The Possibility of Forgiveness – January 24, 2024

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 119:49-72; PM Psalm 49, [53]
Gen. 16:1-14; Heb. 9:15-28; John 5:19-29

Recently, I read a book by Simon Wiesenthal called The Sunflower: On the Possibilities and Limits of Forgiveness. First published in 1969, it is the author’s personal account of being a Jewish man imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp. During captivity, Simon is brought to the bedside of a mortally wounded German soldier to hear his deathbed confession for the atrocities he committed against Jews.

Like the accounts of many Jews who lived in Europe during the Holocaust, Simon’s station in life and personal agency are severely curtailed by his circumstances. An architect by training, he loses nearly everything in the Nazi occupation, including his parents. He is worked mercilessly, fed meagerly, and is subjected to random whims of violence. The treatment of the Jews by the Nazis and their mercenary assistants is systematically dehumanizing.

Simon is aware of the many differences that distinguish the captive Jews from the Nazis wielding their power. One of those is within the military cemetery. Upon each soldier’s grave, a sunflower is planted. He envies the dead soldiers, for each has a sunflower growing “to connect him with the living world, and butterflies to visit his grave.” The liveliness of the interplay between butterflies and flowers provides light and messages for the dead beneath them. For the Jews, there will be only mass graves.

In such times of tension and unrest – whether in World War II or in our lives today – compassion is likely to fall to the wayside. And yet, each of us yearns to be heard, understood, and met just where we are. Compassionate companions are priceless. Simon was able to be that for the dying man.

The question that haunted him was the one of confession … was he – a Jew – able to absolve this Nazi of the crimes he confessed? Was it his job to do that? Simon wrestled with these wonderings for years following his release from the concentration camps. This book is an outgrowth of his experience. He ends the story like this: “You, who have just read this sad and tragic episode in my life, can mentally change places with me and ask yourself the crucial question, ‘What would I have done?’”

Simon Wiesenthal’s musings demonstrate the messiness of forgiveness. Life is complicated. Our stories are chaotic. Even in the Genesis reading today, we have the complex relationship between Abram and Sarai, longing for a child. Sarai offers Hagar, her Egyptian slave-girl, as a surrogate to Abram; the child Ishmael is born from that relationship. Scorn and jealously grow. Hurt people hurt people. We each yearn for forgiveness and restoration. We each have spaces of pain and wrongdoing. We each have a story to tell, for we learn about ourselves and one another in doing so.

Nearly 20 years ago, the United Nations identified January 27 as International Holocaust Remembrance Day, honoring the day that Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated and the memory of the millions of victims of Nazi persecution. There is a panel discussion on the possibilities and limitations of forgiveness this Sunday, January 28, at 3 p.m. in the large auditorium at the Homewood Public Library. Second-generation Holocaust survivors and local rabbis will speak to their own stories, and I will join the panel to explore forgiveness in light of the tragedy at Saint Stephen’s in 2022. You can find out more information about this and other events sponsored this month by the Alabama Holocaust Education Center here.

-- Katherine+

Reflection and Challenge

Listen for where God is giving you courage to be in hard conversations. Pay attention to current events in our nation and world. Then, go to God in prayer; lift up those spaces of discomfort in your heart and in our shared life. Pray for the grace of God’s love to bring restoration to our world.