The news this week, like many recent weeks, has been full of stories of injustice, violence, misunderstanding, pain. As an American, there are plenty of stories within our national framework to choose from. I am also acutely aware of suffering taking place all over the world, of which my privileged status comes to light in stark contrast to famine, combat and extreme poverty. In the United States, though, the topic of justice and state violence has been at the forefront recently, underscored in a tragic tone with the execution of Troy Davis this week.  I do not support the death penalty and it is painful for me to see, hear and read about those who would cheer and otherwise express some kind of happiness or relief at the willful loss of life of another.

I was raised in a Christian context, and still identify with the label ‘Christian’. My understanding and use of this label, though, centers around the example of peaceful, loving relationship as expressed in (much of) Christian scriptures through the figure of Jesus. From this my understanding of justice is one based in reconciliation over retribution and vengeance. I recognize though that legal definitions of justice and faith-based ones differ greatly. What the state and nation deems ‘just’ oftentimes I find appalling.

Throughout my life I have struggled to understand other self-identified Christians’ expressions of hatred and violence; I have also struggled to understand all other’s expressions of hatred and violence, regardless of their labels and identities. In my life, though, my attempt to work through expressions of hatred and violence is perhaps most poignantly experienced in conversations with my students.  I am fortunate to get to spend time with these 6^th & 7^th graders, all of whom are incredibly bright and engaged – I learn a lot through them. As children of interfaith families (with Jewish and Christian backgrounds), my co-teachers and I are regularly faced with rather direct questions pertaining to how one should live. Questions about ‘evil’ and other ‘bad things’ (in their words) have been posed on more than one occasion, sometimes referring to specific events and other times in a more general way. From personal stories about witnessing or experiencing bullying; family stories of surviving and not surviving the Holocaust, and relatives’ experiences as immigrants to new countries; and national and global events like wars and terrorism – these children have plenty to draw from. We base such discussions, planned or not, in examples from scripture and other writings that speak about relationships. We shy away from making too many definitive, qualitative claims, in order to allow the students to make their own decisions; guiding them toward and acting as resources, we hope for them to remain open to new ideas and differing opinions. I share with them that my faith is based on the above mentioned understandings, and that I strive to live in a way promotes love, peace, reconciliation and right relationship. We remind them that those they would label ‘evil’ or ‘bad’ because of their actions still deserve compassion and the opportunity for forgiveness. We acknowledge that watching one of them be harmed would provoke our anger, and even possibly lead to our own use of force in their defense. We remind them that striving to be peaceful, loving and accepting does mean we expect to do so perfectly. We ask them to imagine what it might feel like to be hated, and to hold that in mind when someone commits a harmful act against them or another. We also acknowledge that all of this is hard and that it’s complicated, but to not hold such a perspective leads to yet greater problems. These are considerations worth taking, no matter our age or the situation.

I’ve written before about being a ‘bleeding heart’ and I will readily admit to being very sensitive to pain and death – my father’s nickname for me even at the age of 4 was Tender Heart (yes, after the Care Bears). This openness to pain, though, is something I view equally as a strength and as a weakness. Empathy, sympathy and compassion are aspects of myself that I do not want to diminish; if fact, given my human ability and penchant to express a full range of emotions, I wish my ability to be empathic, sympathetic and compassionate were yet greater. It’s something I work on. Openness to pain, however, also opens me up to vicarious suffering and the all-too-common debilitating responses to such based in fear, anguish, helplessness and anger.  This is also something I work on.

Within my faith context I can only mourn for all of those involved in Troy Davis’ experience – which is all of us – and pray for healing and grace. And in thinking about healing and grace, I am reminded of these words, from William P. Young’s The Shack:  I suppose that since most of our hurts come through relationships so will our healing, and I know that grace rarely makes sense for those looking in from the outside. My hope is that through relationships we may be able to heal from the various and vast injustices we see and participate in. And I welcome the surprise of grace to enter into the world where we do not expect it.