what if a Christian nation had been

From Where I Stand by Joan Chittister, OSB October 9, 2006Vol. 4, No. 23The country that went through the rabid slaughter of children atColumbine high school several years agoonce again stood stunned at the rampage in a tiny Amish school thismonth.We were, in fact, more than unusually saddened by this particulardisplay of viciousness. It was, of course,an attack on 10 little girls. Amish. Five dead. Five wounded. Mostpeople called it "tragic." After all,the Amish represent no threat to society, provide no excuse for therationalization of the violence soeasily practiced by the world around them.Nevertheless, in a nation steeped in violence -- from its video gamesto its military history, in foreignpolicy and on its streets -- the question remains: Why did thisparticular disaster affect us like it did?You'd think we'd be accustomed to mayhem by now.But there was something different about this one. What was it?Make no mistake about it: the Amish are not strangers to violence. Thekind of ferocity experienced by the Amish as they buried the fivegirl-children murdered by a crazed gunmen two weeks ago has not reallybeen foreign to Amish life and the history of this peaceful people.This is a people born out of opposition to violence -- and, at the sametime, persecuted by both Catholicsand Protestants in the era before religious tolerance. Having failed toadhere to the orthodoxy of one or theother of the controlling theocracies of their home territories, theywere banished, executed, imprisoned,drowned or burned at the stake by both groups.But for over 300 years, they have persisted in their intention to bewho and what they said they were.Founded by a once-Catholic priest in the late 17century, as part of thereformist movements of the time, the Mennonites -- from which the Amishlater sprung -- were, from the beginning, a simple movement.They believe in adult baptism, pacifism, religious tolerance,separation of church and state, oppositionto capital punishment, and opposition to oaths and cvil office.They organize themselves into local house churches. They separate fromthe "evil" of the world aroundthem. They live simple lives opposed to the technological devices --and even the changingclothing styles -- which, in their view, encourage the individualism,the pride, that erodes community,family, a righteous society. They work hard. They're self-sufficient;they refuse both Medicare and SocialSecurity monies from the state. And though the community has sufferedits own internal violence fromtime to time, they have inflicted none on anyone around them.Without doubt, to see such a peaceful people brutally attacked wouldsurely leave any decent human beingappalled. But it was not the violence suffered by the Amish communitylast week that surprised people. Ournewspapers are full of brutal and barbarian violence day after dayafter day -- both national and personal.No, what really stunned the country about the attack on the small Amishschoolhouse in Pennsylvania wasthat the Amish community itself simply refused to hate what had hurtthem."Do not think evil of this man," the Amish grandfather told hischildren at the mouth of one little girl'sgrave."Do not leave this area. Stay in your home here." the Amish delegationtold the family of the murderer. "Weforgive this man."No, it was not the murders, not the violence, that shocked us; it wasthe forgiveness that followed itfor which we were not prepared. It was the lack of recrimination, thedearth of vindictiveness that leftus amazed. Baffled. Confounded.It was the Christianity we all profess but which they practiced thatleft us stunned. Never had we seen sucha thing.Here they were, those whom our Christian ancestors called "heretics,"who were modeling Christianity forall the world to see. The whole lot of them. The entire community ofthem. Thousands of them at one time.The real problem with the whole situation is that down deep we knowthat we had the chance to do the same.After the fall of the Twin Towers we had the sympathy, the concern, thesupport of the entire world.You can't help but wonder, when you see something like this, what theworld would be like today if, insteadof using the fall of the Twin Towers as an excuse to invade a nation,we had simply gone to every Muslimcountry on earth and said, "Don't be afraid. We won't hurt you. We knowthat this is coming from only a fringe of society, and we ask your helpin saving others from this same kind of violence.""Too idealistic," you say. Maybe. But since we didn't try, we'll neverknow, will we?Instead, we have sparked fear of violence in the rest of the worldourselves. So much so, that they are nowmaking nuclear bombs to save themselves. From whom? From us, ofcourse.The record is clear. Instead of exercising more vigilance at ourborders, listening to our allies andbecoming more of what we say we are, we are becoming who they said weare.For the 3,000 dead in the fall of the Twin Towers at the hands of 19religious fanatics, we have more than2,700 U.S. soldiers now killed in military action, more than 20,600wounded, more than 10,000 permanentlydisabled. We have thousands of widows and orphans, a constitution atrisk, a president that asked for and aCongress that just voted to allow torture, and a nationalinfrastructure in jeopardy for want of futurefunding.And nobody's even sure how many thousand innocent Iraqis are dead now,too.Indeed, we have done exactly what the terrorists wanted us to do. Wehave proven that we are theoppressors, the exploiters, the demons they now fear we are. And --read the international press -- fewpeople are saying otherwise around the world.From where I stand, it seems to me that we ourselves are no longer sosure just exactly what kind of peoplewe have now apparently become.Interestingly enough, we do know what kind of people the Amish are --and, like the early Romans, we, too,are astounded at it. "Christian" they call it.