Twenty Six: Shalom Activists

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They asked us how we got through it, and I say, love first, justice second. – Wilma Derksen

Cliff and Wilma Derksen lost their daughter Candace (above left).  She was murdered in Winnipeg more than 2 decades ago.  The Puckett family lost their son Matt (above right) by way of execution by the state of Mississippi only a few days ago.  He did not receive a fair trial.  Two families worlds apart share in the all too common pain of loss.  Yet, they press on.

The word shalom means so much more than peace.  Strongs concordance defines shalom as completeness, soundness, welfare, and peace.  Some definitions use the word harmony.  A harmony with God, with creation and with each other.

A few weeks ago Stuart Murray introduced me to the term “shalom activists.” 

Amidst all the complexity of humanity, pain and all, shalom seeks to harmonize the relationships we have with each other, and with God.  The Derksen’s and the Puckett’s are special people who strive for a wholistic peace, an in your face shalom in spite of a painful and unrelenting reality.  In doing this, they become agents of a God who loves unconditionally.  It’s not easy.  Seeking shalom doesn’t get rid of the brutality of the moment with warm fuzzy feelings like the movies.  The miraculous persistence of these shalom activists offer harsh lessons in reality for those who know the story, who have had the privilege to walk beside, and who have stood on the sidelines watching from afar.  They remind us that the collision between this divine shalom and our nitty-gritty world is not pretty.  Yet, the pursuit of shalom from these families offer us a beacon of hope amidst a seemingly ever darkening world.  Shalom isn’t about hand holding around the camp fire singing kumbaya.  Such an image seems to spit in the face of justice.  Shalom asks us to love first, justice second.  On our broken world, it’s a mess. 

The Puckett’s and the Derksen’s in their separate realities offer us a glimpse of  the collision between shalom and our world by loving first.  In so doing, they are in harmony with one another and with God.  I am humbled. 

Concerning the claim of justice for the victim’s family, I say there is no amount of retaliatory deaths that would compensate to me the inestimable value of my daughter’s life, nor would they restore her to my arms. To say that the death of any other person would be just retribution is to insult the immeasurable worth of our loved ones who are victims. We cannot put a price on their lives. That kind of justice would only dehumanize and degrade us because it legitimates an animal instinct for gut-level blood thirsty revenge…. In my case, my own daughter was such a gift of joy and sweetness and beauty, that to kill someone in her name would have been to violate and profane the goodness of her life; the idea is offensive and repulsive to me.

Marietta Jaeger, whose 7 year-old daughter Susie was kidnapped and murdered in the US in 1973.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. – John 1:5

Twenty Four: Forgiving the Impossible?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While there is no direct connection between the two people pictured above.  They both deeply ask the question about justice.

If nothing changes, Matt Puckett (above left) will face death by lethal injection at 6pm (ct) in Mississippi.  This pains me deeply!  In my opinion, this is a violation of justice and even more difficult because he did not receive a fair trial.  Lord have mercy.   

Amongst the healthy conversation I have been having about justice, both online, and in person, there is one question seems to come at me with a terrible honesty; “what happens when the crime is personal?  What happens when it’s someone you love and care for?” 

For my wife’s family, justice is personal. 

My wife, Katrina had a cousin named Candace (above right) who was murdered in the blustery cold of Winnipeg in 1984.  Thirteen year old Candace was found tied up in a shack not far from where she went missing.  She froze to death.  It feels extremely impotent to even write about it’s impact on the family, but it was awful.  For about 22 years they had no idea who did it.  Then finally, after those 22 years, they finally had a name and a face with which to attribute this horrendous crime.

Cliff and Wilma Derksen, Candace’s parents, had a choice to make.  While they never had to face questions about death penalty (because we do not have it here in Canada and they would never want it anyway) they were still faced with the a similar internal wondering about what justice looks like for someone who murdered their child.  They were at a cross roads if you will.  Do they travel the path of anger, retribution, bitterness and call it justice or, do they walk the even tougher road of grace, peace, mercy, and attempt a seemingly impossible forgiveness. 

I could write endless words speaking of their story, how it has inspired my wife and I to strive after the dynamic heart of God in ways otherwise unimaginable.  Yet there is much more value in you hearing it for yourself.  About a month ago, Wilma spoke at an independent Technology Education Design (TED) conference in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.  Below is the talk.  Be inspired, be prepared to think of grace and forgiveness in such a counter cultural way that it can only be divine in nature.  WATCH THIS VIDEO.  It is with sincere humilty that I offer it to you.  It’s 16 minutes.

What does justice look like in the midst of forgiveness?  What if everyone took the difficult road that the Derksen family dared to travel?

Getting to know Candace

My wife was almost 3 years old when her cousin Candace Derksen was found dead in a shed in Winnipeg.  Recently a man was convicted and subsequently sentenced for the crime of 2nd degree murder.  As extended family, we got together with many friends to reflect on the 20 plus years it took for some element of closure to take place and to read our various ‘victim impact statements.’  Katrina thought it would be a good idea to put it on this blog as a means to share with others about her experience.   Below is my beautiful wife reflecting on the cousin she never got to know.  

Katrina Lenshyn’s victim impact statement

January 17th 1985, a day that would be forever etched into my families memory, the day that my cousin Candace was found frozen to death in a shed in Winnipeg.  That happened just before my 3rd birthday.  Growing up I always knew about Candace, she was my cousin and she was murdered.  If memory serves me correctly “Have you seen Candace?” was the first novel I read the whole way through.

Growing up in BC I didn’t have much connection with my Auntie Wilma, Uncle Cliff and two cousins, Odia and Syras because they lived so far away. After moving to Winnipeg in 2003 they were the only family (on my side) that I had here. I’ve only ever known them as a family of four, and that was about to change when I walked into work one day in 2007 and saw Candace’s face on the cover of a local newspaper because they had made an arrest in her murder. I remember it hit me harder than I had anticipated and was shocked to feel tears running down my cheeks and needed a few moments to compose myself. It was after that that I started to feel connected to the cousin I never got to know. I remember going over to my Auntie Wilma’s and meeting Heidi (Candace’s best friend) and David (Candace’s friend and the last one to talk to her on the day she disappeared) and I got to hear them talk about her, not just about the tragedy, but about her as a person. This made her come alive to me, and it sounds strange but for the first time she was a person, my cousin, and not just a news headline.

When the trial started 26 years to the date that Candace was found I wasn’t sure how I was going to react, or how I was going to be a support to my family. I felt disconnected and a little uncomfortable because I never knew Candace, and wondered if it was my place to share in such an intimate, and emotional time with my family. At the same time I could feel myself starting to connect with Candace and who she was. I remember sitting in the court room waiting for it to start not knowing what to feel. That changed when they brought Mark Grant into the room and I saw him in the flesh. All of the sudden I was overwhelmed with anger, sadness, and pity. I told Chris this and he said to me “that makes sense, this man took away a cousin you never got to know”. I held onto those words, and still do.

I was only able to make it to one of the court days, and as it happened that was the day where witnesses took the stand and told the judge about the last time they saw Candace. David told us about the snowball fight that he and Candace had just before she started that fateful walk home, and I found myself imagining what she must have been like, she sounded like a fun person to be around, a cousin I could have shared a lot of laughs with. I was thankful for that day in court and for the stories that were told because nobody had ever talked about her life to me, I just knew about the way she died. I wanted to hug those witnesses for giving me a glimpse into who she was. It’s almost like I felt her there with us.

The next days and weeks passed in a whirlwind and we tried to be there for my family as much as we could. We would go to what my Aunt called “Happy Hour” at her place after each day of the trial to be there for them, encourage them, listen to what their day was like, and of course share laughter. The three days of jury deliberation we were at the courthouse trying to bide our time but of course sitting on pins and needles waiting for that call letting us know the jury had reached their verdict. I have never seen my family come together like this. Everyone coming out as much as they could to be with them, to walk with them through this uncharted territory. When that call did come in that the jury had reached their verdict, and we were all sitting there in the courtroom I’m sure you could hear a pin drop. I watched my Aunt, Uncle and cousins as the verdict was read, guilty of 2nd degree murder, and prayed, I didn’t know what to pray for, peace, forgiveness, happiness, comfort, what do you pray for at a time like that? 

The following day a memorial was held at Candace’s grave, and I was standing directly in front of her tombstone feeling more connected to her than I ever have. Through all this pain and uncertainty the one thing that I can take from this is that I got to know Candace better. The message that day, and for all the days to come, was one of forgiveness, and this is the journey we are all on, not just about what happened to Candace, but as part of being followers of Christ.

Katrina Lenshyn