Wednesday, September 23, 2026
Father Richard reminds us that embodying nonviolence requires facing the structures of violence in our culture, church, and world:
I think corporate evil can only be opposed by corporate good. We cannot look the other way when it comes to systems and structures of violence. While we have collectively grown in our consciousness of the need for protest, to oppose injustice, and to make our voices heard, as individuals, we often still feel helpless against the mammoth evils we’re facing today. That explains the psychic numbing that so many people experience. It may appear passive, but it is often paralysis—the result not of bad will as much as simply not knowing what to do.
I worked a lot in German-speaking countries where people are aware that their bishops failed to stand up to Hitler. The bishops responded with appeasement, believing they had to protect the institution. They feared the Nazis would persecute the church, even though Jesus promised exactly that: persecution! We seem to have assumed that the individual must live the gospel but that the corporate church doesn’t have to. We Christians expected individuals to be poor while the institution remained rich. This cannot be right. We have to live the gospel not just individually but institutionally, socially, and corporately.
Having traveled and taught in many countries, I have learned to recognize many of the beautiful aspects of the United States. We have historically enjoyed many privileges in terms of freedom, education, and resources. Yet I have also seen America’s shadow side, particularly our insistence on individuality. If our prayer journey does not lead us to a collective sense of servanthood and responsibility for the world, I think we will have failed in our willingness to deal with the violence of the world. I think the violence will continue as long as much of the world views us as a part of an oppressive system. In many respects, they’re not wrong! Only one thing is more difficult to deal with than the individual ego, and that’s the corporate ego, which is usually more disguised, protected, and denied. Unless we’re willing to face it, we will continue to participate in cycles of anger, hatred, and violence rather than healing and justice. [1]
Richard ties our acceptance of violence to the belief that Jesus’s violent death was necessary for God to forgive us:
Our commonly accepted atonement theory—especially as accomplished through the life, suffering, and death of Jesus—reaffirmed our narrow notion of retributive justice and legitimated a notion of “good and necessary violence” all the way down. As long as we employ any retributive notion of God’s justice, we trade our distinctive Christian message for the cold, hard justice that has prevailed in most cultures throughout history. We offer no redemptive alternative to history but actually sanctify the very “powers and principalities” that Paul says unduly control the world (Ephesians 3:9–10, 6:12). We stay inside of what some call the “myth of redemptive violence,” which might just be the dominant story line of history. [2]
===========
Message from a Vicarious Father,
Some of you don’t have a father anymore.
Some of you never knew your father.
Some of you wish you hadn’t known your father.
Some of you had cruel fathers, sick fathers,
busy fathers, unfaithful fathers.
But what is almost certain is that
all of us have father wounds.
I know I do (and have done some work).
I know my kids do (and have done some work).
Some experience repentance, forgiveness or reconciliation
with their fathers, with themselves, or with their fathers
in this life.
Many don’t. Many can’t.
Nevertheless,
for those whose fathers have never said it but should have,
I have two things to say
as a dad with my own wounds,
as a dad who has inflicted wounds.
I didn’t earn the right to say this.
Nevertheless,
you may need to hear it.
First, for the wounds inflicted…
in knowledge or in ignorance
through actions or neglect
through roars or through silence
directly or indirectly
through shame or violence or betrayal
to you or your siblings or your mother
subtle or overt
and for all the ways a father can fail
to be a father…
for the wounds inflicted,
for the 10,000 paper cuts and the deepest gouges,
for the toxins infused so deeply they feel like they’re you,
for the moral stumbling blocks and emotional land mines inherited,
I am sorry.
I cannot fix you.
But I can say that I’m so, so sorry.
It should never have happened.
But it did.
Lord, have mercy.
And if your own father can never say these words,
or even feel them in his heart,
or make amends,
or repair what’s broken,
I am sorry. Truly sorry.
I hope reading those offers some measure of solace.
And maybe some safe, healthy father you know and trust
would be willing to read this message aloud to you, even vicariously.
I hope you’ll find that father and let him.
Second, for those whose ears have never heard these words,
whose hearts have never felt them,
I want you to know that
I’m proud of you.
And the heavenly Father who is safe and kind and gentle,
who is unlike the father images who wounded us,
who has endured the scorn of seeing the word “father” tainted
and become a trigger…
the Father who is “especially fond to you”
and would come to you as The Shack’s black female “Papa”
the One Who sees your life from conception to completion—
that One deeply loves you today,
as you are.
Not in a way you need to earn it
or need to account for the ‘why.’
Just because.
For all those times when you waited anxiously
to hear those words
or despaired because you knew you never would,
I am telling you now
because it’s okay to let go
(or begin to let go)
of the burden of guilt or shame or grief
of your father wounds.
You can stop holding your breath now.
It’s okay to inhale and to sigh
and inhale again and again
to receive a Father’s blessing.
You can look up.
Make eye contact.
In my spirit, I see you.
And I’m proud of you.
