On a tangent, getting stoned....

A couple nights ago, my wife and I settled in to watch a foreign film.  Mind you, it is usually a negotiation to ask her to read these type of movies which I typically enjoy, but this one she had seen without me and wanted to share it.  We watched The Stoning of Soraya M. 

The film is based on a true story and tells of the death of an Iranian woman brought about under Islamic law.  The intent of this woman's stoning under the law was to cleanse the community.  She was accused of adultery by her husband, an unjust yet powerful man.  She was innocent.  There are vivid and unsettling scenes of the stoning in the film, so much so that I nearly could not watch.  After watching the film, I felt an overwhelming sadness, realizing that this punishment has for so many years been and is still practiced in some countries. I felt a burden for women around the world who do not experience the degree of freedom that my mother, sister, and wife have known.   I envisaged in my own life the satisfactions I have attained by being male relative to my female counterparts.  I considered for a long while the differences in cultures which permit such atrocities.  Then, curiously, I digressed to reflect on my own beliefs, on the stones that I have laid down, and on our war.


I remember well my first gun.  It was a beautiful cherry stained 410 shotgun.  My father gave it to me as a gift to hunt squirrels.  How proud I was to hold and carry it.  I remember sitting through hunter's safety courses and walking through the woods with my father.  He taught me to be still, listen, and look for the signs of animal presence.  I remember distinctly, as we leaned over the first squirrel that I shot, my father's words to me.  Never shoot something you can not eat, it is a waste.  At that very moment, my heart raced as I touched the first life I had ever taken, unsure if I had done something good or bad.  That evening we gave thanks for the food on our table.  It was food that I had provided and my mother prepared, squirrel gravy.

In the brevity of a few seconds, a mere boy witnessed that a gun can take a life and was instantly reminded that this power must be used wisely.  Do these moments still happen in America?

As I grew into my teen years, my fascination with guns remained and I did hunt.  I developed an appreciation for the skilled hunter and the clean kill.  But around the time I began college, I began to encounter situations which made me resent guns and their users.  Working in veterinary medicine I began to see the devastating wounds of gunshot victims.  I watched them die, heal, and remain chronically injured.  I saw desecrated owners weep and heard angry owners threaten retaliation.  I gleaned from the news an increasing amount of gun violence in our nation.  Along the way I lost faith in man's ability to responsibly use weapons. 

"I'll be damned before I let some thief or murderer break into my house and harm my family or steal my things, " I have heard argued by many friends.  "You've got to shoot them before they shoot you."

Fear is all I hear in these statements. Fear has its place.  I would be afraid of an intruder.  Fear does not negate my moral code.

When God blessed me with my own family, I considered these thoughts.  Every man wants to be the protector of his family.  Perhaps I should get my guns from my father.  But I can not shake the firm belief that if I were to fire a gun at an intruder, I would not be a hero, but a murderer.  I believe it is wrong to take a human life.....even if that human were to try to take mine.  And my possessions, they are just things in the end, unimportant.  As cliche as it may sound, I would much rather offer them to the intruder than harm him/her in order to keep them.  Could God really be pleased with me for injuring someone over my family and possessions? 

I am a pacifist. 

I am thankful to be living in a nation where I can hold this belief.  Yet I am acutely aware that if everyone believed as I do, this nation could easily be overtaken by force.  I find myself both thankful for this massive military presence which protects my freedoms and angered that it is the power utilized by my country instead of peaceful negotiation and reasonable discussion.   I look back into history and I see both the triumphs and failures of this country's use of weapons.  I realized that other nations are not so willing to negotiate as well, and worse, could tend toward further development of weapons of mass destruction. 

Yet even with this realization I must make decisions regarding military purpose and personal gun ownership and I return to thoughts brought about by this movie.  Am I to pick up my stone or lay it down.  Shall I, with the masses,  throw a stone taking a life that is not my own?  Can I truly ever be at peace knowing that I did something I believe is wrong?  Or shall I allow myself to be killed for my own convictions?  Is knowing my own innocence enough when it comes to suffering death?

Soraya's aunt said to her moments before her stoning, "Pray to Allah.  Paradise awaits you."  Yet its Soraya's own words which ring in my ear.  "It is not death that I fear, but the stones."

I remember my own fear on 9/11.  I remember being thankful that a strong and immediately protective presence was raised my the United States Military.  I am appreciative to all those, known and unknown to me, who sacrificed to serve in this war that has been waged by our leaders.  I cannot stand in your place and you have protected me. 

Yet as this war lingers, I cannot help but wrestle with these thoughts.

Am I to cheer on this war?  This war brought about an intruder who sought to kill so many innocent victims.  Am I to cheer on this retaliation? This search for justice by way of death and punishment.   Is this cleansing us or making us dirty?  Am I to cast a stone? 

Or am I to, like Soraya, bear the blow of each stone until I am no longer, knowing I have done that which my heart knows is right?

I encourage you to watch this movie and welcome your thoughts on this tangent I have taken from it.  Strangely I saw myself in both the characters of Soraya and the mob that was her death.