The Hope of Mercy

Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery  • Carl Bloch

Since the tragedy last week in Connecticut, where many innocents lost their lives, I have remained silent on the subject. Not from a lack of concern, but from a need to assimilate:
• I have watched as my wonderful daughter- a school teacher – has processed and worried about how the tragedy is impacting her.
• I watch political opponents seize on this tragedy – like so many vultures – to further their own agendas.
• I see acts of kindness and love.
• I have read of heroism.
• I’m still reading headlines that use words like “Monster,” “Evil,” and “Psycho.”
• I learn where society failed this young man on so many levels.
• I have read of parents and children struggling to cope.

So much pain. So much conflict. So many voices.  After giving it some time, I am ready to offer a few unsolicited thoughts. (Please note, much of this might be redundant to what is already out there. I have purposely not read much about what other’s have had to say, so as to not let it affect my life in a detrimental way.)

First a story…

I grew up with two brothers – one older, one younger. My older brother struggled with severe mental and physical handicaps. He had a difficult childhood as he tried to make his way through “Special Ed” schools, surgeries, medications, and social stigma. It was hard for him. Nevertheless he was a happy soul, full of kindness, energy and love. Most of the time.

I remember one afternoon, I was out riding my bike with my friends after school, because that’s what eight-year-olds did back then. We heard a siren, and watched to see where it was coming from, so we could chase the fire engine – again, because that’s what eight-year-olds did back then. We not only saw a fire truck, but an ambulance and a police car! We peddled furiously to get to where they were going.

As we drew closer, I realized that there was a police car already parked in my driveway. I stopped. My friends circled back and encouraged me to keep up. By this time, the fire engine, and the ambulance had arrived, and were parked in front of my house, along with a gathering crowd.

I turned my StingRay around, and peddled off. I spent the next few hours avoiding my house. I knew what had happened: My brother had had another one of his “episodes” and this one must have been a doozy. The specifics didn’t matter – I just wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Eventually, I went home. Not because I wanted to, but it was starting to get dark, and I was terrified about how angry my parents were going to be for pulling a vanishing act. But I needed to go home, and find out what had happened.

I don’t remember the details. The house was quiet. My parents were in their room. I think I talked to my big sister, ate something, and went to bed. There was no anger. To this day, I don’t think that anyone even noticed that I had even been gone all that evening.

That was just one of the things that irritated me about growing up with a handicapped brother. Sure, I loved him, and have many happy memories of him from my childhood, but there are other, less noble memories.  There were times that I resented him, because his needs were always more urgent. I was embarrassed by him, and felt I was constantly having to explain about him, or apologize for him, to other people. We had little in common, but thankfully, I had a sister who filled the older sibling role perfectly. I’m not proud of those feelings, and I wasn’t back then – but that was my reality.

Sadly, on some days – like that day – I was afraid of him. Once in a while, when pressures, or medications or emotions were out of whack, violence could appear. It was rare, but it was scary. And dangerous. And that is all you need to know.

For me, one of the more difficult parts of growing up has been learning how to accept my brother. It is a process that was accelerated when he passed away some years ago, but I’m not finished yet. I still deal with regret and remorse that I did not love him more, try to understand him more, and defend him more. Now, with grownup eyes, I look back at his life and I am awed at what he was able to accomplish, given the specific challenges he faced. My life is so easy, so complete, so fulfilling. I get to experience the joy of marriage and children, and so many other things he never could.

I have come to the conclusion that my brother has secured a very exalted place in the heavens above, and I anticipate that when I get there, I will probably need to make an appointment just to see him.

Back to last week.

Those that understand LDS theology, understand that the children who died last week are secure in the arms of the Savior. They are not of an age where they are accountable in God’s eyes. They are not capable of sin. They are “alive in Christ.” (Moroni 8)

We can find great solace in knowing that those innocent children who were killed are saved – in every eternal sense of the word.  I also imagine God will show a special kindness and mercy to those heroic teachers who fell while trying to save them. From a religious perspective, there is little tragedy for the victims, only eternal glory.

But what about the Killer? The Monster? The Psycho?  There is plenty of anger, hatred and scripturally-based judgment in the air. To be honest, the first scripture that popped into my head was Matthew 18:6, and I know I wasn’t the only one, because I have read it frequently this past week.

Strong words from one so “meek and mild.” Christ was deathly serious.

But was this young man one of “those people?”  The newspapers are questioning his mental state – Autistic? Aspergers? Gentic defects? Depression? Much conjecture, few answers.

A few years back, I had the sacred privilege of conducting and speaking at the funeral of a young man – about the same age as Adam Lanza – who took his own life. I learned a great deal from that experience, and thought you might find a couple of quotes insightful.

The Apostle M. Russell Ballard gave an enlightening talk on the subject of suicide that has tremendous application to this recent tragedy. (Suicide: Some Things We Know, and Some We Do Not. Read it!) He quotes Bruce R. McConkie:

“Persons subject to great stresses may lose control of themselves and become so mentally clouded to the point that they are no longer accountable for their acts. Such are not to be condemned for taking their own lives.”

Am I defending Adam Lanza?  No. But neither will I condemn him.

Elder McConkie goes on to say, “It should also be remembered that judgment is the Lord’s; he knows the thought, intents, and abilities of men; and he in his infinite wisdom will make all things right in due course.”

Elder Ballard added, “When he does judge us, I feel he will take all things into consideration: our genetic and chemical makeup, our mental state, our intellectual capacity, the teachings we have received, the teachings of our fathers, our health, and so on.”

Again, I am not defending or condemning. I simply don’t know enough to do either.  I can judge the actions: They were evil. They were horrific. And they will leave scars on the hearts of individuals and our very culture. Make no mistake – I condemn the acts.

Yet I do not know how “clouded” this young man’s mind was – or what it was clouded with. Prescriptions, mental illness, addictions, evil? I have no idea. Neither do the people screaming “Psycho.”

For someone to perform these horrific acts, his mental state could not be right. His mind was obviously clouded by something. From what I understand about him, his life was a struggle – not a violent struggle, but a struggle beyond what I comprehend.

Imagine with me for a moment: In his “clouded” state, this young man takes the lives of so many, and ultimately takes his own life, and awakens to find himself in the Prison part of the Spirit World – “Hell” if you will.

But when he gets there, the chemistry or genetics or whatever he was experienced within his mortal body that clouded his mind is suddenly…gone. He now has no body physical body – yet. He is awake, alive, and able to fully recognize and understand the horrible things he did as the final act of his young life. That is his hell. So many people are suffering. He is too. A clear recollection of all his guilt is his hell.  To some that will provide a sense of satisfaction, and justice. To me, it is heartbreaking.

I do not presume to know how God will judge Adam Lanza, but I can’t help but think that there will be more mercy than most of us would ever imagine.

Perhaps how we react to this very tragedy is part of our test.
Do we react with hate or mercy? Pick one – you can’t have both.
Do we live our lives in fear, or with faith? Pick one – you can’t have both.

Personally, I wrestle with being too judgmental. My sweet brother was a victim of my judgment when I was a young man, and I failed that test. But I have since learned, and repented. I am continually learning mercy. Watching the miracle of mercy on a regular basis as a bishop taught me more than a lifetime of cynically observation from the sidelines.

And one day, I hope I can merit that same mercy – because I have been left with little excuse.

FYI: I am screening comments, and will post them as soon as I can. Unless they are dumb.