Breaking chains

It was reported today that Abdelbaset Al-Megrahi passed away, with his family round his bedside. Some of you reading this will wonder what on earth this has to do with anything, and the name will mean nothing to you. Unfortunately, the name conjures up all kinds of reactions in others, depending on where your sympathies lie. Al-Megrahi was convicted of having planted the bomb on Pan Am Flight 103 on December 21st, 1988, and causing a 747 to break up over Lockerbie, Scotland - my home town.

The Air Disaster memorial in Rosebank Cresent, some 50 m from my childhood home. where the galley section ploughed into a group of four houses.

Taken from the memorial - my house is on the right, where the fourth car down is parked

A number of status updates I've seen today from Lockardian residents include things like "at last, some happy news!" and "good riddance!".  Despite the fact that we - like everyone in the town - were impacted by the atrocities of that fateful night, I just can't feel that way.  In the same way that I felt the celebrations of Osama Bin Laden and Muammar Gaddafi's assassinations were, though understandable, as wrong as the anti-American celebrations that were held in Libya or Palestine after the bombing of flight 103 or 9/11, that's the way I feel about celebrating the death of Al-Megrahi.  I just can't. But by the same token, I don't feel sorry for him at all. At this point, I don't know how I feel.  

What I do feel, has nothing to do with Al-Megrahi at all. Not really.  Because in dealing with things like the Lockerbie Air Disaster, we're faced with an issue called "Forgiveness".  That's what the real issue is here.  It's easy to hate. It's easy to blame. It's easy to demand justice. It's easy to celebrate what we determine is someone's just desserts. That's human nature, and it comes easily to us all. But while justice has a very necessary place in the world, if all we did was mete out justice and seek justice for all those that had wronged us, the world we lived in would be a dark, fearful, legalistic place. Not only would we spend our time scrutinising people to accuse, we'd live in fear of being accused, and the retribution to follow. The reason it isn't like this is because of forgiveness. With it, we can begin to move on. Without it, at best we are impossible to live with. The worst is far more dire and horrific.


C R Strahan said "Forgiveness has nothing to do with absolving a criminal of his crime. It has everything to do with relieving oneself of the burden of being a victim--letting go of the pain and transforming oneself from victim to survivor.”  That is very true.  While you hold on to the pain of whatever offence has been committed, you can never be more than a victim. Is it easy?  It's the hardest thing you'll ever do. And it's a choice that only strong people make. As I said, it takes no brains at all to hang on to the grudge. It is a wilful choice to let go and to forgive. Unforgiveness leads to resentment, which, said Nelson Mandela "is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies".  All these 23 years we've been resenting Al-Megrahi - do you think our anger has made one bit of difference to him? No? Here's the question - what has that anger done to you?  

Don't hear what I'm not saying. If people are guilty of an offence, of course there should be consequences and the justice systems (hopefully) would see to that.  However, even if not, it's not our place on earth to act as judge and jury for every inhumane act against everyone else. Yes, step in where you can, and bring people to justice. But to hold on to anger against someone for years and years and years will change nothing in the situation, and will certainly do you no good.

I watched a programme tonight called "Final 24", on the last day of Gianni Versace's life. The gunman was an obsessed fan by the name of Andrew Cunanan, who had (according to this programme) been unintentionally snubbed by Versace at a party in Los Angeles.  Cunanan never forgot the slight at all, and seven years later  he followed his fallen hero to South Beach, Miami and shot him twice, killing him with the second shot. Seven years of holding a grudge.  Seven years of going over and over the internal pain. Seven years of hate and anger. And eventually it all became too much.  Seven years later, Gianni Versace was gunned down by a total stranger whose intense hate emanated from an offence years in the the past, of which Versace was totally and completely unaware and unaffected.

Jim Beaver said, "Forgiveness is not something you do for someone else; it's something you do for yourself. To forgive is not to condone, it is to refuse to continue feeling bad about an injury." Forgiveness in many ways has very little to do with the other person, and more to do with you.  That we hold onto our grudges says way more about us than it does about the original offenders.

Do we need to necessarily physically have to confront someone and say "I forgive you"?  I battled with this one aspect.  But if you realise, as I said above, that it's more about letting go, then it really becomes a conscious decision to release this offender from your thoughts, to treat him/her as if he/she were no different from the next person.  You see, if they haven't admitted guilt and repented, then you saying to them "I forgive you" would be a pointless exercise, and would probably only serve to stir up more anger. In many ways, forgiveness is purely a heart thing, more than a physical thing.

And I really believe this is what Jesus was getting at in the Sermon on the Mount when he said "But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those that persecute you." (Matthew 5:44)  Forgive. Make a decision of the heart. Where does love come from? From the heart.  But just as true love is not a feeling - it's a daily choice - it's the same with forgiveness.  Once you've made that decision, praying for those who are putting you through hell on earth becomes a little easier (Note I didn't say easy - sometimes it really is a physical battle!)

I'm not saying this because I'm in a perfect place on this. It does not take much to set me on a course of unforgiveness, or to feel "justified". It happened to me recently when someone I went to school with was complaining because someone was bullying his daughter. This same person used to bully me at school. It is so hard not to gloat at that point and to feel anything other than a sense of justice.  But then, what about the poor little girl?  Why would I feel happy about that happening to another girl, just like me? When does this circle end? Simply when I choose to break it, to repent of my smugness, and pray for this little girl.  

I know you won't all agree with me, and I'll probably stir up a complete hornets' nest, but since it took me to have to be put onto lifetime medication to at least start learning this lesson, it's not my heart that any of you should have to do this the hard way.  Let it go.  Paul says "Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written,“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19). That's a justice from which no government, family or lawyer can save you. But it belongs to God alone. Forgive. Let it be, and move on.

Trust me, all those who know you and your own body will thank you.

Valuable lessons from 2011

Lesson 2: You Can't Put a Price On Freedom


"They may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!"  These words were ascribed to William Wallace by Randy Wallace in the blockbuster "Braveheart".  Whether Scotland's hero ever said them is incredibly dubious at best, but the sentiment is completely understandable.

Mel Gibson as William Wallace, proclaiming freedom for all Scots from Edward Longshanks' tyrannical reign

Freedom is a truly precious commodity. But it's one of those strange ones you don't appreciate until it's not there any more.

I had this in a small measure this year.  My car was out of action for a month this year, after its engine seized.  It doesn't sound so serious, but over the years, this car has become a symbol of my independence.  It's the only car I've ever owned.  I love the feeling of just being able to nip out quickly and do something, or go somewhere, or meet with someone.  So all of a sudden, to be completely housebound and totally reliant on other people was incredibly difficult for me.  When friends had the same problem I did later in the year, I loaned them my car, as I understood their loss of independence, but after 7 weeks, I honestly felt imprisoned at home, imprisoned at work.  Not necessarily because I didn't want to be there, but when I needed to do something, I was stuck.  I realised then there is no singular price that can be placed on independence or freedom.  Scooting all over the place in my car this past week, frenetic as it was, I began to cherish completely the moments this car has given me while driving.  The special, full-volumed, intense conversations with Tony on the way home from school, fun and deep conversations with Andrew, lively conversations about music and careers with Catherine, and tender, private conversations with Colin.  And even the quiet beauty of solitude - my times in prayer as I drive somewhere in silence. Or singing full volume to a CD or a song on the radio.  These are precious moments, and when for any reason I can't have them, I miss them desperately.  Tony is too distracted by all around him in the house to have the same intense chats as we share on the way home.  It's impossible to have any kind of meaningful conversation with Catherine or Andrew while Tony is interrupting every 30 seconds, and as for private, intimate chats with Colin in the house - with three kids around?  Forget it!  If my vehicle is the vehicle for such timeless moments, I will always fight to preserve that freedom. And like every freedom we have, it took my car to die a death on the side of the road for me to appreciate it.

And it's this love of freedom that makes the passing of the protection of state information bill so painful.  We have been so blessed since 1994 to live in such a democratic country, where freedom is prized. The second-last line of our national anthem is "Let us live and strive for freedom".  So a big red flag goes up when the government tries to restrict the freedom of journalists who happen to find out that members of parliament are involved in illicit dealings. Or if consumer watchdog Carte Blanche tries to get to the bottom of an issue that is "not quite kosher" at the highest level, only to find themselves falling foul of the law, and our government gets away with criminal activities.  It's my experience that those who restrict freedom of information the most, generally have the most to hide.  But again, South Africa did not appreciate this level of freedom at all until it came under threat.

​"Press freedom will never be under threat as long as the ANC is the majority party" Nelson Mandela 

On the other hand, the story goes that when North Korean president Kim Jong-II died recently, some North Koreans got their first taste of Western music, and apparently some wept while listening to Adele for the first time.  When you have no freedom at all, even the slightest freedom is deeply moving.

We have a lot to be thankful for.