c. 1998 Religion News Service

(Samuel K. Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain in Trenton, N.J.)

UNDATED _ Dear Ms. Dickerson:

Please forgive this intrusion into your private space.

According to published reports, you are recovering well from the gunshot wounds you endured last week at the U.S. Capitol. Yet your family, quite understandably, desires to shield you from the probing questions of reporters, who _ though well intentioned _ may do more harm than good.

So, rather than asking you questions, I’d like to share a personal experience that I pray will assist in your healing.

In March 1980, I was working as the night manager of a fast-food restaurant in North Philadelphia. Located just a few blocks from downtown, our store had a schizophrenic nature, functioning as part of the business district during the day and the red light district at night.

One Friday at about midnight, near the end of an especially busy shift, the restaurant was robbed by a tall, slender young man wielding a gun. Fearful of harm coming to any of the 50 or so people in the store, I obediently emptied the contents of the store’s cash registers into a bag supplied by the robber.

I then watched helplessly as the thief, having taken more than $600, fled into the night.

Unfortunately, this was neither the first nor the last assault I would endure. This incident was merely the second of three violent attacks I sustained over a nine-month period, sandwiched between a racially motivated attack by two white men and a second, more costly holdup.

The effect of these assaults, together with the loss of my job following the second robbery, rendered me shell-shocked and angry. Unlike your case, I received no physical wounds, but my psyche was damaged just the same.

While I appeared to function well on the surface, I harbored deep-seated resentments. I dreamed of wreaking vengeance on my attackers and relived the holdups every time I saw a gun.

It was during this period I went into the ministry, but found little comfort in my faith. The timeless message of the Christian gospel _”that God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them”(II Corinthians 5:19) _ seemed applicable everywhere but in the bitterness of my own heart.

The truth is, I did count the sins that men had committed against me. As far as I was concerned, my assailants didn’t deserve my forgiveness. They were so busy running away from the scenes of their crimes, they didn’t stop to ask for it.

Moreover, to my knowledge, none of them was ever caught by the police. Thus, there was every reason to believe the harm they had inflicted on me was later inflicted on others, too.

Why, I wondered, should I forgive them?

Over time, however, the answer became clear. I had to forgive them because the burden of my bitterness was too heavy to bear. Indeed, during the course of my Bible studies, I noted that Jesus had made the same discovery 2,000 years earlier.

Reading I Peter 2:23, I discovered that facing the cross at Calvary, Jesus”did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.”In other words, Jesus could afford to forgive his assailants _ his murderers _ because he knew the burden of ensuring justice rested not with him, but with God.

I realized then that vengeance is a weight that is not mine to carry. And that in forgiving, I can, like Jesus, share love where it is not deserved but is sorely needed.

I pray that, in due course, this will be your testimony as well.

DEA END ATCHISON