Violence in the Mirror of My Sins

I grew up in a world of violence, violence at home, violence at school, violence in the neighborhood, and before receiving the sacrament of Baptism and initiation into the Roman Catholic Church I was a violent man. Many years have passed since my conversion and the violent life is far behind me, in the past, where it belongs and where it will stay forever.

Today, as I participate in the Stations of the Cross, as I pause for what seemed only a moment but actually was an hour or more, before the crucified Christ my prayers and my meditation opened the doors to the past and I saw not only the violence of Jesus crucified but also the violence of my past life nailed to that cross.

As I was praying and looking at the crucified Christ, a forgotten door opened in my memory and a violent scene from long ago came to mind and stayed there. It was a winter weekend, long ago and as usual, I found myself in the Northland Hotel and Bar unwinding after working long hours all week in the local logging mill. This particular night I was drinking heavily. When I started drinking I forgot about God, I only felt his absence, along with the absence of life, and the absence of meaning. There was anger, hurt, and frustration imprisoned in my soul and it screamed for release.

I realize now (fifty years later) why I had to work in that logging mill challenged by danger and physical exertion at every moment; it was a form of violence. A catharsis to release my internal pain but on weekends I didn’t have this outlet, so I turned to drink to subdue my anguish, but it wasn’t enough; I needed to inflict pain and to be inflicted by pain. I needed to bleed and to make someone else bleed, I needed to fight.

So, I insulted a stranger drinking and talking nearby. We took the fight outside; no one seemed to care how or why it started. The fight was fast-paced, bloody, and apparently entertaining. The small crowd formed a circle around us and just wanted to see more. More of what?  I ask myself now years later. Did they really enjoy the pain and suffering we inflicted upon each other? Were they as violent as we were?

I didn’t fight to win; I just needed to fight, but I was winning. My opponent was down, and I was on top of him inflicting one punch after another into his defeated body and face. I stopped in horror as I looked at my bloody fists and my defeated opponent. Thank God I stopped before it was too late. I got up; he got up—and I was glad to see that. I didn’t say anything; the crowd was quiet; he began to walk away, but before he left he said: “anytime you want to fight, I’ll fight you again.” And then he just left, so did I, as did everybody else.

My gaze and my thoughts returned to the here and now to the image of the crucified Christ and I could see through my mind’s eye that every punch I had inflicted on my defeated opponent was like the impact of a hammer driving the spikes deeper into the wounds of Jesus. Every drop of blood that my opponent shed was matched ten times by the blood of Christ on the cross. I began to understand Christ’s crucifixion in a different way, I was aware of a deeper sense of my part in the torture and death of our Lord. My opponent became the crucified Christ; it was I who brought this violence to Jesus on the cross; my sins caused the pain and suffering endured by Jesus during his bloody sacrifice on the cross.

I realize now that God had been there on that eventful night. He was there to stop me, to help me see the horror of what I was doing and what could have happened if violence had continued to its completion. He was there in the blood of my opponent. He was there to help me repent.

That was my last fight almost fifty years ago. Ever since that night, I’ve had more respect for human life; my desire to destroy life in myself or in another was left behind in the pools of dried blood on that eventful night and with it my anger, hurt, and frustration.  After that night I learned to pray and listen more, to wait on God, and to know that he is there even when he doesn’t seem to be.  I learned to trust in his guidance, which comes when he gives it. And I found peace trusting in God.