FW: [nhnenews] Personal Story: Becoming The Enemy

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EDITOR'S COMMENT:

We've been exploring many inspiring ideas about how to
deal with the terrorism in the world today. They sound
great on paper, but how do they look in real life?

Well, here's a story that gives us an inside look at
what it might look like to actually apply peaceful
ideals in terrorist trenches.

Prior to receiving this article, several related
thoughts have been cycling through my mind.

I've been wondering how I, if I were a national leader,
would deal with the crisis our government leaders are
currently dealing with. Would I, personally, be willing
to go to Afghanistan, meet with Bin Laden, and attempt
to build bridges of understanding? Do I have enough
wisdom, depth, experience? Can he, and others like him,
be reached, communicated with, and appealed to as
fellow human beings?

I've also been remembering stories about hard core
criminals, in particular serial killers, who reportedly
have no conscience.

Let that sink in for a moment: a human being with no
conscience.

If a human being is afflicted with this condition, then
you forget about using the kind of active pacifism that
Ghandi, Martin Luther King, and others have used so
successfully. Their movements worked because they
appealed to the conscience, the goodness, the sense of
what is right, humane, and just in human beings. But if
a human being does not possess this faculty, what then?

Which led me to yet another thought.

Many years ago, I read an eye-opening book by M. Scott
Beck called, "The People of the Lie." Scott, who is a
world-renowned psychologist, decided to tackle the
topic of human evil because he recognized three things:
1. There is a dark, or evil side, to human beings; 2.
Some human beings appear to be living embodiments of
this unpleasant force; 3. We don't know enough about
evil to effectively deal with it (which is why he wrote
a book exploring the subject).

And while Peck's book primarily focused on the evil
people he encountered in his psychiatric practice,
eventually his search led him to another area: the
world of demons, devils, and exorcisms.

Although Peck considers himself a Christian, he doubted
that there were supernatural personifications of evil.
Wrote Peck, "Is there such a thing as [an] evil spirit?
Namely, the devil? I think not."

But priding himself on being an open-minded scientist,
Scott felt compelled to examine the evidence. So he
searched for a case of genuine possession, something
Scott didn't believe he would find. And found one. Then
another. Wrote Peck:

"In both cases I was privileged to be present at their
successful exorcisms... These two were highly unusual
in that both were cases of Satanic possession. I know
Satan is real. I have met it."

If you have never heard of Scott Peck, or read any of
his best-selling books, it would be easy to dismiss his
experiences as those of some feeble-minded, emotionally
unstable flake. But Peck is as no-nonsense as they
come. And, of course, he is not the only level-headed
person in the world who has ventured into these murky
waters. Along with describing his own chilling
experiences with the demonic, Peck also mentions a book
by Malachi Martin, "Hostage to the Devil," that details
five other cases.

Where am I going with all of this?

Deeper.

I'm admitting to all of you, and to myself, that the
topic of evil, and by extension, terrorism, is a very
deep topic that doesn't necessarily lend itself to pat
answers and easy solutions.

And that's where the following story is going to take
us: into the belly of a large, very dark and scary
whale.

Like Peck, the author is a Christian. He's not talking
about evil spirits or exorcisms, so you can relax about
that. He is, however, writing as a Christian to other
Christians. So you'll need to overlook any triggers
this might trip for you and, instead, listen to the
heart of his message -- and, hopefully, apply it to
whatever spiritual traditions you hold dear.

A heartfelt thanks to Helena Rocca for sharing this
story with us.

--- David Sunfellow

"People of the Lie:
The Hope for Healing Human Evil"
By M. Scott Peck
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0684848597/newhe
avenneweart

"Hostage to the Devil:
The Possession and Exorcism of Five Americans"
By Malachi Martin
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/006065337X/newhe
avenneweart

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BECOMING THE ENEMY
Christianity Today
September 1, 2001
By John Paul Lederach

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/7ta/7ta032.html

The phone rang one evening in our house in San José,
Costa Rica. I was lying in bed reading a book to Angie,
who was at that time three years old. At the other end
of the line was the familiar voice of a key Miskito
leader in the armed resistance that had been fighting
against the Nicaraguan government, a person who had
become a close friend in the previous year.

"John Paul," he said. "I have some difficult news. I
have been informed by a very good source that there is
a plan to kidnap your daughter. They want you out of
the country."

Even now, I can still feel the shiver, the blood
draining from my face, and the pounding of my heart.

"What are you talking about?" I responded, my drying
mouth struggling to stammer intelligent words.

"I cannot give you details on the phone," he said. "We
can talk tomorrow. But listen, it is very serious and
it includes the three-letter boys," a reference to the
Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). "You have to tell
your wife to break all her routines. Don't let her go
to school tomorrow. Don't open your doors. Watch
carefully."

The words seemed unreal, like a dream. I knew we
couldn't talk, but I could not let him go.

"Come on," I heard myself saying, "how serious is
this?"

I will never forget his last words. "John Paul," he
responded, "You are one of us now."

I hung up the phone and went back to Angie, who seemed
never to go to sleep. My mind was racing, and a nagging
question kept cropping up: "What in the world have I
gotten us into?"

What I had gotten us into was peacemaking. I was part
of a team of church leaders who were working intensely
to bring together the leaders of the Nicaraguan
government and the East Coast resistance for
negotiations aimed at ending the nearly eight-year-old
war. While other, more key mediators were located
inside the country, they had difficulty traveling
because of the tense relationship between Nicaragua and
the rest of the region. In the months prior to this
phone call, I had become a communication link, often
shuttling messages between opposition leaders located
in Costa Rica and Sandinista officials in Managua,
Nicaragua.

The day after that chilling phone call, with even more
frightening information, we shuttled the family out of
the house and the country. In the next weeks and months
I returned on my own to continue the work. Eventually,
negotiations were arranged and a cease-fire was put in
place, but in the process, those who did not want a
separate Indian negotiation increased their threats and
violence. During that restless night -- and many times
since -- I have often been haunted by a nagging
thought: "Peace is a noble pursuit, but at what price?"

Since those years in Nicaragua, I have had many
opportunities to work in settings of protracted
conflict and wars. Wars emerge for complex reasons with
many levels of activity and consequence -- from the
histories of animosity and strife between peoples that
date back generations to the interactions of nations
and their powerful but complicated interests.

Those who, like myself, operate in an Anabaptist
framework often talk of peace; yet, in real-life
international conciliation, peace-building represents
an enormously complex task. In the midst of war, to
understand the feelings and perceptions of people
involved is already difficult. To help create the space
needed for reconciliation seems remote at best and,
most of the time, a hopelessly utopian dream.
Consistently, I find myself faced with perplexing
questions: How do we move from the words about peace to
the practice of reconciliation? How can we promote a
concern for human life and justice in settings of
devastating violence and oppression?

Much of my time is spent working with and between
enemies. Time and again -- whether in Nicaragua,
Somalia, or the Philippines -- I am with people who
threaten, and feel threatened by, each other, who have
both experienced and engaged in the taking of life, who
are suspicious and suspected, who know hate and have
hated. As a peacemaker I have, perhaps ironically,
become increasingly wrapped up in the question of
enemies. How can I ever understand their intense level
of fear and animosity?

From these experiences and questions, I have struggled
with the challenge of understanding the varied images
of enemies in the Bible. This very personal journey
began with that crazy phone call, because it
represented the first time in my life that I had come
face to face with an enemy that truly wanted to harm me
and those I loved. The events of that night and my work
since then have led me to reconsider two seemingly
contradictory biblical images of enemies found in the
Bible -- the cry to crush them and the call to love
them.

CRUSH MY ENEMIES

For many years my convictions about peace did not push
me to engage the Old Testament stories of crushing the
enemy. It was not until I "became one of them" and
entered that terrible world of paranoia and fear that I
connected in a personal and vicarious way to the
sentiment of crushing enemies found in the Old
Testament.

While it was foreign to my experience to truly feel
both threat and hatred, after the phone call those
emotions became real. At various points, I could hear
my inner community of little voices crying out, "Lord,
who are these people? In the name of God, who in their
right mind would threaten a three-year-old child as a
means of pursuing an insignificant political objective?
What kind of people would do this?"

My sense of anger and injustice only increased with the
knowledge that behind it all were nameless, faceless
entities. I had become the enemy of people who could
hide, who could ruin lives, who for a few dollars could
have me killed. At the same time, these were people who
would never become known, much less held accountable.
For the first time, I experienced the presence of true
evil in a personal way. It was through these events
that my heart bypassed my peace-loving mind and
connected to the crying voice of the psalmist and the
powerful message, "Lord, deliver me and crush my
enemies."

Listen carefully to the psalmist's words:

I am distraught by the noise of the enemy,
because of the clamor of the wicked.
For they bring trouble upon me,
and in anger they cherish enmity against meŠ.
Confuse, O Lord, confound their speech;
for I see violence and strife in the cityŠ.
Let death come upon them;
let them go down alive to Sheol;
for evil is in their homes and in their hearts.
(Ps. 55:2b-3, 9, 15, NRSV)

The wicked go astray from the womb;
they err from their birth, speaking lies.
They have venom like the venom of a serpent,Š
O God, break the teeth in their mouths;
tear out the fangs of the young lions, O LORD!
Let them vanish like water that runs away;
like grass let them be trodden down and wither.
Let them be like the snail that dissolves into slime;
like the untimely birth that never sees the sunŠ.
The righteous will rejoice when they see vengeance
done;
they will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked.
People will say, "Surely there is a reward for the
righteous;
surely there is a God who judges on earth."
(Ps. 58:3-4a, 6-8, 10-11)

I would venture a guess that these texts are rarely
preached from pulpits, certainly not in churches from
my tradition. During the time I worked in Central
America I had been close to and known the violence of
war and all that it brings. I knew families that had
lost their parents, children, brothers, and sisters. I
had friends who lost limbs and even their lives. No
matter how much I knew, it was only after the
experiences of direct manipulation and the threat of
violence against me that I began to understand the deep
anger that accompanies fear, the frustration of
helplessness, and the bitter taste of enmity. To be
"one of them" was to experience, in ever so small a
dose, the deep cry for a just God and the absolute
dependence on God for deliverance.

GOING DOWN THE RIVER OF HATE

In the months that followed, in spite of initial
pressures and threats, we achieved a measure of success
by helping to bring leaders of the two sides in the
Miskito-Sandinista conflict to negotiations. As part of
their initial accords, they agreed to a trip into the
East Coast of Nicaragua, the home territory of the
indigenous leaders. For many of the exiled leaders,
this was the first time in years they had returned to
their homeland. For every one of them, it was the first
time they had returned in the open presence of former
enemies.

This was a time of both expectation and vulnerability.
What was accomplished formally at the negotiating table
in the capital cities was not easily implemented nor
even shared in the villages where the war itself had
raged. Our conciliation team was asked to accompany the
returning leaders to meet their communities and talk
about the peace process. It was an invitation to walk
into the heart of reconciliation and all its
challenges.

As one can imagine, it seemed a logical proposal, but
it was not an easy task. People on both sides had
questions and suspicions. The protocol and formality of
negotiations in Managua hotels were gone. In the
villages, it was an organic process where people stood
face to face with the very enemies they had sought to
control, enemies who, in many instances, had killed
members of their own immediate families. We traveled by
riverways days and long hours into the remote areas of
the country.

For the first time, in some of the villages, people
came forward to speak about local difficulties dealing
with leaders on both sides of the conflict. In one
particular village, people talked at length, detailing
the atrocities committed by a particular local
Sandinista military leader who was present at the
meeting.

In situations where great pain and emotion are
expressed it is difficult, if not impossible, to
control what emerges from every event. That night, this
Sandinista leader and several of his men were attacked
and very seriously wounded. The word about this
outbreak of violence spread ahead of us rapidly; by the
time we reached the main city in the northeast, the
Sandinista sympathizers were up in arms against what
they saw as inflammatory speeches by the returning
indigenous leaders. Demands were made that no further
speeches be made since they created the conditions for
violence.

Puerto Cabezas was the largest of the Miskito centers.
The indigenous leaders were adamant about holding the
public meeting to talk of the peace process in
accordance with the agreements reached in the capital
with the top-level Sandinistas. However, the local
Sandinista leaders were of a different mind. In some
instances they orchestrated open and violent responses
to the returning Indians. As the day approached for the
main event, an impasse set in: Miskito leaders said
they would hold the public meeting; Sandinista leaders
said they could not guarantee anyone's safety if they
did.

The conciliation team literally worked day and night to
stave off the violence, but inevitably the relationship
deteriorated. The open meeting was set for noon. The
afternoon and evening before, we had separate meals
with both sides where we once again pleaded for
restraint. We decided that, in accordance with our role
as reconcilers, we would accompany Indian leaders
throughout the day in the hopes that our presence might
lower the likelihood of violence. In the morning,
before we left the house where we were staying, we
gathered to pray as a team. We prayed by name for the
leaders and key persons on all sides, for those who
were friends, and for those who we knew were angry and
volatile.

Soon it became clear that a worst-case scenario was
developing. The meeting was to be held in the baseball
stadium. During the morning, people gathered in the
stadium, but soon mobs appeared, particularly
Sandinista youth armed with clubs, chains, and
machetes. The public meeting could barely be heard over
the din of angry voices. As one of the Moravian pastors
opened with prayer, machine guns crackled behind us,
mostly as a disruption, creating confusion. When the
speeches finally ended, some members of our team
accompanied the Indian leaders to their houses. I
remained behind with Carlitos, a fellow member of the
conciliation team, to drive out the pick-up that had
been used as a podium for the speeches. In the streets
around the stadium, hand-to-hand fighting and rioting
broke out. Just as we were about to leave the stadium,
a large mob rushed inside. They entered the only exit
we had for leaving the grounds, and out of the chaos, a
young Sandinista recruit pointed at me and shouted,
"There's the gringo. Get him! Get him!"

At the sound of that voice there is a picture that has
remained frozen in my memory. In this picture I can
look out into that crowd and see the faces of young
people, some whom I knew. There was a certain frenzy in
their faces as their eyes turned and riveted on me. I
was the enemy. Only this time, I represented the enemy
they could never touch. What had for years been the
source of their economic hardships, the source of the
weapons for their enemies, the source of their
oppression was now within their grasp. I represented
America and all the suffering they could never
alleviate. In their eyes I could see the years of
frustration, of lost loved ones, of a pain that festers
into resentment and boils over into an uncontrolled
anger.

The rest is a blur of a few seconds. We leaped for the
truck and started the 15 yards through the mob toward
the only exit. The first thing that hit us was a
logging chain that shattered the windshield, sending
glass into our arms and faces. By the time we had gone
a few feet, there was not a window left in the truck. I
can still feel the blows of stones, a two-by-four
landing on my shoulder, and the splatter of Carlitos's
warm blood that hit my cheek from a blow he received in
the back of the head. Miraculously, he did not pass out
as he drove slowly through the stoning gauntlet.

Minutes later, we were in the local hospital, where we
were cleaned and stitched up by a Cuban doctor. I
remember sitting in that hospital waiting room, my eyes
and head jerking at the sound of shouts or gunshots. My
mind was racing with one thought, "Just take me to a
safe place." I felt a fear that crossed over into
paranoia.

In less than a year, I had been accused of being a
Sandinista spy, my daughter's life had been threatened,
I had received multiple assassination threats, I had
been called a dog of the CIA, and I had been stoned.

I no longer question the suspicious, paranoid attitudes
of those in war, for I know the craziness of a fearful
mind that looks behind every person for a threat. I no
longer wonder how it is possible that one group could
see another as a real threat to their existence, for I
know what it feels like to be falsely accused,
arrested, and interrogated. I no longer doubt the
reality of an anger that flows into hate, for I have
experienced such an anger within my own heart, and I
have been the object of such hatred.

When I hear those powerful, almost embittered words
from the psalmist, I no longer have a need to dismiss
them. Instead, in so many of the conflicts I see today
around our globe, I am drawn to the cry that flows from
the angry heart. I have come to believe much more
deeply in the proper place of righteous indignation. In
too many places around the world I have felt and seen
waters running down a river of pain, echoing the
psalmist's cry. I am convinced that reconciliation has
a home in that river that seeks deliverance and
justice.

A PARENT'S ULTIMATE SACRIFICE

Buried within these experiences with real enemies I
have also heard another voice. It was the voice of
God's search for reconciliation, a call to love those
who do you harm. As I write these lines, I am working
with Angie's Sunday-school class some six years after
the events just described. This week their assignment
is to memorize John 3:16: "For God so loved the world
that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him
should not perish but have eternal life."

Since our time in Central America, having worked these
past years in the context of wars, this most popular
verse has taken on a whole new meaning. We have
traditionally understood John 3:16 as a creedal
formula. We tend to place the emphasis on the "whoever
believes in him shall be saved" portion. What counts,
in terms of faith, is the belief.

But look again. Embedded in the verse is a story of a
parent who gave up a child. As a parent who has had my
only child threatened, this story of God's loss of a
son is all too real. In all my life I have never
experienced anything so precious as the gift of Angie
and Joshua. Even with all the challenges, all the
energy expended, all the sleepless nights and the
sibling fights, nothing matches the gift of a life
placed in our hands for nurture, love, and growth. This
is why the phone call shook me awake and made me see
things differently, for I was faced with the reality of
an ultimate sacrifice.

When I said that I could feel the blood drain from my
face as I listened to the words on the phone that
night, I meant it literally. I felt an immense internal
sense of my heart being crushed. I could face a threat
against me. But how could I face a threat to my only
child? What activity could ever be worth losing my
daughter? Was pursuing peace in Nicaragua worth the
life of my child? Think about it: Is there anything you
feel is so important that you would give up your child
to achieve it?

Looking again at John 3:16, we find this is the very
choice at the heart of God's search for reconciliation.
What I find incomprehensible is that God, as a parent,
gave up this most precious gift in order to be
reconciled with erring, belligerent enemies. I can
understand sacrifice for family or friends. I would not
hesitate to give a risky blood transfusion if it meant
saving the life of my child. But to do this for enemies
is beyond understanding.

I can no longer take John 3:16 as simply a short
formula for salvation. It also embodies a foundational
ethic of reconciliation, an ethic based on a
willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice on behalf of
an enemy. It is an ethic undergirded and made possible
only through the immeasurable love and grace of God. As
the hymn states it, "O love of God, how rich and pure!
/ How measureless and strong! / It shall forevermore
endure‹ / The saints' and angels' song." It is a love
like that described by the apostle Paul, who suggested
that "neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers,
nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor
height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God."

I have experienced that love in many ways, from the
protection of our family in Central America to the
grace that covers a multitude of shortcomings. Yet,
while I aspire to bring this love to the world, I
recognize that I barely understand its real height and
depth, much less am I fully able to practice and live
by it. I only know that this love ultimately sustains
life and is the essence of the very nature of God, who
sought reconciliation with the enemy through the
sacrifice of his only child.

SEEING THE FACE OF GOD IN THE ENEMY

Several points have been important in my own
understanding that may contribute to developing a
practical theology of the enemy.

First, the obvious: enemies are present throughout the
faith story. In fact, without enemies, the story of
faith itself, of reconciliation with God, cannot be
told.

As Christians, we do ourselves little favor by
developing theologies of easy peace accomplished
through promises of humanistic love. Quite frankly,
there is nothing human about loving your enemy. To live
faithfully in the face of enemies is possible only with
a deep spiritual connection to God's love and a
willingness to live as vulnerably as Jesus.

I am struck with the story of Jacob and Esau's
reconciliation (Gen. 32-33). As the story develops, we
find Jacob fearful of his brother's rage. His brother
had become his worst enemy. In the midst of the journey
toward his brother, Jacob fights all night with God in
person, whom he claims to have "seen face to face."
Then, rising in the morning, Jacob humbles himself
before his feared enemy, only to discover the emotional
release of reconciliation, at which point he then
exclaims to his brother, the former enemy, "To see your
face is like seeing the face of God."

This is the journey of reconciliation, a journey where
we struggle directly with God and ultimately seek the
face of God in the enemy.

Second, a theology of the enemy must integrate the cry
for deliverance with the acknowledgment and rightful
place of anger. Ironic as it may sound, I have come to
the conclusion that the only really good peacemakers
are angry pacifists who have touched the river of human
pain.

Yet, facing the enemy is only possible to the degree
that we are rooted in God's sustaining love and
struggle with the seemingly impossible sacrifice God's
love for us represents. To pursue reconciliation, we
ourselves must embrace the long, sleepless night of
fighting with God in ourselves before we can journey
toward God and seek his face in our enemy.

This is the paradox and challenge of the enemy: to
acknowledge the rightful place of anger in the cry for
deliverance and simultaneously to move toward God's
sacrificial, unending love. In the end, the journey of
reconciliation inevitably takes us toward the enemy,
and it seeks the face of God.

John Paul Lederach is director of the conflict analysis
and transformation program, Eastern Mennonite
University, Harrisonburg, Virginia. This article is
from a forthcoming book to be published by Herald
Press.

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(This is reposted from:)

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