If you are like me and are on Facebook far more than you should be, your feed probably looks a lot like mine this time of year. You have pictures of your friend’s children going back to school, you have a smattering of political posts that tell you that your candidate of choice eats babies (or BOTH OF THEM DO!!), you might have some people talking about how the air is changing and there is a hint of fall and glory be and hallelujah, we can all break out the pumpkin spiced theme parties.

And also, Brock Turner.

If you live under a rock and don’t know much about this story, let me sum up. Brock Turner is a convicted sexual offender. He was caught in the act of sexually assaulting a drunk, unconscious woman behind a dumpster on the Stanford campus after a fraternity party. Sadly, his story–the rape/assault of a drunk woman–does not make Brock very unique. What DOES make Brock Turner unique is that despite the jury’s swift guilty verdict of 3 counts of sexual assault, and the prosecution’s request for long term prison time, Brock was sentenced to 6 months in prison, and was recently let out for good behavior after only 3 months. Roughly 90 days. For a rape that was, incredibly, witnessed and confirmed and interrupted by two passing students. There is no he said/she said here—Brock Turner did it.

As one can imagine, the internet has exploded.

He is everywhere—memes, videos, blog posts. He is the perfect subject for outrage porn—no decent human being should defend this person, ever. Indeed, we saw what happened when somebody tried. There was a letter from Brock’s childhood friend, an appeal to the judge about Brock’s character, that was made public. She defended her friend, said some very dumb and unhelpful things about rape, and ended her letter talking about how durned cute he is. The retribution of public opinion was swift with her as well–her band was quickly blackballed from playing in several venues. The message was no person should defend a rapist, and so no rapist defender was going to play at this club, thank you very much.

It is super easy to hate Brock Turner. It’s that kind of righteous hate. I mean, it feels REALLY good to hate him. Even if you weren’t his victim, he is still worthy of receiving every bit of hate and ire this hate and ire-filled world has to offer.

And yet I can’t help thinking as I scroll past these things on Facebook of a particular quote from Anne Lamott (and if you haven’t read her stuff, you need to. Like, today. Seriously, finish this blog post and then go buy one of her books.)

She recently posted this on Twitter:

“You want to know how big God’s love is? The answer is: It’s very big. It’s bigger than you’re comfortable with.”

There are lots of ways to interpret this (which is why Anne Lamott is the bomb), and you can say that God loves YOU way more than you might be comfortable with, because you feel like maybe you don’t deserve it, or you’ve done something to negate it, or you’ve never felt it, or you don’t believe in God in the first place and it makes your atheist sensory organs twitch when believers talk about God’s love.

But another way of interpreting this is that God loves EVERYBODY, including sinners like Brock Turner. That God is crying with Brock’s family and friends as they watch how his choices have forever altered his life and the life of his victim. That God is supporting Brock as he suffers through the consequences of his sin just as much as God is working on healing the terrible, awful, almost irreparable wounds Brock inflicted behind that dumpster. It could mean that God would want us to pray for the survivor of the assault AS WELL AS the assaulter.

I’m gonna be honest. The thought of praying for Brock Turner kind of makes me throw up a little in my mouth.

There are also several other people that I have come across in my own life that if God told me I should pray for them because they are His beloved children, it would make me go, “Them? I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

And so we come up against what the true definition of charity is, the pure love of Christ. It means loving people who are really, really, really tough to love. That is super uncomfortable.

It also means forgiving people who are really, really, really, REALLY tough to forgive. And that can be sitting on a cactus uncomfortable.

I’ve often wondered why we are told, without reservation, without asterisk, without exceptions, to forgive. There are so many injuries inflicted on humans by other humans that would seem unforgivable, how on earth can the Lord expect us to go there? Not even expect, but sort of command?

The only answer that I have come up with as I’ve grappled with forgiving others in my own life is that God expects us to forgive even the most deepest cuts because there is nothing inflicted on us in this life that God can’t heal. He can make us whole, which would allow us to let the pain go.

I’m not sure how that happens, honestly. I’m not entirely sure what forgiveness looks like of a person who definitely shouldn’t be re-invited into your life (or was never actually invited in the first place). It may mean living without bitterness, or letting go of hate, or going as far as experiencing compassion for somebody who deliberately hurt you (that’s graduate level christianity, right there). All I know is that whatever it is and however it comes, it doesn’t work quickly. I once asked a person who had been abused as a child if they had forgiven their abuser.

“No. Not yet. But I’m patient. And I think God is too.”

So I’m going to be patient too, and be uncomfortable, and pray for the day when I can know what it looks like to love sinners and saints alike.

I think I’m also going to pray that we raise better boys to be better men who respect women and understand the language of consent, just for good measure.


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