Over the many years that I have spent going on retreat with my colleague Mary McCarty, I have heard her tell a story to the students about how the loving communities that surround us remind us of who we really are. Here is my paraphrase of the story she tells; it’s important.
In a certain African village, when a woman is pregnant and nearing birth, she will go out into the wilderness with a few close friends. They will pray, meditate, and sing until a certain song emerges — this is the song of the unborn child. When the child is born and named, the village will gather, and they will sing the newborn’s song to them. When the child grows to be an adult, and is joined in mariage with another, their song will be sung by the village again. If that child becomes ill, or when that person is near death, the village will once again gather at their bedside, and just as when the child was born, sing the song to them.
There’s one other time when the community will gather, and the song be sung: that’s when the person has committed a crime, has sinned against another or against the village. The village will form a close circle around the person, and they will sing the person’s song. The village recognizes that we sin when we forget who we are, and that the proper response to sin is love, and reminding us of who we truly are.
That story has always touched me. The idea of a village gathering to remind an offender of their uniqueness, their goodness, and remind the person that they are loved by the community is incredibly powerful. Justice doesn’t have to come from a place of fear or anger; it can come from a place of love, a place of correction, and it can bring a person back into the community — not banish them from it.