Die With Me: Pickton, Jesus, and Me by Brita Miko

(This piece began in a newsgroup. Brad Jersak’s words are here, enfolded in mine. All italicized words are Brad’s). 

Life is not theoretical. The reality of life is lived. Hard lived moment by hard lived moment. Moments of beauty. Moments of grace. Moments of agony. Moments of terror. We are inside it and it is inside us. 

The life of Christ is a life happening in these very specific particular moments, or it is not happening at all. It doesn’t only happen in the mind, like a disembodied Word. It is incarnated again and again, born anew into every circumstance. It is for everything or it is for nothing at all. It is always true or it never was true. The lived reality is where we must know it and receive it and be it. It cannot be magical words for another world. It must be the way through in this one. Or it is no way at all. 

The life of Christ is the life I believe I want. Most of the time. But sometimes, I become scared. I get scared by what the life of Christ might mean. Now is one of those times. 

It happened in one of those seemingly unthreatening, seemingly run-of-the-mill moments. I was reading theological ideas on a newsgroup and Brad Jersak was writing about redemption. Nothing alarming, simply:

1. Redemption is accomplished and applied to all humanity on the Cross.

“Therefore as by the offence of one judgment came upon all men to condemnation; even so by the righteousness of one the free gift came upon all men unto justification of life” (Rom 5:18).

“For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life” (Rom 5:10).

“And he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world” (1Jo 2:2 KJVA).

2. Redemption is enjoyed / experienced by those who believe and follow.

He gave it legs, writing on, 

First, guilt is already removed from all at the Cross. Experiencing this happens upon belief... but even as enemies we're already forgiven, which allows me to make such strong statements to unbelievers as "You are forgiven. Your guilt has been taken care of. Believe that and you'll be free of existential condemnation that makes you sick and keeps you alienated from God… Your shortcomings, your guilt-trips, your self-condemnation became irrelevant the moment the Father answered his son's prayer, 'Father, forgive them' with a big, 'For you son? Of course!' and opened wide the doors of heaven to everyone. He declares, “All is forgiven! Ho! All who are thirsty! Come! Come to the table freely prepared for you! [And here's where repentance comes in:] You've looked for life at so many other tables and I see you are still hungry and emaciated. Come to my table and taste to see that I'm good." 

It’s the message of forgiveness, grace, and the cross. It is what we believe. My mind pushes, though. My mind needs to put flesh on ideas. Into my mind came Robert Pickton. 

Pickton has received some press over the last 5 years. The poorest postal code in our nation is in  Vancouver – the downtown eastside. It is the worst conditions for survival in Canada... but a beautiful, creative, supportive community survives every day. They live on. Except for the ones who are stabbed or overdose; the ones who jump from small windows or the ones whose DNA was found on Robert Pickton’s farm. There were over sixty women who disappeared. Over sixty women who were in the community and then were gone. One by one, over years they vanished. Now, DNA from 27 different women has been uncovered in the ground – 26 of whom have been identified as women the downtown eastside lost. They were the most vulnerable. They were the poor and desperate. They were your children. They were other people’s children, too. 

So, a clear example in my mind of not-saved-and-going-to-hell is Robert Pickton. He is accused of killing the most vulnerable. He is accused of killing the poor and the desperate. He is someone who fills me with pain and anger. Into my theology he goes. 

I can say, Christ died for Robert Pickton. I can say, Christ’s death atoned for Robert Pickton’s sins. I can even say, “redemption is accomplished and applied to” – Robert Pickton – “on the cross.” Even while saying that, I am not saying he is going to heaven. 

But what do I see? 

He is stabbing the woman. He is stabbing Jesus. Jesus is the woman. Jesus, incarnate in the least. They are both dying. Christ and her. Jesus says, “God forgive him, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Continuing into Brad’s words above, “the Father answered his son's prayer, 'Father, forgive them' with a big, 'For you son? Of course!' and opened wide the doors of heaven to everyone. He declares, “All is forgiven! Ho! All who are thirsty! Come! Come to the table freely prepared for you! [And here's where repentance comes in:] You've looked for life at so many other tables and I see you are still hungry and emaciated. Come to my table and taste to see that I'm good." 

It is hard to hear this word offered to him.
The “God forgive him.”
The “Of course.”
The “Come to my table.”
In fact, I can’t believe I am hearing this word.

But Pickton is yet to eat.
Pickton has not tasted.

I am looking down the table saying,
“Don’t you dare eat.
Don’t you dare touch that food.
It isn’t for you.
Damn.
God damn you.”

 

God is saying, “Ho! All is forgiven! Come to my table and taste to see that I’m good.” 

However, I am filled with rage, and I am not saying that. This is Pickton. All is not forgiven. 

I do see that Christ was forgiving him, even as it was happening. I can hold together that Christ was forgiving him, but he is not in heaven (although there may come a day). I can hold together that all (the whole world) have been reconciled; all (the whole world) have been forgiven. But all will not be in heaven.

If Pickton does taste, if Pickton does eat, if Pickton does see God is good then…
Then…
Then…
Another part of me will die.
Then I might not survive.
But as I am carrying my cross, what was I to expect?
Really.
What was I to expect?
Did I think the good news would not hurt?
Did I think the good news would not kill me?
Did I think that being crucified with Christ would be anything but the worst thing I could imagine?
Loving and forgiving are the things that will kill us. 

carrying my cross = loving
            carrying my cross = forgiving 

Or perhaps:

            loving = dying, death               
            forgiving = dying, death 

I have known this for years, but as I write these words I “get” it. A dozen little pieces click into place. I had knowledge of this before. We know love is THE WAY. We know forgiveness is THE WAY. We know that. To walk through what it means - Pickton, me, and worst of all, the Father "opened wide the doors of heaven to Pickton" is something else entirely. 

I know it in the abstract, but to see it in the concrete kills me.

I feel damned both ways. If it is true, what are the implications for the families of the women? Am I not in solidarity with their grief? How can I let the Father open wide the doors of heaven to Pickton without betraying them? without betraying truth? without betraying love? without betraying their lives? without betraying justice? without betraying..... If I embrace it, part of me dies. The part of me that can respect myself dies. The part of me that can justify myself dies. The part of me that loved them dies. The part of me that loved the Father dies. People will hate me justifiably if I embrace it.

This is not what I wanted “being a Christian” to mean.

But if it isn't true, then the knowledge I had before in the abstract - love is THE WAY, forgiveness is THE WAY, was just a nice idea. 

This is why Christ’s teachings and Christ’s death on the Cross are not two separate issues. Christ’s WAY, the narrow path, is the road of loving and forgiving even unto death. And He didn’t say, “Let me do that for you.” He said, “Come die with me.” 

Forgiving is the very thing I am most unwilling to do. That’s the very thing I want to say “You do that for me.” Or more honestly, “You, don’t do that!”

Don’t do that, God. If you do that, my anger will be upon you. If you do that, the fury I feel to Pickton will fall on you. Don’t you see if you do that, you become like him? God, do you see it? What I would release upon him I will instead release upon you. You will make me do this. 

God you are only giving me a reason to kill you. If he goes free, you will die. 

I need you to be like me. We cannot be gracious to one who annihilates the vulnerable. We cannot be gracious to these destroyers. Do you understand me, God? Do you know what you do? Do you see I might kill you? Do you see I am becoming Pickton? 

I do not want to have only these two choices. Your forgiveness would mean I either satiate my need for justice, kill you, becoming him, or I forgive him with you and die. Your forgiveness leaves me only two options. I either become like him or I become like you. This is not what I want. I want a third option to be we damn him. You and I are alike and he is dead.

That’s why we can say all are forgiven and invited, but few choose to follow.

Pickton is a good example of those who are invited freely to the table because all the prerequisites for his invitation have been satsified by Jesus' love and forgiveness.

I am a good example of those who have trouble following him from the table because of  the expectation that I will have to love and forgive.

Let me try that again:   

    a.  the call to believe = all are loved and forgive
    b.  the call to follow = I must love and forgive
 
Both are bad news to the Pharisee in me.

I want a. for me and not for Pickton.
I don’t want b. if by that he means Pickton.
A wide open door to a lavish banqueting table.
A hard narrow road that doesn’t just lead to the cross: it is one. 

This road is harder than I thought. The way of love is much, much harder. It’s so hard in fact, I don’t know if I’m ready to do it. It's easier to follow the rules than to love. It's easier to believe the right things than to love.

This is what we mean by the righteousness that exceeds that of the Pharisees.

We sometimes assume a call to love is wishy-washy. But a call to love is terrible and terrifying and relentless and in every moment far too hard. A call to love is the worst thing ever.

Yes. A seventy-times seven love.  A Gethsemane love. A Golgotha love.

I have the ability to dot my "i"s and cross my "t"s. I don't fail at correct doctrine (the creeds, the accepted theological positions, etc.) and correct behavior (don’t drink, don’t smoke, etc.) on a daily basis. I don’t fail at the measuring stick. However, I truly lack the ability to love again and again. I fail at love at virtually every opportunity presented to me. But there is redemption. Even my two year old forgives me. Even my infant forgives me. So I do keep trying. I am just a failure at it. By looking at the doctrine and rules, instead of love, I feel better about myself. If I MAKE it about the doctrine and the rules, instead of love, I feel fine.

Correct behavior to the Pharisees (and to us): whitewashing

vs.

Correct behavior to Jesus: love.

Suddenly I am face-to-face with how fragile my “Christianity” is. I am faced with how if the terms of Christianity shifted ever so slightly I might find myself not in. I am this blind. What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not ready? 

Even the thought of naming the name Pickton in a context of forgiveness makes me scared. And nauseous.

…My flesh somehow still wants to divorce the Picktons from the "It is finished" work of love and forgiveness. Not that Pickton has grafted himself to Christ. Not that he has believed and followed. But this is true (I think, with knees trembling): On Good Friday, Christ grafted himself to Pickton. He voluntarily submitted to being nailed to Pickton and all his sin. Flesh to flesh. Love and murder, skin on skin. Christ's blood washing Pickton. Cleansing Pickton. Drawing out the guilt and poison. Finishing it... way back then. And then, face to face, nailed there together, Christ whispers to Pickton and to Brita and to me... "Die with me." Not, "You don't need to die because I died" but, "If you die with me, you will rise with me." And then we say yes or no, probably over and over.

Suddenly, I am in blood. I am immersed in blood. I am submerged in blood. Suddenly, I am under blood. Like the old song, I am under the blood. Drowning. It’s all over me. It’s all on me. I want to fight my way through this blood. I want to gasp air. It’s all over Jesus, too. Blood is all over Jesus. The blood of each of those beautiful, desperate women that were loved. He is covered in their blood. The blood is so thick and deep because it is the blood of all who were viciously killed. It is the blood from all wounds. It is on him. Dear Jesus. It is on you.

And He holds it out to me, 

“This cup is my blood, my new covenant with you” (1 Cor. 11:25, The Message). 

The new covenant is blood. This cup he drank from. He too has pleaded, “Take this cup from me.” It was too hard for him to walk down this road, but he did it. It is too hard for me, too. I do not want this cup. I do not want blood. I like Christianity-lite. I want rules and doctrine, the old-school way. I want safety. I want a nice cup of coffee, double cream, double sugar, please, Jesus. 

I want air.

He tells me, "This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will not drink of this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it anew with you in my Father's kingdom" (Matt. 26:28-29).

I realize it is not their blood anymore. Maybe it never was. It is His blood. It is His blood that is all over me. Making me wet and sticky and scared. Why do I feel so much shame?

Shame is based in a lie. That is why Christ scorned the shame of the cross. The lie was that love, forgiveness, nonviolence, even silence were marks of impotence and failure. Shame shame. But He knew something. “Look mother, I make all things new.”

Loving and forgiving does feel shameful to me. Not in an everyday context, but in a Robert Pickton world, loving and forgiving is shameful. Forgiving the terrorist is shameful. I feel like I will deserve the world’s anger if I forgive him. You will want to kill me. You will be right. 

The cup, the blood, and the fruit are all connected, though. They are all manifestations of the same thing. In Matthew 26 (above) Christ spoke of drinking of the fruit of the vine. If we remain in Him, if we remain in the vine, we bear fruit. In the fruit is the blood. Bearing fruit involves blood. The drink is this fruit of the vine. The drink is His blood. Bearing fruit, loving and forgiving, the way of the cross, the blood – it’s all one red pool. It’s all spilling.

Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me (John 15:4).

It’s red and wet and sticky.
It’s all over us.
It covers us and makes all things new.

For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him... the one who feeds on me will live because of me (John 6:55-57, NIV). 

It’s red and wet and sticky.
It’s all over me.
It covers me and makes me new. 

And the only way through is to drink it. 

Take this cup from me, please. If there is any other way. If there is any other road.

Maybe we can't do it AND we can't avoid it. So we cast ourselves on Christ, pleading with him to do it in us. Surrender, not despair.

Surrender. Surrender. Die with me. Drink my blood.
Jesus didn’t drink it for me. He drank it, and I need to drink it with him.
Union.
God, help me not choke.

Jesus said, "Yes, in fact you will drink this cup... and be saved. And because it is a cup of salvation, you enter into the work of redemption. Grace is released... real grace that can transform a Pickton or rescue a prostitute. I want to rescue you. But more than that, I want to let this seed in you fall into the ground and die, then sprout up to bear much good fruit.”

For every Pickton that knows the love and forgiveness of God, we save how many prostitutes? for every pedophile that hears the good news that they are forgiven and their guilt IS atoned for, how many children grow up whole? for the joy set before us, we endure the cross of love and forgiveness, despising its shame, and anticipate the fruit that Christ bears.

The life of Christ must be the way through in this world. Or do not walk in it at all. It is the way of union. It is the way of the cross. It is the way of blood. The new covenant is blood.

Our justice crushes mercy.

His kisses it. 

God help me. Please.

God forgive me.

Comments

[Cliff]

I am so grateful for the thought and love that went into this post. Thank-you

[hurdygurdygurl]

The updated webpage dedicated to Vancouver's missing women is: http://www.missingpeople.net/home.html

[hurdygurdygurl]

I apologize for any inaccuracy in my previous post. I believe it was THE VANCOUVER POLICE BOARD and not the RCMP (as I had written) that offered the reward for the missing women. Please see http://www.missingpeople.net to honour these missing women. Please pray for their children and families.

[hurdygurdygurl]

But why did the killing go on for so long? And why did so many women die? Why? Is it too late for justice? And did Willie Pickton act alone? Of course not!

So, where is the justice? The truth was being told for years and who listened? Who is listening now?

Only after being dismissed by Police and told that their family member's were not missing and only after these families refused to give up, did the RCMP finally resolve to offer a sizeable reward of $100,000 CAN for finding these murdered and missing women. Only then did we notice and women are still missing...

Forgive Pickton? Forgive the RCMP? Forgive ourselves? Forgive God? Forgive those who were silent? Forgive our Canadian apathy? Women were missing and murdered and someone knew it. Forgive those who didn't speak up.

http://www.crimelibrary.com/serial_killers/predators/robert_pickton/6.html

Let's more than forgive. Let's make sure this never happens again, ever.