INA COURTROOM a young man accused of rob-bery changes his plea to guilty.Another youngman asks for undisclosed offenses to be taken into

account and as a result gets a stiffer sentence.A drug-traffickerdoing time in prison repents and seeks to rebuild his life.

A woman forgives the drunken driver who left her child-less and bedridden, and now teaches caregivers how to relatewith compassion and patience to people who are disabled.A man partners with the grandfather of his son’s killer to launcha foundation that teaches nonviolence and peaceful problem-solving in schools.

At the root of these surprising actions is a practice calledrestorative justice, a process in which victims and offendersmeet to talk about the effects of crime, the harms it causes, andhow to make things right. It is a process which allows offend-ers to put a face on their victims, take responsibility for theircrimes, make restitution if possible, and become productivecitizens if and when they are released (or emotionally healthyrole models should their crime require them to remain incar-cerated). It is a process which allows victims to participate intheir healing by being heard by and coming to understandthe person who caused their trauma, and to experience a newlease on life that comes with the ability to forgive.

When a crime is committed, people are hurt—not onlyphysically and emotionally, but spiritually, too, if they harborunforgiveness and begin doubting humanity and the systemthat is supposed to bring justice.

And crime affects more than just the victim and offender.Witnesses to the crime, arresting officers, prison guards, thefamilies and friends both of the convicted person and thevictim—all these will experience distress,even upheaval in theirlives because of it.

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So, when a person is convicted and locked up, has justicetaken place? Do contemporary courts and prisons promotetrue justice? What is real justice? These are the difficult ques-tions that practitioners of restorative justice are daring toarticulate and explore.

Restorative justice is an alternative way of considering andresponding to crime.Essential to this is the offender’s act of tak-ing responsibility and the victim’s act of learning to forgive.

In South Africa’s prisons, where Joanna Flanders Thomasworks with incarcerated men through the Centre for Hope andTransformation, this means encouraging perpetrators to tellthe truth in court and restoring to them a sense of dignity byhelping them take responsibility for their lives. It also meansteaching them how to reconcile with God, their families,their victims, and their communities—whenever possible—and to learn to contribute to society. Most of all, it means thetransformation of those in prison, empowering them to breakthe cycle of crime and violence and to become successfullyreintegrated into society upon their release.

While the current system of justice in the United States andother countries is based on retribution—punishing offendersfor their crimes—restorative justice focuses on restoration.

“The continuing punitive approach to crime has notworked,” says Thomas. She lists the many ways in which thesystem has failed to bring about true justice. Incarceration,she asserts, neither deters nor prevents crime, which continuesto escalate. High recidivism rates are proof that prisoners arenot being successfully rehabilitated. Homes, communities, andnations are no longer safe, as crime and corruption—evenamong police and correctional officers—grow.

Restorative justice, on the other hand, works because itbrings healing. Emmett Solomon, executive director of the

R e s t o r a t i v e J u s t i c e,

Real JusticeB Y E R I K A B A I S I E B E L S

P O R T R A I T S B Y H O W A R D Z E H R

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Restorative Justice Ministry Network of North America,explains the two different approaches:While the traditionalcriminal justice system in America asks,“Who did this crime?”and “How much pain did they cause?”—essentially spankingits prisoners—restorative justice asks,“What will it take tobring a sense of autonomy to the victim?” and “What will ittake to bring the offender back into the community?”Thesequestions lead to healing.

According to Solomon, the present criminal justice systemis ineffective because “systems can’t love, and only love bringstrue healing.”Government systems cannot love; therefore, theycannot heal. However, community members who reach outwith caring hands and hearts can love, and ultimately thatbrings healing.

“It’s healing for the offenders because it helps them under-stand the damage they caused, and it’s healing for the victimsto listen and get answers to their questions, like ‘Why did youchoose to kill my child?’” explains Solomon.

Solomon, a former prison chaplain, at one time wonderedwhy his inmates never prayed for their victims. He eventuallycame to understand why: Prisoners feel like victims them-selves—victims of the criminal justice system.

“They go to jail, are locked up and visited by districtattorneys to get into negotiations with the State about theirfuture. By the time they get to prison, they feel hammereddown by the system and they forget about the victims,”he said.

In 1994, having spent most of his life trying to changethe system, Solomon founded the Restorative Justice Ministryof North America.“I was trying to bring healing to a systemthat went against healing, so I was trying to paddle upstreamin that environment,” recalls Solomon.

Punishment does not work to right wrongs, proponentsof restorative justice say. It can often hurt, destroy, and furtherbreak down individuals, communities, and institutions.Theprocess of restorative justice,on the other hand, leads to growth,healing, and a sense of acceptance and community. It does so byseeking to increase the understanding, impact, and consequences

of the crime. It asks questions such as,“What circumstancesled to the crime? Why? How did you feel?” Forgiveness andreconciliation can result from such soul-searching.

Because crime occurs in a context and affects any numberof people, restorative justice encourages all those touched bythe crime to participate: victim, offender, family members,and the community itself.Victims,who sometimes initiate theprocess, typically want answers to their questions and to beinvolved in the justice process. North Carolina has a well-developed victim-offender program that occurs in the courts,prior to sentencing. Texas, on the other hand, implementsrestorative justice after the conviction: Once the offender is imprisoned, the Division of Victim Services (a divisionwithin the criminal justice system) sometimes sponsors victim-offender mediation programs.

Howard Zehr popularized restorative justice in his 1990book,Changing Lenses:A New Focus for Crime and Justice (HeraldPress). In it he proposed that restoration,not retribution, shouldbe the key factor when dealing with crimes.Zehr directed theMennonite Central Committee U.S. Office on Crime andJustice before moving to Virginia, where he is now professorof sociology and restorative justice in Eastern MennoniteUniversity’s graduate conflict-transformation program.

Restorative justice is played out in various arenas—dis-cussion circles, conferences, workshops, and victim-offendermediation—which provide opportunities for people affectedby misconduct and crime to talk about what happened.

Practitioners of restorative justice are trained, usually asvolunteers, to facilitate the meetings.They learn, among otherthings, that taking responsibility and accounting for one’s actionsare key; that the offender needs to take action to repair theharm done through the crime; that forgiveness is a choice; thatreconciliation is a process; and that perpetrators are people.They also learn how to listen.

Lorraine Stutzman Amstutz, who heads the Office onCrime and Justice at the Mennonite Central Committee,provides resources and training on many issues of crime and

“The hard part is not being able to talk to anybody about my crime.I want to.”

GAYE MORLEY,serving a life sentence

“Forgiving was our only opportunity to exercise control

in the whole [legal] process.When you forgive, you

actually have some power.”

CONRAD MOORE,whose son was murdered

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A Portrait ofRestoration

By David L. Gustafson

On New Year’s Eve, 1997, Bob McIntosh—popular lawyer,triathlon champion, loyal friend, father, husband—wasentertaining friends with his wife, Katy, at their home inSquamish, British Columbia. As the evening wore on, Bobbecame concerned about a raucous party being held downthe street in the home of a neighbor whom they knew to beaway on vacation.When Bob and his two male guests decid-ed to look in on things, they found over 100 youth partyingat the house. Bob climbed the stairs to the master bedroomand protested about kids being in it. One punch knockedBob out. Four kicks to the head, delivered by a second youth,severed an artery and ended Bob’s life.

One youth took responsibility early on for having deliv-ered the punch, but the charge of manslaughter was stayedsince he had not delivered the fatal kicks. It was almost fiveyears before sufficient evidence was collected to charge RyanAldridge with manslaughter.

Katy had made a video, describing what life had beenlike for her and her twins during the previous five years.When police played it for Ryan Aldridge, he broke downand confessed.That night he wrote a letter to Katy and the

twins, taking responsibility for his part in Bob’s death:“Thesecret has been destroying my life as well as yours.”

The next morning, the police brought Katy to meet Ryan.Katy told the National Post,“I wanted to pick him up and puthim in my arms. He was having a hard time finding words.He started to cry. I said it was going to be okay. He’d have atough road in the immediate future, but if he dealt with itright now he’d have a chance. I asked him what happened.He didn’t remember.He said,‘I was drunk, I kicked him.’ It wasa recount of a blur, the uselessness of the situation.”

Ryan wouldn’t look at Katy. The interview was over.“The hardest part,” says Katy,“was on the way out I could seehim on the TV screen. He was by himself, sobbing. I wantedto make it okay for him… He seemed genuinely remorseful.”

Katy insists that this encounter helped to heal some ofthe wounds left by her husband’s murder. “I accept whathappened. I accept [Ryan] made a fatal error. But what doesforgiveness mean? I expect him to make a difference in some-one else’s life.”

Soon after that meeting, Katy began speaking to highschool students about the dangers of unsupervised parties,taking her powerful presentation to schools. In an hour-longmulti-media presentation, Katy introduces them to Bob: hischildhood, passion for sports, their courtship and wedding,the birth of their children, and the sudden death that took himfrom them. She speaks of risky contexts—drugs, alcohol,unsupervised parties—and how “misguided choices” endedBob’s life. She invites the youth to relationships of respect for self and others, to a life characterized by responsibility,courage, autonomy, dignity, wise choices, and joy. High

justice, restorative justice being one of them.When she trainspeople to become facilitators of victim-offender mediation,she tells them that while there is no perfect mediator, goodmediators should be able to tolerate varying levels of frus-tration because it can be difficult—both logistically andemotionally—to bring people together. Furthermore, facil-itators don’t “make” things happen; they serve only to guide—not control—the process.

In their 1998 curriculum,Victim Offender Conferencingin Pennsylvania’s Juvenile Justice System, Lorraine StutzmanAmstutz and Howard Zehr write about the risks and benefitsof victim-offender conferencing. The knowledge and skills

of the mediator will play a critical role in the success of theactual conference. Mediators need to ask themselves questionslike:What do you bring to this process? What are your needs?Are there any obstacles to facilitation? How comfortable areyou with different levels of anger? These questions are imper-ative because they help facilitators separate their own issuesfrom those that are pertinent to each case they may mediate.

Other risks include victims having unrealistic expectationsof how the offender will respond to their story.Victims mightbe disappointed if the offender doesn’t understand their painor the offender is unwilling or unable to provide adequaterestitution. Additionally, the process of victim-offender

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school students are gripped by her message (to learn morego to www.katyhutchisonpresents.com).

“The only missing link, of course, is having Ryan Aldridgedoing it with me,” Katy says. “I think it would be a reallyimportant thing for him, for me, for the kids.”

In the spring of 2003, staff members from CommunityJustice Initiatives (CJI) met with Katy at her request and lis-tened as she shared aspects of her story that we could neverotherwise have known—about the struggles and the growth;about her twins, Sam and Emma, now 10, donating proceedsfrom a garage sale to an anti-bullying program, winning aposter contest with the theme “Stop the Silence; Stop theViolence,” young peacemakers who, after seeing Ryan incourt at his sentencing, began to ask about him regularly.“They don’t fear him,” says Katy.“Ryan has become a char-acter in our home. What happened was a horrible, awfulthing, and they hope Ryan can get help.”

A few weeks later we arranged to meet with Ryan. Hewas delighted that a program like the CJI’s Victim OffenderMediation Program existed. Katy had sent a letter for Ryanwith us, saying she had hoped to meet with him again,believing it would lead to greater healing for them both. Sheaffirmed the direction he had begun to take, saying, “If theletter you wrote to [me] is a reflection of some insight andmaturity that you have gained since your incarceration, thenI believe you are on the right path.”

We began to tailor an approach that would meet theneeds expressed by Katy, Sam, and Emma, as well as thoseRyan had expressed.A short time later, Katy and Ryan metface-to-face in a board room at the prison. Ryan watched as

Katy played her presentation,“The Story of Bob,” for us onher notebook computer. There were tears and importantdialogue about the need to take responsibility, to confess, aswell as to acknowledge each other, the past and present pain,and the hope of healing and life yet to be lived.

Soon after that meeting,Ryan decided to do what he couldto assist with Katy’s presentations. Shy, reticent, and impris-oned though he was, he wrote a letter for Katy to read aspart of the presentations she continues to make. In his letter,Ryan shares the foggy recollection of the events of that NewYear’s Eve, the awareness of his involvement in Bob’s death,the fear and spiral into despair that ensued. He writes mov-ingly, too, about the impact on his family and friends, hisrediscovery of the importance of his relationships with hisparents, and about the life sentence earned by his choicesthat night. His letter implores other youth to consider theconsequences of their choices, to recognize how easily a wrongchoice can lead to tragedy.

Katy says,“We often cannot choose what happens to usin life, but we can always choose how we react to what hap-pens to us. In every situation we can step back, take a deepbreath, and think about our reaction and how it is going toshape what is to come.Anger is a dead end.Anger fills us upand consumes us. When we are angry we are paralyzed andcannot move forward. Forgiveness sets you free.”

David L. Gustafson is co-director of Community Justice Initiativesin Langley, British Columbia (www.cjibc.org).

mediation may seem unbearable for victims who wouldrather move on without replaying the crime and reexperi-encing the trauma.

Offenders might be afraid of facing their victims; theymay imagine the victims want revenge.

Potential benefits far outweigh the risks, however. Foroffenders, mediation offers a chance to make things right.For victims, it offers an opportunity to participate in theprocess, which creates a sense of empowerment. It can alsomean changed attitudes, increased understanding, and areduced sense of alienation from the process.

Stutzman Amstutz and Zehr note that mediation can also

lead to reduced recidivism rates. When offenders come tosee their victims as persons—not just faceless statistics—thehigh human cost of crime acts as a deterrent to committinga crime again.

How is restorative justice practiced? Joanna FlandersThomas starts by building relationships with prison man-agement, staff, and prisoners.With the hope of empoweringpeople, she facilitates workshops on such topics as conflictresolution, human dynamics, action learning, productiveconversations, strategic planning, trauma debriefing, buildingsupport, and restorative justice.

Continued on page 14.

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I was driving back to Houston from Baton Rouge, listeningto a Christian station, and they were talking about forgiveness.I couldn’t understand how God would expect me to forgive.It had been nearly eating me alive. But they were talkingabout how you have to be able to forgive to be able to go on.I knew what they were talking about because I was a walk-ing dead person. I’m driving down the interstate and I’m justcrying and I said,“Dear God, how can I forgive Jonathan forwhat he did?”And this voice was audible in the back of thecar:“You don’t have to forgive what he did; you have to for-give him.” It was just like something had exploded my heart.I had to pull off the road, I was crying so hard. I don’t knowhow long I sat there, but he just released everything right inthat car with just that small statement.

My daughter Mitzi was murdered on her birthday, 1986,along with her roommate. September 13th was Mitzi’s birth-day, and last year I had my meeting with Jonathan, the manwho murdered her, on September 22nd. Two weeks afterthat, he was executed.

I had felt that every time my life was getting back in order,Jonathan would appear on TV trying something. I’d get anotice that his appeals were coming up,or he was trying to geta new trial because he was an abused child.The list goes on andon. My focal point was keeping him on death row. I couldn’tbear the thought that someday he might be released.

But I had also been trying to see him since the minute thetrial was over because I wanted to talk to him. I really don’tknow why: I didn’t know what I was going to say to him.But I couldn’t get in.Then when someone from victim servicesasked me if I would like to participate in a new victim-offendermediation program, it was like God answered a prayer.Thatprogram literally gave me back my life.The mediation wasthe hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do—second only toburying my child. It lasted over five hours and was a life-changing event. I was able to say everything that I felt I need-ed to say. Now there’s a hole in my heart that will always bethere, but it doesn’t consume my heart anymore.

I had wanted to witness the execution but when I madethat decision, it was because I wanted to be the last personhe saw. I wanted him to see what kind of pain he was leaving.After the mediation, it was a very difficult thing to watch the

execution, because the man I spoke with was not the sameman I sat in the courtroom with for 13 months.What Jonathandid was wrong, and he got the sentence he deserved, but itwas very difficult to witness his death after Jonathan and Ihad come to terms with each other. He had become aCatholic and he left me a medal—it’s called a miraculousmedal. I carry it with me everywhere with my rosary beads.

I walked out of the mediation on death row a differentperson.Before, I couldn’t get involved in any kind of victims’movements—how could I tell somebody else how to healwhen I couldn’t heal? After the mediation, I said I wanted tobecome active in victims’ things. I didn’t care about offendersand I didn’t want to talk to somebody else’s offender. Butpeople at victim services said,“Just give the [Bridges to Life]victim-offender project a try. Come and meet with victimswho have participated in this project in prison.” So I went toorientation and heard victims talk about all the things thatwere happening between them and the offenders in the pro-gram. I was absolutely appalled at their wanting relationshipswith offenders.They’re talking about loving those people. Ithought they were sick.They started talking about huggingthese guys goodbye. I said, “I’ll give it a try, but I’m tellingyou right now, I don’t want those people touching me.Don’t let them come near me.”Well, I went out there andneedless to say, I bonded with two of them instantly—oneblack, one white.They’re both out now and I’m followingup with them.

I did three of these projects in prison last year, and eachlasted for 12 to 14 weeks.And I stay in contact with most ofthose offenders. Isn’t that amazing? I’m telling you, whathappens in those circles is a miracle. It is making a change inthose offenders. It’s healing for me. Every time I come outof there, I’ve grown by leaps and bounds.

I was at the very pit of the abyss when I got the newsthat my daughter had been murdered.That is the lowest thatanybody could ever go. Now I’m as high as the heavens, andit’s only because God has put me there. Now the sky is thelimit. I’m still growing. My heart just expands every day.

(Adapted from Transcending by Howard Zehr [Good Books,2001].Reproduced by kind permission of the publisher.)

“What happens in those circles is a miracle.”By Paula Kurland

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In 1985, three months to the day from his college graduation,my son Paul went out to play video games. A young manwalked up to him and said,“My mother is dying on the otherside of town.Would you give me a ride?”Paul gave him a rideand he shot Paul and left him to bleed to death in the carby himself.

I was angry—I was angry about Paul’s murder, I was angryat the lack of justice. I said,“Give him the death penalty.” Ofcourse, I ended up shaking hands with Charles, but that was13 years later.

The way I got here from the hate was that I started askingquestions.“Tell me about this guy that killed Paul.” I beganto get curious about his life. I knew there had to be somefactors that influenced who he had become.

The thing that hit like a bolt of lightening was when I wasinvited by victim services to speak in a prison on a victimimpact panel. I was listening to the speakers, watching thoseguys. I was the last speaker and when I got up to speak, rightthere was a young, red-headed guy—my Paul frozen in time.He looked at me with what I call hungry eyes: helpless,lonely, filled with pain. I looked at him and thought,“What ifthat was Paul?” Rather than give my prepared speech aboutwhat scum they were and about how I hoped Charles wouldrot in hell, I looked at that young man and felt like a motheragain. I began to talk to them like they were my boys.WhenI finished speaking, it was almost like a revival meeting. Inthe front row, one man, 6 foot tall, stood up, tears streamingdown his face, and said, “You look just like my mother.”What he meant was my compassion and caring. It was a com-plete turnaround for me. I said, “When can I come back?”That was in 1994, and I’m still going into prisons.The moreI go in, the more I want to go in.

I didn’t immediately forgive Charles. In fact, I was againststarting the victim-offender dialogue program. But the moreI went in prisons, the more letters I got from prisoners talkingabout their childhood, the more curious I got about Charles.

As I read those letters, I said,“Yeah, the same thing happenedto me.” I had an uncle who molested me and a father whotold me my uncle wouldn’t do that because he was a Christian.All my life, I’ve had a whole lot of pain, and hurting peopleoften hurt other people or themselves.

At one of the prisons I was leaving and a guy thanked mefor coming.I said,“You are such a nice guy.Why are you here?”He started crying and said,“You know. Every time you talkedabout Paul, you looked at me.When I was 17, I killed a guy tosteal his car. I was so desperate to get out of town, just like theguy who murdered your son.”I said,“I need to talk to Charles.”

[The religious beliefs I had grown up with] were holdingme into this little box of an eye for an eye. I had to get awayfrom all that rigidity.There had to be room for unconditionallove. Charles can never give me back my son. Nothing hecan do can fix it.At the end of my meeting with Charles, Ihad the option of putting my hand across that table, knowinghe couldn’t ever give me anything back.

Shaking hands with Charles, putting my hand out, wouldbe to accept the hand that held the gun that murdered my son.When I took his hand, I was just going to shake it. But I wasoverwhelmed. I just collapsed on the table with this cry ofanguish that took me 13 years to release.

And he let me see inside his soul. Every time I get a letterfrom him, every time I write to him, I cry. I’m so connectedto him. I’m going to go see him again later this month.

It does not make one bit of sense that Paul Hines wasmurdered by a guy he tried to help. But when I go into thatprison, if just one person listens to the message I have to give,then that will be just a little more healing that occurs. It isenergizing for me to know I’m in the place that I’m supposedto be. It’s not tiresome, and that tells you you’re doing theright thing.

(Adapted from Transcending by Howard Zehr [Good Books,2001]. Reproduced by kind permission of the publisher.)

“There had to be room for unconditional love.”

By Thomas Ann Hines

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But restorative justice isn’t restricted to prisons and courts.It is practiced in schools, companies, and other communities,too. John Bailie, trainer and consultant for Real Justice andthe International Institute for Restorative Practices, workswith teachers, administrators, and counselors to bring abouta restorative culture in the school setting.The program, calledSaferSanerSchools, teaches people how to implement restora-tive practices, showing them how to regulate their abilities tobe supportive and nurturing.

“We have to help people change,” says Bailie.“That’s theend goal—to change their behavior and create a healthycommunity where people feel safe, are held accountable, andmake changes with the support of others without feelingstigmatized, which is what happens if you operate in a puni-tive system.”

SaferSanerSchools started with three pilot schools insoutheastern Pennsylvania.After years of implementation,community-building, individual-building, and restorative prac-tices, Bailie says that a decrease occurred in fighting, inter-ruption, and behavior referrals.

Though restorative justice is practiced around the worldin secular settings, Christians have promoted it, too. “Jesus’main thing was forgiveness,” Emmett Solomon reminds us.“Therefore, we know he was well into restoration.”

The message of Christianity is, ultimately, a message ofrestoration between God and God’s people through JesusChrist. Jesus fulfilled the prophet Isaiah’s words:“The Spirit ofthe Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me to preachgood news to the poor.He has sent me to proclaim freedom forthe prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release theoppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor...” (Isa.61:1-2).

The Bible is rich in images of prisoners being set free—free from sin, free from despair, free from prisons of the body,mind, and spirit.The psalmist, King David, wrote,“The Lordsets prisoners free, the Lord gives sight to the blind, the Lord

lifts up those who are bowed down” (Ps. 146:7-8).The following concepts also demonstrate God’s commit-

ment to leniency and restoration. Moses describes the yearof Jubilee, a year of redemption and freedom in which debtswere canceled, slaves freed, and all property returned tooriginal owners (Leviticus 25).Moses set aside cities of refuge,to which anyone who had unintentionally killed someonecould flee (Deuteronomy 4).

Lynette Parker, justice initiatives specialist for the Inter-national Centre of Justice and Reconciliation (a ministry ofPrison Fellowship International), cites Luke 19 to exemplifyGod’s teaching about restorative justice. In that passage, awealthy tax collector named Zacchaeus climbs a sycamoretree to see Jesus.When he climbs the tree—and takes respon-sibility—his life is changed.

From that story comes Prison Fellowship International’sProject Sycamore Tree, in which victims enter prisons to meetwith unrelated offenders over a series of eight to 12 weeksto discuss the effects of crime, the harm it caused, and howto make things right. It helps offenders to understand theimpact of crime and victims to express their feelings and gaina sense of power.

Project Sycamore Tree has been used in Rwanda, where itis called the Umuvumu Tree Project.After the 1994 genocide110,000 people were held in prisons without trial—until 2003.Many were to be released, but Prison Fellowship Rwandabegan implementing restorative practices through theUmuvumu Tree Project. Genocide survivors met to talk aboutwhat happened to them, while relatives of genocide offenderstalked about how their lives have been impacted.Accordingto Parker, over 43,000 ex-prisoners have gone through thatproject.Before the Umuvumu program was implemented,only5,000 had confessed to their crime.After going through thesessions, less than six months later, the number of confessingprisoners increased to 32,000. Upon release, some have startedmaking amends by building homes for genocide survivors.

Ike Griffin, executive director of Kairos Horizons, vol-

Restorative Justice, Real Justice,continued from page 11.

Continued on page 16.

“It’s not only what I did to my ownlife.What about my victim’s life?He was 21 years old, too.Whatcould he have accomplished in thisworld? What would I have goneon to be? What about the childrenthat we would have had? Whatcould we have given to this world?”

ROBERT CAPORELLO,serving a life sentence

“Anger, revenge, all the naturalthings that come to people

during a tragic event: One byone, we weeded them out.Youhave choices, and we ended up

choosing to get involved.”

EMMA JO & HERBERT SNYDER,whose son was murdered

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Not long ago I spent an afternoon with a friend of mine whowas so terribly troubled and grieved that I found myselfquestioning everything I’d ever learned about forgiveness.This woman, a Christian who really believes the Word ofGod is meant to be lived, said she felt she was losing herfaith because she could not forgive. She was talking about avery specific situation where her eldest daughter, Amy, wasraped and almost murdered on her high school graduationnight by a total stranger. It happened in a classroom, in thesupposedly safe confines of the school building where shewas donning her graduation gown and reviewing her vale-dictorian acceptance speech. The assailant was a man withno personal motivation, no vendetta, a man on drugs whoduring his trial and confession admitted he did not knowwhy he attacked her.Amy survived the trauma and was ableto identify her assailant, who admitted his guilt and waseventually put in prison.While incarcerated, this same manbecame a Christian, at which point he stopped just doingtime and began repenting. In his repentance, and while stillincarcerated, he joined a community of Catholic monkswhich accepts inmates into their order. He now lives in amonastery in Minnesota.

Five years after the attack, Amy, who never recoveredemotionally, took her own life. “He killed her that night,”her mother said bitterly. “And now he’s a monk, free, holy,leading a blessed life? I cannot reconcile this, I cannot for-give this.What more does God want?”

I heard her anger, felt her pain, and offered the words ofChrist on the cross:“Father, forgive them, for they know notwhat they do.” She looked at me as if I had just dropped abomb.“Yes,” she said.“God will have to forgive him, becauseI can’t.”At home later that night, my mind kept going backto my friend, her pain, and our conversation.What could Ihave said? What should I have said? Finally, without an answer,I went to bed and slept.About 4:00 a.m. I woke up suddenly,saying,“I understand.”

What I understood then and what I believe now is thatwhen Christ asked his Father to forgive his assailants, he wasspeaking out of his humanity, to show us that there are timesand situations in which we may not be capable of forgiving

and that he understands that.If Christ had been speaking from his divinity, he would

have looked out from the cross and said, “I forgive you, foryou know not what you do.” But Christ’s pain was human.He was suffering in his physical body as much as any of uswould have suffered with nails in our hands and feet, ourflesh tortured beyond recognition. And he was sufferingfrom unimaginable mental anguish as well.Without havingever committed a crime, and certainly without a fair trial,Christ was undergoing a slow and excruciating execution.

At that moment, he needed his Father to do the forgiv-ing for him.This picture of Christ asking God to step in forhim led me to consider how we, too, might step in and dothe forgiving for people who, for one reason or another,cannot find it in themselves to forgive at the present time,people who have suffered abuse at the hands of those whosejob it is to protect them, people who have been maimed byhatred, war, or crime. Most of us feel at a loss as to how toaccompany people whose lives have been shattered in theseunspeakable ways. Quite often, if they are Christians, theirpain is intensified when they cannot find it in their hearts toforgive; they feel they should, but they find they cannot. Ininstances like these, could we not then be their spiritualcompanions, stepping in as “delegated forgivers” to lift theburden from their shoulders?

As human beings we may face traumas that alter ourlives in ways we could never imagine beforehand.These sit-uations may bring long periods of grief, anger, bitterness,and even a desire for vengeance. If we are to survive thesedark and lonesome journeys until we come again into thecircle of light, then we might need someone else to do theforgiving for us, at least temporarily, until we are ready to doit ourselves.This is yet another poignant but necessary rolewe can fill for one another.This is love.This is Christiancommunity.

Kathleen O’Shea is a social worker, writer, and activist. Her mostrecent book is Women on the Row:Revelations from Both Sidesof the Bars (Firebrand Books, 2000). She is currently working on ananthology of stories of nuns who have befriended death row inmates.

“Father, forgive them,for they know not what they do”

by Kathleen A. O’Shea

P R I S M2 0 0 5

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unteered with an ecumenical team of Christians doing prisonministry.The team was made up of all denominations, fromBaptists to Catholics and everyone in between. Instead offocusing on their differences, says Griffin, they had one sharedmission: to present Christ’s love to inmates.

“It was about following Christ’s command that we loveone another, doing something about it rather than just sayingit.” Griffin explains that training for the program, called KairosPrison Ministry, involves 40 hours over an eight-week period.During that time, in order to foster a sense of community,trainees share their lives with other team members in a vulner-able and intimate way. From there the group goes into prisonsto meet with inmates and build more community.The groupstalk about their goals, forgiveness, and the meaning and ori-gin of agape love.

“People say, ‘My view of life has changed. I have neverknown what love is—never accepted it, given it, or understoodit. But now I understand who and what God is all about,’ ”says Griffin.

“Theological discussions are fine, but they don’t changeyour life,” Griffin testifies.“So when you come in and acceptpeople where they are, tell others that God loves you and

the proof of that is I love you, people recognize they are achild of God.”

And that love brings healing and a true sense of justice. n

Erika Bai Siebels is a freelance writer from Troy, N.Y. She can bereached at e.siebels.1@alumni.nyu.edu.

These photographs are reprinted from Doing Life:Reflections ofMen and Women Serving Life Sentences andTranscending:Reflectionsof Crime Victims,both by Howard Zehr.Copyright by Good Books(www.goodbks.com ). Used by permission.All rights reserved.

ORGANIZATIONSRestorative Justice Ministry Networkwww.rjmn.net

International Institute for Restorative Practiceswww.iirp.org • www.restorativepractices.org

Prison Fellowship International, InternationalCentre for Justice and Reconciliationwww.pficjr.org • www.restorativejustice.org

Kairos Prison Ministrywww.kairosprisonministry.org

Mennonite Central Committee U.S. Office on Crime and Justicewww.mcc.org/us/peaceandjustice/crime.html

BOOKSThe Spiritual Roots of Restorative Justiceby Michael L. Hadley (State University of New York Press, 2001)

Beyond Retribution:A New Testament Vision for Justice, Crime, and Punishmentby Christopher D. Marshall (Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2001)

Restorative Justice: Healing the Foundations of Our Everyday Livesby Dennis Sullivan and Larry Tifft (Library ResearchAssociates Inc, 2001)

Justice That Restoresby Charles Colson (Tyndale, 2001)

Forgiving and Reconcilingby Everett L.Worthington, Jr.(InterVarsity Press, 2003)

The Little Book of Restorative Justiceby Howard Zehr (Herald Press, 1990)

Restorative Justice, Real Justice,continued from page 14.

“Something in me wants to talkto the two young men. If I couldsee some understanding on their

part of what they’ve done, anacceptance of responsibility, a wishto do something with their livesthat could go toward making upfor that—I would feel closure.”

JUAN & MARTHA COTERA,whose son was murdered

“If you do something reallyharmful and it has a profoundeffect on another life, there is no real payment of that untilthat person can forgive you for your offense. Or until youcan face them and let themknow you are repentant.”

ROBERT HAGOOD,serving a life sentence