Read Online Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy by Donald B. Kraybill, Steven M. Nolt, David L. Weaver-Zercher - Free Book Online
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of work. Softly, subtly, and quietly, they were beginning the difficult task of forgiveness.
The Amish quickly realized that Roberts’s widow and children were also victims of the shooting—victims who had lost not only a husband and father, but also their privacy. Unlike the Amish victims, the Roberts family had to bear the shame of having a loved one inflict such pain on innocent children and families. Within a few hours of the shooting, some Amish people were already reaching out to the killer’s family.
Amos, an Amish minister in one of the nearby church districts, described it to us like this: “Well, there were three of us standing around at the firehouse on Monday evening. We just thought we should go and say something to Amy, Roberts’s widow. So first we went to her house, and no one was there. Then we walked over to her grand-father’s house and no one was there. So we walked over to her father’s house and she, her children, and her parents were there alone. So we just talked with them for about ten minutes to express our sorrow and told them that we didn’t hold anything against them.”
That same evening, several miles away, an Amish man went to see the killer’s father, a retired police officer who provided taxi service for local Amish residents. Dwight Lefever, a spokesperson for the Roberts family, later told the media that an Amish neighbor had come to comfort the family. “He stood there for an hour, and he held that man [Mr. Roberts] in his arms and said, ‘We forgive you.’” In the next days, Roberts’s parents received many visits and calls from other Amish people who also expressed forgiveness and gracious concern.
The day after the shooting, Amy’s grandfather visited one of the bereaved Amish families, one for whom the gunman had hauled milk. “I knew the father and grandfather of the children who were killed. We met in the kitchen and shook hands and put our arms around each other,” recalled Roberts’s relative. “They said there are no grudges. There’s forgiveness in all of this. It was hard to listen to, and hard to believe.” Describing what happened in the following days he said, “There have been many Amish stopping at Amy’s house and expressing their forgiveness and condolences and bringing her gifts. I can see them from my window when they come to her house.”
Other Amish people in the Nickel Mines community expressed their commitment to forgiveness in different ways. At about 5:30 on Wednesday morning, two days after the shooting, the sleepless grandfather of the two slain sisters was walking by the schoolhouse, reflecting on his loss. A little more than twenty-four hours earlier, he had made grueling trips to two different hospitals only to see the young girls die in their mother’s arms. Suddenly TV cameras caught him in the glare of floodlights, and a reporter stepped toward him.
“Do you have any anger toward the gunman’s family?” she asked.
“ No.”
“Have you already forgiven them?”
“In my heart, yes.”
“How is that possible?”
“Through God’s help.”
Later that morning, an Amish woman from Georgetown, appearing in silhouette on CBS’s Early Show, also spoke about forgiving the killer. “We have to forgive,” she said. “We have to forgive him in order for God to forgive us.”
Another story, widely reported in the national media, involved the grandfather of another of the victims. Looking at his granddaughter’s mutilated body lying in a coffin in her home, he told the younger children surrounding him, “We shouldn’t think evil of the man who did this.” This spirit of grace was echoed by an Amish craftsman in Georgetown who had relatives in the schoolhouse. He told the Associated Press, “I hope they [Roberts’s widow and children] stay around here. They’ll have lots of friends and a lot of support.”
Amish grace soon moved beyond spontaneous words and
The Amish quickly realized that Roberts’s widow and children were also victims of the shooting—victims who had lost not only a husband and father, but also their privacy. Unlike the Amish victims, the Roberts family had to bear the shame of having a loved one inflict such pain on innocent children and families. Within a few hours of the shooting, some Amish people were already reaching out to the killer’s family.
Amos, an Amish minister in one of the nearby church districts, described it to us like this: “Well, there were three of us standing around at the firehouse on Monday evening. We just thought we should go and say something to Amy, Roberts’s widow. So first we went to her house, and no one was there. Then we walked over to her grand-father’s house and no one was there. So we walked over to her father’s house and she, her children, and her parents were there alone. So we just talked with them for about ten minutes to express our sorrow and told them that we didn’t hold anything against them.”
That same evening, several miles away, an Amish man went to see the killer’s father, a retired police officer who provided taxi service for local Amish residents. Dwight Lefever, a spokesperson for the Roberts family, later told the media that an Amish neighbor had come to comfort the family. “He stood there for an hour, and he held that man [Mr. Roberts] in his arms and said, ‘We forgive you.’” In the next days, Roberts’s parents received many visits and calls from other Amish people who also expressed forgiveness and gracious concern.
The day after the shooting, Amy’s grandfather visited one of the bereaved Amish families, one for whom the gunman had hauled milk. “I knew the father and grandfather of the children who were killed. We met in the kitchen and shook hands and put our arms around each other,” recalled Roberts’s relative. “They said there are no grudges. There’s forgiveness in all of this. It was hard to listen to, and hard to believe.” Describing what happened in the following days he said, “There have been many Amish stopping at Amy’s house and expressing their forgiveness and condolences and bringing her gifts. I can see them from my window when they come to her house.”
Other Amish people in the Nickel Mines community expressed their commitment to forgiveness in different ways. At about 5:30 on Wednesday morning, two days after the shooting, the sleepless grandfather of the two slain sisters was walking by the schoolhouse, reflecting on his loss. A little more than twenty-four hours earlier, he had made grueling trips to two different hospitals only to see the young girls die in their mother’s arms. Suddenly TV cameras caught him in the glare of floodlights, and a reporter stepped toward him.
“Do you have any anger toward the gunman’s family?” she asked.
“ No.”
“Have you already forgiven them?”
“In my heart, yes.”
“How is that possible?”
“Through God’s help.”
Later that morning, an Amish woman from Georgetown, appearing in silhouette on CBS’s Early Show, also spoke about forgiving the killer. “We have to forgive,” she said. “We have to forgive him in order for God to forgive us.”
Another story, widely reported in the national media, involved the grandfather of another of the victims. Looking at his granddaughter’s mutilated body lying in a coffin in her home, he told the younger children surrounding him, “We shouldn’t think evil of the man who did this.” This spirit of grace was echoed by an Amish craftsman in Georgetown who had relatives in the schoolhouse. He told the Associated Press, “I hope they [Roberts’s widow and children] stay around here. They’ll have lots of friends and a lot of support.”
Amish grace soon moved beyond spontaneous words and
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