciliation movement in Rwanda? Hinson: Sorrow and suffering can soften people and make them much more generous of spirit, or it can embitter and harden them, making them zombielike. My film tells the stories of people who have forgiven, but they’re the minority. Most of the people I saw were like Chantale (see “Chantale and John: From Terror to Friendship” on page 24), one of the film’s subjects, was at the beginning — so devastated, broken, and embittered that they sort of check out, shut down, as one does with post-traumatic stress disorder. PRISM: What differences did you see between those victims who have the perpetrator in front of them to talk with and

PRISM: What do you make of the apparently deep and intimate link that sometimes emerges between the forgiver and

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the heart of the offender.” forgive face-to-face, and those whose perpetrators were unknown or had fled?

Joy, 15-year-old Rwandan girl

that I met took responsibility for all the killings. In fact it was really hard to interview and get the facts sometimes, because I would ask, “Did you kill so-and-so’s family?” and they would say, “Yes.” And then when I got further I would realize that this person didn’t commit this specific murder. Maybe he was in the band of men who did, but he would take responsibility for all of it. Many of the men said this, “Well, if I had met that person I would have killed him. So it’s as bad as me actually killing them. My intent was to kill all of them.” I think that’s been helpful for some of the survivors who haven’t met the actual killers of their loved ones. They have neighbors who have confessed and taken the blame for it. The people who are forgiving with an actual person being there, it’s a daily decision for them. Forgiveness is not something that just happens in one emotional moment. It’s a calling that people live out. For a lot of them, the only thing they can cling to is their faith, and a lot of them seem to experience relief from the understanding that God will bring justice one day, that it’s not up to them.

Larson: When you think of the many ways Rwandans were sinned against in the genocide — everything from looting of property to murder of relatives to harm done to their own bodies — you see how many layers of crime each victim faced, so while they might know one or two of their perpetrators they will not know them all. I will say that there is a certain level of peace, or growing lack of fear, that is possible when a survivor is able to meet face-to-face with a repentant genocide perpetrator. If that offender is able to build the trust again through acts of restitution and other forms of generosity, that victim’s level of trust and peace can grow significantly. But when that face-to-face meeting never occurs, there is always a higher level of fear that somehow that person could return and inflict similar harm. That threat is real whether or not a person has found it in his or her heart to forgive, but is lessened where trust has been rebuilt. Hinson: It’s a lot easier for the people who have a real live perpetrator in front of them asking for forgiveness, because they can hear how their family members were killed and they can see that he is actually ashamed of what he’s done. It’s much more difficult for those who have to forgive the unknown killer who’s just out there hiding somewhere. One of the interesting things I found in Rwanda was this concept of collective guilt, such that a lot of the killers

PRISM: Often when people are abused or let down by their faith leaders, they can have a hard time keeping their faith, because the abuser is superimposed on God and vice versa. Yet apparently a spiritual revival is happening in Rwanda. How do you explain that? Larson: This is, of course, a great struggle. Chantale, for instance, found herself afraid to go to church after the genocide, not only because the killings had so often happened in places of worship but also because there were more Hutus than Tutsis in the church in her community. I love what Bishop John Rucyhana has said about this very issue. He says that this is why it is so important that repentance begin within the church. It has been important for faith communities to clean their own houses before talking to their communities about forgiveness. As Bishop John said, the church in Rwanda failed. It failed in many overt ways, but it also failed in its prophetic duty to preach against injustice. I think this is why there is an important place in Rwanda for representational forgiveness — for leaders within the faith community (even if they themselves are innocent of murder or collusion) to ask for forgiveness on behalf of the church in a larger way. Obviously, it is best when individuals can repent and ask for forgiveness one-on-one, but I think there is also a place for corporate shows of repentance and remorse. We see precedent for this in the Old Testament where faith leaders like Ezra would repent as representatives of their people.

Help Rebuild Rwanda Living Bricks (LivingBricksCampaign.org) is an initiative to restore hearts and homes in Rwanda. Living Bricks equips repentant genocide perpetrators with the tools to build much-needed housing for their victims’ families, establishing new villages where former killers and survivors live together again as neighbors through practical reconciliation. Launched by the producers of the award-winning documentary As We Forgive, Living Bricks is a unique viewer-action campaign that invites people to join Rwanda’s reconciliation movement through a partnership with Prison Fellowship International.To arrange a screening of the film in your church or neighborhood to raise both awareness of the movement and funds for bricks, go to AsWeForgiveMovie.com.

Hinson: In Rwanda, it wasn’t just church leaders who failed — it was Christians who failed. How was it possible for genoPRISM 2010

“What is most chilling when you meet a cide to ravage a country in which nearly 85 percent of the population claims to be Christian? After the genocide, I think Rwandans had to ask themselves: “What does it mean to be a Christian? I’ve lost everything I ever cared about. Now where do I turn?” I think that Christian leaders, just like their congregations, had to take a hard look at the state of their personal theology and desperately cry out to God for healing and transformation. So I believe the spiritual revival in Rwanda has a lot to do with people rejecting false notions of Christianity (the ones that somehow led people to take part in genocide) and strive for authentic faith. And just as they’ve had to forgive the perpetrators of their families, people have begun extending that same forgiveness to those church leaders who didn’t take a stand against this great evil. It’s unfathomably difficult, and I’m sure many people still haven’t forgiven these leaders, but somehow people continue to fill the churches in Rwanda each Sunday. PRISM: What do the Rwandans who killed feel actually happened to them? Was it Satanic possession or mass hysteria or fear of being killed by the ringleaders if they refused?

instance, in this country, we see it happen with human life. When you say, “It’s merely an embryo” and deny the fact that there is a person created in the image of God with a soul, you can more easily rationalize murder. In their case, they saw the Tutsis as subhuman, as cockroaches. Sometimes they saw them in terms of political enemies — rebels, traitors, a threat to national stability. In both these ways, they could justify taking innocent life. n Laura Waters Hinson produced and directed the award-winning documentary As We Forgive (Image Bearer Pictures, 2009; AsWeForgiveMovie.com). She is the founder of Image Bearer Pictures, based in Washington, DC, and recently launched the Living Bricks Campaign, a multimedia viewer project to support reconciliation efforts in Rwanda. Catherine Claire Larson is a senior writer and editor of Prison Fellowship and BreakPoint. She is the author of As We Forgive: Stories of Reconciliation from Rwanda (Zondervan, 2009; AsWeForgiveBook.com), inspired by Hinson’s film, which gives voice to Rwandans who are involved in one of the world’s most closely watched experiments in forgiveness.

Hinson: It’s important to understand that before these Rwandans became genocide perpetrators, most of them were ordinary people like you and me — farmers, fathers, brothers, teachers, etc — who found themselves caught up in something much more evil than they ever knew they were capable of. In addition to feeling pressured by the government militias leading the genocide, most of the men I interviewed cited that a great evil had descended on their land. “I became like an animal,” one of them said. “It became a sport like killing deer.” Many of the survivors said that the killers had vacant eyes, ceasing to look fully human. In 1994 while the genocide was raging, a Time magazine cover featured this quote from a missionary: “There are no devils left in hell. They are all in Rwanda.” It’s a chilling comment, and while it doesn’t satisfy the scientific or sociological investigator, most Rwandans would say there is much truth in that statement. Larson: I heard many different kinds of responses. Some of them were pressured into the choices they made. In some cases it was kill or be killed. Others saw that they cooperated with evil. In the Scriptures it talks about the devil prowling about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. In the story of Cain and Abel, God warned Cain that sin was crouching at his door. He had the choice — he could either master sin or become sin’s prey. There is a sense in which when we don’t tame sin, we become controlled by it. In other cases, the Tutsis were so dehumanized that the murderers were able to justify or minimize their actions. For PRISM 2010

murderer is that you meet yourself.”

Elizabeth Neuffer

receive forgiveness, recognizing that it is completely undeserved, we begin to discover that we are more able to forgive others. It is the work of the church to cultivate a culture of grace. As Christians, our identity is grounded in God’s love and forgiveness.Without an understanding of this bigger story — which is the story of God’s creation—we take ourselves too seriously and so think we can neither be wrong nor be wronged. It becomes impossible either to forgive ourselves or forgive others. Christianity simply becomes another way to make sure that we are right and others who violate our basic rights are punished. That is why you find Christians to be vengeful people who desperately want to be right and make sure wrongdoers are punished. Our whole penal system is a system of revenge. We send people to prison and even death, but we don’t forgive them — and many Christians are very comfortable with that. But this reflects a very shallow understanding of Christianity and what the church is about. A church that is immersed in the story of God’s love and forgiveness cultivates the necessary gifts of humility and mercy as opposed to the kind of certainty and self-righteous vengeance that characterize so many churches.

“Forgive Us Our Sins” A conversation with Emmanuel Katongole

The son of a Tutsi father and a Hutu mother, Rwandans who raised their family in Uganda, Emmanuel Katongole is associate research professor of theology and world Christianity in the Divinity School at Duke University (Divinity.Duke. edu/reconciliation) and the co-director of the Duke Center for Reconciliation. He is also a Catholic priest of the Kampala Archdiocese of Uganda. He has lived in the United States since 2001 and regularly leads Americans on pilgrimages to Rwanda, inviting them to look through the painful lens of genocide into the story of Christian hope. In his most recent book, Mirror to the Church: Resurrecting Faith after Genocide in Rwanda (with Jonathan WilsonHartgrove; Zondervan, 2009), Katongole shows how the “Christianity without consequences” that led to genocide in Rwanda is not unique to Africa but mirrors the deep brokenness in the Western church.

PRISM: In your experience, what is the greatest motivator for forgiveness? Do people tend to forgive when the pain of unforgiveness becomes unbearable? Katongole: It is not pain, but grace, that is the greatest motivator for forgiveness. And grace happens — most of the time when we are not aware of it.There’s a sense in which forgiveness is like sleep — the more you focus on it and try to do it, the more it eludes you.When forgiveness becomes simply a duty — rather than a natural outgrowth of a life of prayer, community, worship, gratitude, etc.— it doesn’t happen. PRISM: What do the stories of genocide and forgiveness in Rwanda have to tell the Western church?

PRISM: What is the most important thing about forgiveness that you would like the larger church to understand?

Katongole: Ah! There are some amazing and radical stories of forgiveness coming out of Rwanda that challenge us to think about forgiveness in our own lives. But I think one of the most important things Rwanda has to teach us is that the tribalism that made the genocide possible in that country is just as great a risk in the West as it is in Africa. Wherever the blood of tribalism is allowed to flow more deeply than the waters of baptism, terrible injustices will arise. Remember that the Rwandan genocide began just after Easter in 1994. On Maundy Thursday, Hutu and Tutsi Christians were washing each other’s feet; a week later Hutu militias

Emmanuel Katongole: I would like the church to understand that forgiveness is, first and foremost, a gift that we receive. When we think about forgiveness, we usually ask ourselves, “How can I forgive someone who has harmed me?” But we need to move a step back and begin by asking how we can first receive forgiveness. We find it hard to receive the gift of forgiveness, especially since we live in a culture based on merit, where we only expect to get what we “deserve.” But the language of forgiveness goes counter to all of that. It’s a reminder that all we are and have comes from God. As we

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“Forgiveness is the giving, and

Restoration

took up machetes and hacked their Tutsi neighbors’ bodies to bits.These were Christians killing other Christians, whipped into a frenzy by political lies about tribal differences. Rwanda was the most Christianized country in Africa, a model of evangelization. And yet this happened, because Christianity was an “add-on” that did not radically affect people’s identities or loyalties. Similarly, in the American church, we see tribal divisions and areas where Christianity fails to radically affect Christians’ loyalties. Racism continues to be a primary identity here. What Martin Luther King, Jr. said about 11 a.m. on Sunday being the most segregated hour in America is still the case. In many places blacks, whites, Asians, and Hispanics do not worship together.The fact that many of us do not even see this as a problem (we justify it, of course, saying that people prefer to worship according to their culture), the fact that we do not see this kind of segregation as racism or even a form of tribalism says much about the patterns of segregation that we have accepted as “natural” even within churches. Economics is another area.We think it’s our money, it’s our right to spend it how we like, and the only obligation we have to the poor is a kind of token charity. The disparity between rich and poor in this country is just staggering, and such disparity exists even within members of the same congregation.We don’t allow our faith to really interrogate our financial lives. This is a Christianity without economic consequences. But Paul reminds us of Jesus’ call to a new way of seeing and living in the world that involves even our economic lives: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Rom. 12:2). Any allegiance to political ideologies, parties, or social movements, no matter how good or noble, that does not first bend the knee to Christ becomes another form of self-sufficiency. We can be so wrapped up in our political positions or even compassionate service that we remain silent, or even blind, to great injustices. n

Where Healing and Justice Meet b y C at h erine C laire L arson

The peace symbol is everywhere in our world, from protest signs to bumper stickers. But for most of us, peace simply means the absence of war, conflict, or striving. Ancient conceptions of the term, however, went much further. In ancient Israel, for example, peace, or shalom, was not defined by absence. Rather, it meant the sum total of human flourishing: socially, emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Shalom signified wholeness, rightness, and ultimate harmony. When someone committed a crime, the focus of justice wasn’t simply on the broken law and restoring order, but rather on broken shalom and restoring peace. Restoring peace took many forms. First and foremost, justice concerned itself with caring for the victim. If a criminal had stolen a goat, it meant restoring the goat. If a criminal had damaged a home, it meant restoring the home. But true shalom also meant that punishing the offender had an ultimate goal: restoration of peace for the victim, restoration of the peace of the community, and finally restoration of peace for the offender. This idea wasn’t limited to the Hebrew culture. In some of our earliest law codes, this emphasis on restoration can be seen. From the Code of Hammurabi (c. 1700 BC), to the Code of Lipit-Ishtar (1875 BC), to the Sumerian Code of Ur-Nammu, to the Code of Eshnunna (c. 1700 BC), to the Roman Law of the Twelve Tables (449 BC) — all required some kind of restitution.This focus showed a concern that the end goal in dealing with conflict, at the very least, included restoration for the victim. Similarly, “many pre-colonial African societies aimed less at punishing criminal offenders than at resolving the consequences to their victims.”1 In the United States today, the primary focus of the legal system is the broken law. We see this clearly in the way cases are identified: State vs. Defendant. While lawbreaking is certainly an important part of the equation, victim harming is an equally important emphasis. And when we neglect this consequence of crime, it is the victim who suffers. Dr. Howard Zehr, professor of sociology at Eastern

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so the receiving, of life.”

George MacDonald amends, and restitution. In times past, gacaca was never used for such extreme grievances as murder; the current implementation of this system is clearly flawed. Yet even with its weaknesses, gacaca does succeed in focusing on the true nature of crime as victim- and society-harming rather than simply lawbreaking. As it seeks to include the community both in dialogue about the crime which has occurred and the way forward to peace, it involves all participants in a way that helps all affected parties take ownership of the road forward.3 Justice systems are often so deeply entrenched within a society that changing them may seem impossibly slow and cumbersome. But the principles of restorative justice need not be limited to the official workings of a country’s legal system. Thankfully, there are ways to infuse restorative elements into already established systems or to offer such programs on a voluntary community-wide level. In the United States, Zehr pioneered the creation of VORPs (Victim Offender Reconciliation Programs), helping to bring restorative elements to communities across the nation through victim-offender dialogue. Likewise, NGOs like Prison Fellowship, VOMA (Victim Offender Mediation Association), and the Restorative Justice Consortium have come alongside legal systems across the world to create programs focusing on facilitating healing between victims and offenders, helping offenders take responsibility for their crimes, and whenever possible offering amends and restitution. In Rwanda, the Umuvumu Tree Project started by Prison Fellowship is one example of this, but many other mediation programs exist to deal with the gritty reality of integrating offenders back into society. Restoring shalom is intimately tied to the work of doing justice.A society that focuses on restoring shalom will also focus on the needs of its weakest members. As Nicholas Wolterstorff, former professor of philosophical theology at Yale, explains: There is something incomplete, disunified, fractured, [and] broken about the unjust society — in particular, about the society in which widows, orphans, and aliens do not enjoy the conditions of flourishing …The unjust society is one whose shalom is fractured, partial, incomplete, and thus incapable of reflecting the holiness of the divine.4

Mennonite University, first coined the term “restorative justice.” According to Zehr, in dealing with wrong, society most often chooses among three typical responses: revenge, retribution, and restoration. Whether from rage or from an incomplete understanding of justice, men and women who are wronged will often take justice into their own hands. Revenge is a response to evil. Unfortunately the response often creates a deadly spiral of retaliation. Revenge can escalate the violence, leading not to justice but to further revenge. More commonly, societies, including ours, have responded to crime with policies of retribution. Zehr would not discount the strengths of this kind of criminal justice system with its encouragement of human rights and the promotion of the rule of law. But, he explains: “As a system of justice, however, it has its flaws. Criminal justice tends to be punitive, impersonal, and authoritarian. With its focus on guilt and blame, it discourages responsibility and empathy on the part of offenders. The harm done by the offender is balanced by harm done to the offender. In spite of all this attention to crime, criminal justice basically leaves victims out of the picture, ignoring their needs. Rather than promoting healing, it exacerbates wounds. Retributive justice often assumes that justice and healing are separate — even incompatible — issues.”2 The third way focuses on a more reparative approach to justice where healing and justice are not separated. Crime is seen as a violation of people and relationships. Therefore, according to Zehr, restorative justice aims at identifying responsibilities, meeting needs, and promoting healing. Restorative justice is a process in which victim, offender, and community are involved in dialogue, mutual agreement, empathy, and the taking of responsibility. In contrast to retributive justice, restorative justice focuses on balancing harm done by the offender with making things right for the victim and on restoring human flourishing. Obviously, in the cases of violent crime, restoration has its limits. No price can be put on human life. The violation that a rape victim endures cannot be undone. However, restorative justice looks in every case toward the future and toward whatever healing and restoration may be possible, regardless of its difficulty. Restorative systems still call for elements of punishment or for isolating the offender to protect others. But the goal is qualitatively different than a simple system of retribution. After the genocide, Rwanda revived an ancient form of justice known as gacaca, in which the village elders, who are known for their wisdom, maturity, and fairness, preside over the disagreements of the village. The job of the elders is to facilitate the dialogue, to help parties work toward mutual agreements and reconciliation that emphasizes forgiveness,

This is not some kind of utopian ideal. As Daniel Philpott points out in The Politics of Past Evil,“The purpose of a concept such as shalom … is to set forth a standard, an essence, whose presence, absence, or partial realization we can then assess. It tells us not how much we may achieve, but what kind of ideal we are moving toward.”5 NGOs and churches across Rwanda have risen to the challenge of caring for the needs of orphans, widows, and the Continued on page 38.

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Catherine Claire Larson is a senior writer and editor of Prison Fellowship and BreakPoint. She is the author of As We Forgive: Stories of Reconciliation from Rwanda (Zondervan, 2009), from which this article was excerpted. It appears here by kind permission of the publisher.

Restoration continued from page 17. alienated — prisoners released into society. Such programs and relationships are living, breathing paradigms for a peace that goes way beyond the symbols on protest signs and bumper stickers. Shalom is a peace that does not ignore the demands of justice or the cries of the broken. n

(Editor’s note: due to space limitations, the endnotes for this article have been posted at esa-online.org/Endnotes.)

Empathy-building 101

2. Visualize a dear friend who through some blind choice has hurt you deeply.Think of suspending your anger for a while, seeking to understand the other’s motives, choices, actions from within.Think of setting yourself beside the other and helping him or her to make a new beginning.

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Through compassion we also sense the hope of forgiveness in our friends’ eyes and our hatred in their bitter mouths.When they kill, we know we could have done it; when they give life, we know we could do the same. For a compassionate man nothing human is alien. Henri Nouwen

3. Visualize an enemy, who through some malice has injured someone you love. Think of bracketing your anger for a period and choosing to hear what the enemy hears, see what he sees, feel what she feels, and make some degree of sense from within. Think of offering compassion for the other’s confusion, distortion, or failure.

In the Rwandan healing workshops, as Tutsis share their grief they are also exposed to the grief of Hutus who may be offenders or who may simply have had association with the offenders. In many cases, empathy develops, or at least a recognition of the shared humanity of the other. If you are helping another reach toward forgiveness or if you are working toward it yourself, it can be important to create similar opportunities for developing empathy. Throughout the United States and around the world, victimoffender dialogue groups can do just that. In some cases it may be possible to talk to the person responsible for the crime, but in other cases simply hearing the stories of other victims and of offenders can help in the process of creating empathy. But there are also less intense ways to facilitate empathy which apply to contexts beyond the scope of criminal or traumatic events. In his book Helping People Forgive, David Augsburger, a professor of pastoral care at Fuller Theological Seminary, suggests a process of guided visualization. In each of the four visualization exercises the intensity increases as does the difficulty in extending empathy:

4. Visualize an enemy who through the worst of motives has injured you. Do not think of yourself reaching out as a friend; no, instead, visualize God as the most patient of friends, the most understanding of listeners, the most caring conversationalist before whom no evasion is possible or necessary, who, knowing the worst, yet takes a position firmly by the side of the enemy and invites a new beginning. Augsburgers’s techniques provide a powerful, growing level of empathy. Like a bodybuilder gradually increasing the weight, these increasingly difficult mental exercises can help build our empathetic stamina. Writing a journal entry or letter from the point of view of the wrongdoer can also create empathy. Asking someone else for forgiveness for an unrelated situation can also help create immediate empathy for what it is like to be the wrongdoer. It is unhelpful and unwise to make someone feel guilty about not being able to forgive. Forgiveness, especially of deep wrongs, is a long and difficult process. But we can help others who want to make this journey by traveling the road with them, being willing to listen, comfort, coach, and carry the burdens of another.

1. Visualize a dear friend who through some blind choice has hurt another deeply. Think of listening until the story has been fully, freely told. Think of caring until the other feels cared for in spite of the wrongdoing done.Think of inviting the other to make a fresh start.

Excerpted from As We Forgive: Stories of Reconciliation from Rwanda (Zondervan, 2009) by kind permission of the publisher.

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