Victims of Crime Turn the Other Cheek

Christian values can even be put to use in the present, complex system of criminal justice.

When Fern Nisly opened the front door, the two young black men walked right in without an invitation. She didn’t know them, and on that warm, Thursday afternoon, she was home alone except for the kids.

“Hey, wait a minute. What do you want?” challenged Fern.

“We’re looking for Joe,” said one who was over six feet tall.

“Well, he doesn’t live here. He hasn’t lived here for a long time.”

“Yes he does, and he owes us. We’re going upstairs for him.”

“I said that he doesn’t live here. You’ll have to leave now.” Short as she was, Fern began pushing one toward the door.

“Get your hands off me, woman, and don’t give me any lip. We know he’s here.” They both turned and started up the stairs.

“He’s not here,” Fern panicked. “We live here now. He’s moved over on Seward Street.”

“All right,” the tall one said. “Let’s get out of here.” And they left.

Fern shut the door and stood with her back against it, her heart thudding. In a few minutes she heard another commotion in the back of the house. She ran to the window in time to see two men leaping over the side fence into the yard of the neighboring apartment building. As they turned to look back at her house, she could see that they were the men who had come to the front door. What were they after? And why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

Bewildered and frightened, she returned to the living room. Then, to her great relief, she saw through the front window a woman from her neighborhood church. Fern called her in and unloaded her frightening story. Together they went to see what had happened at the back of the house. The main door was locked, but in the basement they discovered the cellar door open. Missing was Fran’s checkbook, wallet with her driver’s license, gas credit cards, $80, and the house key.

To be invaded so brazenly right in the middle of the day made Fern feel as though the whole world was unsafe. This had not been an assault in a dark and lonely alley, or a burglary while she was away from home. These men had marched right in, and she had been unable to stop them.

Fern was a member of Reba Place Fellowship, an intentional church community that has existed in Evanston, just north of Chicago, for the past 25 years. Murders, rapes, and armed robberies have increased severalfold in that time. In 1979, Evanston’s per capita burglary rate was said to be double that reported in Chicago. In appearance, this neighborhood looks to be as nice as any one could find for lower-income urban dwellers: apartment buildings interspersed with old frame houses along streets lined with shady elms. But it is not safe.

What should be the Christian response? It becomes a situation for exploring biblical ethics and their practical application.

The members of Reba Place Fellowship all five within a few square blocks. They constitute the single largest self-conscious group on their streets. As a church, they are practiced in making decisions together and could, as a body, select a course of action that would be faithfully followed by most members.

One approach might be to arm themselves with weapons, guard dogs, the most sophisticated electronic alarm systems—maybe even hire a private security company to patrol the streets. Then, of course, they would need to learn how to use those things—learn to shoot, to practice martial arts, to train guard dogs, to set alarms—and double-bolt the doors. That is one approach, and with today’s rising crime rate, many people have resorted to it in one form or another.

But that prospect is not very pleasant. When you take on the job of defending yourself, you do not really sleep easier. You are tense, preoccupied, paranoid that the next criminal will have a better weapon, a higher degree in karate, or be able to circumvent the alarm. It is like trying to be the high school tough guy: sooner or later you will meet your match. In the meantime, life is charged with anxiety.

Another response would be to promote the role of the police, encouraging arrests and swift convictions, and long sentences to get and keep the criminals off the streets. But that is also a problem. The riots and carnage at Attica and Santa Fe are grisly reminders of the failure of America’s prison system—by any standard. For those who think prisons should reform criminals, records show they do the opposite and are more like graduate schools in crime. For others, who believe the threat of incarceration will deter crime, the rates seem unaffected by increased sentences. Even those who call for punishment are unsatisfied because they erroneously think prisons coddle criminals, forgetting the unofficial beatings, gang rapes, and murders that are too often administered in prisons.

Of course we should encourage prison reform, but it is not the whole answer. According to Vernon G. Housewright, head of the Arkansas Department of Corrections, who has 25 years of experience, putting an offender in prison at a cost of $9,500 to $39,000 a year is not the solution to crime: “There are 400 new prisons under construction across the country, but prisons cannot stop crime. Crime is a community concern.” There must be some alternatives—alternatives that are consistent with Christian values, and which can be employed even now in the present, shabby system.

When should we apply Jesus’ ethic? He said, “Do not resist one who is evil. But if any one strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also; and if one would … take your coat, let him have your cloak as well.… Love your enemies” (Matt. 5:39–44). Some Christians would exempt the state from this mandate, but if we claim to be biblically obedient, we must accept its application at some level—if not corporate, then personal.

In the Nisly situation, Fern and her husband, Marv, called the police. One of the offenders was identified and arrested. However, after careful consultation with other members of their church, the Nislys decided to look for an occasion for victim-offender reconciliation. Usually this is best accomplished with the help of an outside agency, but the opportunity, risky though it was, presented itself personally.

About a week after the initial hearing, when the accused offender (we’ll call him Victor) was out on bail, Marv and Fern met him on the sidewalk as they were walking near the local park. Though it was very awkward, Marv decided that he would try to make some contact.

“Hey, Victor,” Marv started.

“That ain’t my name,” he snapped back. But he stopped.

Marv didn’t know what to say, so he jumped in with, “I wonder if you’re aware of how it makes people feel when you come into their house uninvited?”

“Well, what do you think it feels like to be accused of something you didn’t do? It’s no fun getting arrested.” (Victor had pled not guilty, even though he admitted to police that he knew who had committed the crime and could get the stolen goods back.)

“We know what you did,” said Marv. “There’s no doubt in our minds, so we don’t want to get into an argument. But I want you to know how that affected people, and what kind of fear it stirred in my wife and children. That really frightened them.”

“I know what it’s like. Guys break into my house all the time,” Victor responded. “But I never was in your house. Besides, how come you’re so uptight this time? You didn’t do anything last time.”

Marv and Fern were speechless. Victor was apparently referring to a burglary that had happened to them nearly a year before when they had lost a camera, tape recorder, and several other items.

Finally Marv said, “Well, we don’t want to see you go to jail, but somehow we want to know that you won’t do it again.”

Victor laughed a nervous laugh as they turned and walked their separate ways.

But now what should the Nislys do? Victor had commented on the important social role the criminal justice system is supposed to play in deterring crime when he claimed that their failure to do anything the previous year had given him reason to think he could get away with more crime. Had that played a part in his thinking and actions, or was he just offering it as an excuse after the fact?

On the other hand, the personal contact with Victor, inadequate as it had been, had removed their fear and with it the compulsion for personal redress. The Nislys felt free to consider what was best for Victor and society. If the case proceeded, a prison sentence was quite likely for Victor. The evidence against him was substantial; he was over 18, and he had been convicted previously for unlawful entry. But the prisons in Illinois are horrendous. Time spent in one carried a high potential for destroying rather than rehabilitating Victor. And society, indeed the Nislys’ own neighborhood, would most likely reap a worse criminal.

After much prayer, the Nislys decided to request the state’s attorney to drop charges. (Once an arrest is made, the matter is technically out of the victim’s hands.) The state’s attorney and the judge were very cynical of the Nislys’ wish, but they cooperated and the case was dismissed.

As they left the courtroom, Marv held the door open for Victor. There on the courthouse steps their courage began to pay off. Victor thanked them genuinely, admitted his guilt, asked their forgiveness, and promised never to do such a thing again.

Marv and Fern saw Victor often that summer, in the park or on the street. He was always friendly and open, visiting, and buying the kids ice cream. Later, he got a job and did not hang around the corners so much.

A year passed, and Fern met him one day. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“Much better, much better. I moved, y’know, but I’m still workin’. How ’bout you?”

“I’m doin’ fine,” answered Fern.

This is one of the many encounters with crime that members of Reba Place Fellowship have had in their neighborhood. By God’s grace, this one had a positive conclusion. Other situations have ended less hopefully, but in the process the church has developed some guidelines. They do not represent the only answer, by any means. They do, however, suggest alternatives that move in a redemptive, less violent, direction.

Distinctions

Juvenile versus adult crime. Some juvenile officers and courts exercise several options before sending a young person to reformatory. In many situations, a “brush with the law” corrects youngsters who would be otherwise unaware of the seriousness of their misbehavior. The more impressionable and less street-wise a youth is, the greater the chance for effective correction. Thus, even in situations where one might be compelled to allow an adult to steal or take advantage because of Christ’s admonitions, or the probability that prison would worsen matters, a Christian might be freer to call the police, believing that there is a redemptive potential in the process.

Crimes against persons versus crimes against property. It is a terrible violation to have one’s home burglarized, and the emotional impact of that should never be underestimated. It is nothing, however, to the terror of being robbed, assaulted, or raped. The law recognizes this distinction, both in the seriousness of sentencing and in the effort it puts into apprehension. In deciding how to respond, a victim can also take these distinctions into account—but for different reasons. One should never choose not to call the police as a means of denying the trauma or the need to deal further with it. One should look instead for a more redemptive way to engage the offender.

The rational criminal versus the insane person. To restrain, call the police about, or to hospitalize a person who cannot control himself may be doing that individual a favor by preventing more serious harm, a favor for which he may thank you later. Contrary to excusing people “for reasons of insanity,” there may be more justification for stepping in and doing something corrective. Such an individual qualifies less as the “enemy” Jesus tells us not to resist.

Crimes against others versus crimes against one’s self. Jesus advises the Christian to turn the other cheek, but it may be another matter to turn our neighbor’s cheek. Even turning one’s own cheek may make a neighborhood “safer” for crime, thereby making one’s neighbors more vulnerable against their will. In each situation, this dynamic and its implications must be considered.

Deadly or offensive force versus restraining or diverting force. It may not be a matter for purists, but there is a very real distinction between threatening to shoot a thief and in grabbing a purse snatcher in a bear hug and holding him until a woman can retrieve her purse. Pacifist debates often polarize over the extreme examples, although there are many creative alternatives between threatening life or sitting by passively. Of course, many of those actions require one to risk personal safety for the sake of another person, but that is a common gospel motif. We cannot escape it and still follow Jesus.

Deterrents

Reduced possessions. Living economically responsible lives in a world where poverty plagues so many has its own justification in God’s concern for the poor. But in terms of crime, there is another benefit. Jesus said, “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth … where thieves break in and steal.” Failure to heed this teaching of Jesus can lead to the seeming necessity to send thieves to prison. On the other hand, a deliberate commitment to a simple lifestyle of reduced or limited possessions can decrease one’s vulnerability to crime. This tactic should not be underestimated. When many such Christians five in the same neighborhood, the whole neighborhood is less attractive to thieves, and society is served as well.

Close proximity. “How good and pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity.” That is also a way to deter crime, and it is completely consistent with kingdom principles. The police say nothing prevents crime better than nosy neighbors, and it is true. Members of a church who choose to locate geographically close to one another can know the comings and goings in each other’s homes and so recognize when something odd is happening that should be checked out. Such a broader consciousness benefits even non-Christian neighbors.

Reconciliation and God’s peace. In spite of the public’s fear of criminals, most violent crimes occur between acquaintances, often family members. Learning how to help before someone is harmed is a gift from God.

One day the streets around Reba Place filled with police, reporters, and TV crews. A police SWAT team was deployed on the roofs of apartment buildings surrounding one in which a man was holding his children hostage after a marital dispute. When the police came, they were belligerent, and the man had panicked and threatened to shoot anyone forcing his way into the apartment. A full-scale battle threatened. Finally, the man, who had never attended a worship service at the Fellowship, agreed to surrender if one of the elders of the church would escort him to safety. Because of the reputation of the local Christians, he trusted them to shield him from the sharpshooters he was convinced intended to pick him off the moment he came out the door. Later, the judge released the man into the custody of the church provided he and his wife would receive marital counseling for the next year.

In many such situations, the search for a faithful and compassionate civic responsibility has been met by God’s gift to creativity and merciful intervention. But there are other instances in which the members of Reba Place confess failure—at least by all appearances. Still, the process has been valuable because it has moved them beyond theory to grapple with one of the harsh realities of the modern, urban world.

Dave Jackson is an editor for David C. Cook Publishing Company. His article is adapted from his book, Dial 911, Peaceful Christians and Urban Violence, published this month by Herald Press. Mr. Jackson is a pastoral elder at Reba Place Fellowship in Evanston, Illinois.

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