It’s been an emotionally jarring weekend. I left town
Thursday night for shows in Philly and Chicago and I was looking forward to
seeing some old friends over the weekend. Katie had plans of her own Saturday
night with a girlfriend and called around 10:30 p.m. on her way home. The next
call came at 11:45 and her first words were, “Well, I’ve had an eventful night.
The cops just left.” Someone had tried to break into our back door around 11:15
but thankfully she had locked up everything less than one minute prior. Just
typing those words still unnerves me.
They didn’t get in and as soon as they appeared, they
disappeared. But what they left in their wake was something entirely more
horrifying. Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the might-have-been.
Katie and I became CSI:Franklin the next morning looking for
clues and recreating the scene. She had me shove windows, doors, etc trying to
determine exactly what happened. We even found a few fingerprints but were
unsure if they were ours or theirs. Kind of comical actually, but we needed
anything to ease our collective minds. I unintentionally provided some comic
relief by throwing my 165 lb weakling of a body into the door trying to
recreate the sound she’d heard. “I think you’re too little,” she said through
giggles. It helped her to laugh so I decided to not be offended by her calling
me “too little.” I prefer the term “too awesome.”
The most difficult aspect of all of this is the constant
replaying it over and over and over in our heads, adding or subtracting bits
and pieces, playing out the various what-could’ve-happened scenarios. I suppose
a big (BIG) part of that is my protective nature for my wife. As much as I’m
ashamed to admit it, I truly think it would feel good to kill this person. And
I don’t want to do it quickly. I want this person to understand what it means
to fear, to wince, to flinch. Because that’s what they’ve done to my wife. She
is the bravest person I know and it’s made her jumpy. I know this is all part
of the shell-shock and it will pass, but the fact that some outside source has
inflicted pain on her has made me a raging lunatic inside. I mask it. Partially
for me, partially for her, but I literally want them dead. By my hands.
But this is not reasonable. Or right.
The most likely story is that this person was an addict
looking for money, anything, to feed the monster living within them. We live in
the downtown area of a small town. There is a social services building less
than a mile from our house and we often see vagrants along our streets so this
is most likely the case. Do I blame them? Sure. Do they deserve punishment? You
bet. Should I have mercy? Absolutely.
We can’t live in fear although it makes the most sense right
now. But, as we heard in church Sunday, the thief comes to steal. We also heard
that perfect Love casts out all fear. This person who made the failed attempt
to break in is my enemy. Yet I’m told by Love to love him, to forgive him, and
that mercy will be shown to those who show mercy. Forgiveness and Mercy
is a conscious choice, one that doesn’t come naturally. My flesh wants to sink
a knife deep into his chest. God’s Spirit wants my enemy, His wayward son, to
come home and find rest.
And that’s the difference between judgement and mercy, the
law and the cross.
(rw)