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I
am a New York City Police Officer. On July 12, 1986, I was
on patrol in Central Park and stopped to question three
teenagers. While I was questioning them, the oldest, a
fifteen-year-old, took out a gun and shot me in the head and
neck.
Thanks to the quick action of my fellow police officers, I
was rushed to a hospital. A few days later, once it became
clear I was going to survive, a surgeon came into my room
and told my wife, Patti Ann, and me that I would be
paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of my life. He
told my wife I would need to be institutionalized. I was
married just eight months, and my wife, twenty-three years
old, was three months pregnant. Patti Ann was crying
uncontrollably at the cards she had been dealt, and I cried
too. I was locked in my body, unable to move or to reach out
to her.
Our
faith suddenly became very important to us: the Catholic
mass, prayers, our need for God. It was God's love that put
me back together. And it came from many different corners.
Christians of every orientation, Jews, Muslims, and people
of no faith at all were rooting for me.
A
week after I was shot, the media asked to speak to my wife.
Though still in shock, Patti Ann bravely told everybody that
she would trust God to do what was best for her family. That
set the tone not only for my recovery but also for the rest
of our lives. When things like this happen, people sometimes
distance themselves from God. Patti Ann taught me that you
don't do that. You trust God. She trusted, and here I am.
I
spent the next eighteen months in the hospital. While I was
there my wife gave birth to our son, Connor. At his baptism
I told everyone I forgave the young teen who shot me. I
wanted to free myself of all the negative, destructive
emotions that this act of violence awoke in me-the anger,
the bitterness, the hatred. I needed to free myself of those
so I could be free to love my wife and our child and those
around us.
I
often tell people that the only thing worse than a bullet in
my spine would have been to nurture revenge in my heart.
Such an attitude would have extended my tragic injury into
my soul, hurting my wife, son, and others even more. It is
bad enough that the physical effects are permanent, but at
least I can choose to prevent spiritual injury.
A
year or two later, Shavod Jones, the young man who shot me,
called my home from prison and apologized to my wife, my
son, and me. I told him that I hoped he and I could work
together sometime in the future. I hoped that we would
travel around the country together to share our different
understandings of that act of violence that changed both our
lives, and the understanding it gave us about what is most
important in life. In 1995 Shavod was released from prison.
Three days later, he died in a motorcycle accident. But
Shavod Jones is with me wherever my story is told. We have
helped many people, the two of us.
Before I was shot I had not been very committed to my
faith. The shooting changed that. I feel close to heaven
today in a way I never knew before, and it makes me very
happy. I know it may be hard to understand, but I would
rather be like this and feel the way I do, than go on living
like I was before.
Of
course, I have my ups and downs. Some days, when I am not
feeling well, I get angry. I get depressed. There have been
times when I even felt like killing myself. But I have come
to realize that anger is a wasted emotion. So I forgive that
young man all over again, and every time I tell my story, I
think of Shavod, and I forgive him.
People often ask if I forgave Shavod right away, or if it
took time. It has evolved over fourteen years. I think about
it almost every day. I was angry at him, but I was also
puzzled, because I found I couldn't hate him. More often
than not I felt sorry for him. I wanted him to find peace
and purpose in his life. I wanted him to turn his life to
helping and not hurting people. That's why I forgave him. It
was also a way of moving on, a way of putting the terrible
incident behind me.
We
still struggle every day. My wife wants to know why a
teenager had to do this to me. My son is growing up; he is
now fourteen years old. He sees other fathers and sons
playing and wants to know why he couldn't have that
experience with his dad. So we still struggle. I have
learned that prayer is something we do in our time and the
answers come in God's time. And prayers are not always
answered the way we think they should be.
Months and years have come and gone and I've never regretted
forgiving Shavod. Back then we never imagined it would carry
any importance in other people's lives. We did it for
ourselves. But ever since people have wanted to hear about
this act of forgiveness. It helped us, but more importantly
but it has helped others as well. Popes, presidents, heads
of state, and ordinary people have invited us into their
offices or homes to tell our story. We don't always have the
right words, but I believe it is our act of forgiveness that
speaks to them.
I've been able to reach out to children in particular,
because it was a child of my city that did this terrible
thing to me. I often speak at schools about nonviolence, and
I know from responses I get that many of the children have
embraced my message and internalized it. Instead of
responding to violence with more violence they have decided
to choose forgiveness and love.
So
God has turned something terrible into something beautiful.
I think God wants to use both our abilities and our
disabilities. He needs our arms and legs and minds and
hearts and all that we have, to let others know that he is
alive and well and loves us and wants us to love each other.
Right now the towns around me are filled with families who
lost loved ones on September 11. There are broken hearts all
over the place. I myself lost many dear friends. They are
part of us, but through our pain we feel God reaching out to
us. Even in this difficult time-especially in this difficult
time-he is offering us the peace of forgiveness.
My
story is told in Johann Christoph Arnold's book, Why
Forgive?, but I think the most timely story in the book is
that of Gordon Wilson, whose daughter, Marie, was killed
when terrorists blew up a building in Northern Ireland. They
both lay trapped under the rubble of the collapsed building,
holding each other's hands. Just hours later Gordon told
reporters, "I have lost my daughter but I bear no ill will.
I bear no grudge. That will not bring her back."
I
don't think anyone's suggesting that those who organized the
attack on the World Trade Center and Pentagon go free with
an act of forgiveness. They should be arrested and receive a
just punishment. As an American who served in the U.S.
military I want to stand up and protect America, to rally
around the flag. There's a place for that.
But
where are the answers, if you just deal with it on a human
level? Why were they hurt, and why are they dead, these
friends we miss so badly now? It's hard to find those
answers. But on a divine level I know that all these women
and men who were taken from us so brutally are experiencing
eternal happiness and are waiting to meet us.
Forgiveness is a topic that people need to hear about today
more than ever. As human beings we need forgiveness, whether
we are giving it or asking for it. And people make up
countries. So that means countries need forgiveness, can
offer forgiveness. Forgiveness is really about our own
healing. We may experience slight offenses, or they may be
profound. But in the end it is our choice, and it is the
survival of our own souls that is at stake.
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