Bible People
I was a ‘Bible basher’ as a young Christian, concussing more than a few people with my wildly swinging King James Version. Using it like a club, I pummelled people with principles. I won a few arguments and lost a few friends, which I assumed was due to the fragrance of Christ in my life getting up their noses. It never occurred to me that they might simply have found me too bruising.
In 2005 I witnessed some Bible bashing of an altogether more tragic variety. America was gripped by the sentencing of serial killer Dennis Rader, who tortured and murdered ten people between 1974 and 1991 and evaded capture for three decades. ‘Monster’ is an overused word in criminal cases, but this chilling man surely fits the bill. He was sentenced to ten consecutive life terms, with no possibility of parole for 175 years. What compounded the tragedy was that he described himself as a Christian, and until his arrest had been president of his Lutheran Church Council. In a rambling statement, Rader quoted from the Bible, read a few lines from a daily devotional book and suggested that his years of killing had been inspired by demons. He thanked his defence team with the gushing gratitude of an Oscar winner. But not once did he pause to make a serious, considered apology to the relatives of his victims. The best he could manage was, ‘As for remorse, well, that’s obvious.’ But obvious it was not. ‘Sorry’ would have been a small but welcome start.
The American court system permits the relatives of victims to make a statement at sentencing hearings, and fifteen individuals decided to speak. Wichita sits in America’s Bible Belt, and most of them were professing Christians. In most cases their hatred for Rader was palpable. Through gritted teeth, they told him he would burn in hell forever, and some were obviously thrilled at the thought. The most vitriolic statement came from a man who had written a Christian book on suffering. He rained down insults on his mother’s killer, and pronounced yet another ‘you’ll roast forever without possibility of parole’ sentence, his face twisted with rage. For a moment, the hatred in the room seemed almost as dark as the crimes themselves. ‘Hell will freeze over before I forgive,’ he told reporters later.
It’s difficult for me to judge the relatives of those victims. I cannot imagine their agony, or begin to fathom the depths of their grief. As I listened to the grisly catalogue of crimes, I found myself shouting at the television. Rader is certainly a loathsome specimen, and I have no idea how I would react if he had snuffed out the life of my son or daughter. I fear I might join those baying for his barbecuing.
But tragedy begets tragedy, and that day’s events were hopeless because not one of these professing followers of Christ – perpetrator or victims – could find the grace to seek or offer the beginnings of forgiveness. Justice must be done, and Rader must surely never see the light of day in a community again. But that day, both the condemned and the condemners slopped around in the same sad, murky pool of sin. And the Bible was used by both sides, as it has been so many times throughout history, like a razor-sharp claymore swung clumsily, cutting and bruising not only those in the courtroom but anyone who watched the poisonous proceedings. The Bible is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands.
And I couldn’t help wondering if the victims’ families were committing themselves to life sentences of their own, behind the invisible yet iron bars of bitterness. Unresolved rage is not a laser-focused force; it blows up in our own faces.
I’m profoundly challenged, not only about my own capacity to forgive, but also about the way I use Scripture. Truth sometimes hurts, but am I sometimes hurtful in the way I share it? Too many Christians have sliced and diced each other in the name of Christ. We can be so intent on applying the serrated edge of Scripture that we forget that truth without love is no truth at all.
And hell, whatever that is, will not freeze over. But heaven still stands on tiptoe, waiting in hopeful anticipation for the walking wounded, who limp on, still bloodied, yet refuse to resort to biblical bludgeoning, and begin to forgive.