Tragedy and Forgiveness

As mentioned in my last post, I came across a poem at one of the memorials on the drill field while on a recent visit to Virginia Tech. The memorial belonged to gunman Cho Seung-Hui. The full text of the poem follows.

—
To Cho:

I am a Hokie.
You can not strip me of that, or
My love, my passion, or my truth.
My innocence is mine on the cross
And you can not have it.
You will not now nor will you ever
Have power over me.

The truth is I miss you.
I wish I could have shown you
His love, His passion, His truth.
It has set me free
And I wish I could share that with you.
I missed you.
I’m sorry.

So I must tell you now:
Even though you took innocent lives;
Even though you tried to put fear in our hearts;
Even though I hurt to the core;
Even though my eyes are tired of crying;
Even though campus, my home, will never be the same…

I forgive you
And I love you.

Erica
—

Virginia Tech Slides

Eight days after the tragedy that struck Virginia Tech, I went there on a pilgrimage of sorts to offer support to a sister chapter of Orthodox Christian Fellowships. Over the two evenings I was there, I attended two OCF meetings and had dinner with the members of the chapter and the visiting clergy.

It was neat to go and visit another chapter and to connect with new people. But more than that, it was very touching to walk through the Squires Student Center and see banners from different schools with words of encouragement. At that time, the most distant schools I saw represented were Trinity University in San Antonio, TX, and University of Alaska, Anchorage.

Some of the messages were more like letters, going into detailed descriptions of sorrow and pain felt by the writers. The most moving ones were the simple statements. A few that I read said things like “Sorry for the pain” or “I’m praying for you.” One student from a school in Alaska who was probably 7 or 8 years old simply said “Jesus loves you.”

Another thing that really impacted me was the resolve demonstrated by the students whom I encountered. It seems to me that it would be easier to sit in the grief and just allow yourself to be eaten up by bitterness. A researcher named Dimos with whom I stayed while there read a quotation from a book, a quotation that he had read the night before the shooting. It was by a priest who was writing a letter to a monastic community he had helped established, and he told the nuns there to be careful and not let bitterness creep in their hearts, lest the paradise in their heart become a hell. “What a scary thought,” Dimos said, “that the world around you couldn’t just be hellish, but that Hell could actually reside in your in your heart.” The students had chosen to press on and avoid that very thing, and I admire them greatly for it.

To help them along, the national OCF office sent four clergy to administer crisis surveys and talk sessions to the group, as well as further one-on-one time as needed. Also, the first evening, they held a memorial service lead by Bishop Tomas of the Antiochian Archdiocese. One of the clergy present was Fr. Kevin Scherer, executive director of OCF. I was very privileged to be interviewed by him for Ancient Faith Radio regarding why I had traveled from Tennessee to VT. He’s a very caring man, and I’m very glad to have him at the helm of OCF, especially after seeing the response at Virginia Tech.

While in Blacksburg, Fr. Kevin took some pictures of various things around the campus. Below is a slideshow of his pictures (featuring a few night shots from yours truly). [Note: There are a few closeups of a paper in a ziplock. This is a poem, the text to which I will post later.]

All who lost their lives, may their memory be eternal!

OCF College Conference 2006

Last week, I went to the annual College Conference conducted by Orthodox Christian Fellowships. In the wee hours of the morning of the final day, I was hanging out in my room doing stuff on my computer with photos I had taken at the conference the night before. Then, I suddenly had the urge to write. And this is what came out:

—

December 31, 2006–3:37 am

I’m sitting in room 212 in the Conference Center at Antiochian Village in western Pennsylvania. “Run” by Snow Patrol is blaring from the speakers on my laptop. It’s cold outside, though I’m not sure how cold. When I went out to run an errand earlier, the “smell” of snow filled my nostrils. It probably won’t snow, though; it’s probably just the combination of crisply cold air and increased humidity.

Keith, my roommate, has stepped out into the hallway to hunt down a beverage of some sort to quench his late-night thirst. We will likely go to sleep somewhat early tonight, probably around 4:15-ish. Every other night we’ve been here, we’ve stayed up until roughly 5:00 and talked, either with each other or some of the other 250+ students here at the 2006 College Conference put on by Orthodox Christian Fellowships, a campus ministry of the Christian Orthodox Church. A little extra sleep would be nice, as I would like to be able to get out of bed early enough to attend Liturgy in the morning at 8 o’ clock. It will be the last service I will get to attend with most of these students until this time next year. I look forward to once again standing along side my brothers and sisters in the Faith and lifting our voices as we sing hymns to our One True God and Savior Jesus Christ.

Today is the last day of the conference. In a few hours, we will pack up and go home. But, before leaving, we must face parting. I can’t imagine how difficult this will be. In only 4 days or so, I’ve developed a number of friendships that will likely last a good while, probably years. I already have standing invitations from two people to come crash at their place if I ever want to visit their church. One of these people, Keith, said that I don’t even have to be visiting his church, that I could just come whenever. I might take him up on that sometime.

Over the past days, I’ve been blessed to personally spend time with wonderful and incredible people who have great promise ahead of them. Michael is studying comparative theology between the historic traditions of the Orthodox and Protestant churches, a major he customized himself. Wajdi is a biomedical student with a great mind (even if he did say something about “James” Coltrane). Zeina is currently undecided all around, but she has a talent and passion for art. Keith is working on his second and third Bachelor’s degrees and wants to go on and pursue a career in graphic design of some type. Abbi wants to be a school teacher, or maybe a missionary. Leah wants to join the Peace Corps for a couple of years and be involved with environmental issues. Mary Evelyn is seeking a Master’s so that she can be a school librarian. And the list goes on.

There is so much more that I can say about this conference and what it has meant to me, and what it will mean to me. I’m very much not the same person who arrived. My heart has been changed, my thoughts have changed. I have been changed more deeply than I can even understand right now.

As one body of students and as members of the body of Christ, we came together this week, sharing the same confession of faith and the same desire to study the topic of the conference, which was “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Along the way, I made some friendships that will not easily fade away. As a matter of fact, I am wearing four colored bracelets on my right wrist to remind me of just a few of the connections I’ve made this week: a black one from Nick, a plaid one from Ben, a yellow one from Rachel, and a red one from my entire small group. All of these people wear respectively identical bracelets on their wrists as well. They will serve as reminders to us that we are connected by faith, our experiences here at the College Conference, and our friendship and love for one another.

And all of this–this friendship, this shared faith, this entire experience–is what makes it so hard to leave. I certainly look forward to spending New Year’s at home. But, I wish I could spend it here, in this holy place located in the Pennsylvania wilderness, learning about God and sharing life with the people around me. Maybe we would have the occasional (read: at least once a night) break out of Greek and Arabic dance. I would likely make even more friends. (I know that the food would be excellent, and how often can you say that about a conference center?)

One thing that would fill this place, as it does now, is Love. The love of God for us all. Our love for God, for His holy Church, for those in need, and for each other. I’ve never been on a retreat where I felt so much love, where I could meet someone and chat with them for 45 minutes and be warmly hugged as we go our separate ways for the evening. Keith says that there’s just something about this place. He’s right.

So, I’m off to bed now. It is, of course, 5:03 (I figured you were wondering). (In the middle of writing this, Keith returned and we chatted a little about tomorrow, about my visiting his church, about how he originally thought I was of Russian descent, etc.) From after Liturgy up to the time I leave, I will be saying goodbye quite a bit. I will hug people and possibly shed tears. It’s so difficult to explain….I will only say that it is a gift of God to have been here and to have worshipped and eaten and laughed and danced and lived with these other students.

Yes, I’ll be sad. But, I’m actually somewhat comforted by this, because the sadness only points to the fact that I did have such an amazing experience here this week and that I would rather it not end.

I dare say I’m not alone.