Mercy? For Him?

A reckoning. A cleansing. A settling of accounts.

Journalists and commentators have been at pains over the last several months to find new words to describe the ongoing revelations of sexual assaults, harassments, and misconducts by powerful men in a variety of industries and sectors. Politicians, news anchors, film executives, actors, comedians and more have seen their careers come to an abrupt halt as victims courageously stand up and come forward with unsettling stories of severe abuse of power.

Comedian Sarah Silverman likens the situation to ‘cutting out a tumour’ – necessary for the victims and for the wider culture to heal and move forward, but also messy and painful for many involved.

Is it possible to love someone who has done something terrible?

One thing that has struck me in all of this is a question that continues to be raised: ‘Is it possible to love someone who has done something terrible?’ Comedian friends of Louis C.K., fellow news anchors of Charlie Rose and Matt Lauer, and many others have asked a variation of the same question: how can I reconcile my friendship with someone who I now know has done something unconscionable?

These questions have particularly struck me because they are a common question in my own work. I journey with men leaving prison and resettling in the wider community. I often meet family members or friends of those I support. They, too, are trying to find a way to continue supporting their loved one while coming to terms with what that loved one has done.

Different people respond in different ways. Many family members abandon any relationship with their relative, leaving him to start a new life from scratch. Others seem willing to ignore their loved one’s past, pretending like nothing has happened. Still others say, "I am willing to keep walking beside you, but only if you prove to me that you’ve changed." Many times, their relationship becomes a never-ending cycle of striving, frustration, and shame.

They are trying to find a way to continue supporting their loved one while coming to terms with what that loved one has done.

I am not sure what I would do in the same situation. What I do know is that the Gospel’s impulse towards justice, mercy, reconciliation, and hope demands a thoughtful response to that most basic question: "Is it possible to love someone who has done something terrible?"

First, justice. The call to justice asks that we view the world from the side of the victims. We must always ask: have the victims’ voices been adequately heard? Has space been made for their healing? Has the offender – whether Charlie Rose, Louis C.K., or the guys I meet in Edmonton’s prisons – wrestled with the ways their actions have hurt their victims? Before we turn our attention to the one who has done wrong, we must give our attention to the wronged.

Justice also demands that we take a step back and look at the wider context. There are important questions to ask: is there something bigger at play? Is there a deeper injustice that needs addressing, an unspoken wrong that needs to be made right? Katelyn Beaty, among others, has made a compelling argument that this recent ‘reckoning’ is not just a matter of ‘men behaving badly’ but a symptom of wider gender inequality in places of power. Those questions are important, if we are to take justice seriously in these conversations. 

The call to justice asks that we view the world from the side of the victims.

Alongside justice, the Gospel also asks us to consider mercy. Mercy for the victims, yes. Absolutely. But can we also consider mercy for the one who has done wrong? I am not suggesting that we ‘let them off the hook’; justice demands accountability to our actions, especially if the voices of victims are to be taken seriously. I am not suggesting we ‘give them a second chance’, since that too easily becomes just another way to turn a blind eye to our difficult past. Rather, as we hold offenders to account, can we also make space for their healing? Can we remember their basic humanity? Can we acknowledge that the imprint of God’s image continues to reside in them, despite their awful actions? I know I am getting into messy territory here, but embodying mercy is messy.

The Gospel asks us to consider justice and mercy, not just for their own sake, but for the sake of reconciliation. The apostle Paul reminds us that we are ‘ambassadors of reconciliation’, with a unique vocation to heal broken relationships and communities. When someone asks ‘How can I love someone who has done such profound wrong?’, it points to a deep impulse to maintain relationships despite wrongdoing. Is that possible? If yes, how? There are no easy answers, but the church can at least be a voice of hope, holding out the possibility of some future, unforeseen reconciliation between wrongdoers and those wronged.

Christians are called to be people of hope, knowing that one day newness will break into our messy lives.

Such reconciliation also requires genuine confession of wrongdoing and desire to make things right – something I see regularly among the former inmates I work with, but which seems glaringly absent from many of the powerful men who’ve been accused of sexual misconduct in recent months.

Our commitment to justice, mercy, and reconciliation leads me inevitably to hope. Practicing mercy and justice is messy. Reconciliation between offenders and victims often seems like an impossibility. And sometimes it is impossible, on this side of the new creation. Which is why Christians are called to be people of hope, knowing that one day newness will break into our messy lives and bring to life what seemed beyond hope. It may be that when someone asks how they can love someone in their lives who has done something terrible, our only honest answer will be “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”

[Image: modified from original from Flickr user Shawn, under Creative Commons license]