Crime of the Century

(I am listening to Supertramp as I compose this)

I wasn’t going to write about McVeigh. I went to a funeral today for one of our own – a woman from our office. Ten years older than myself, she lived alone in a mobile home on the edge of The City. Monday of last week she called in sick. Thursday, when she hadn’t called in again, a co-worker went to check on her.

Her body was found between her bed and her wall. It appeared she rolled toward the telephone and went too far. She was overweight, and passed away trapped inches from being able to call for help.

She was an incredibly intelligent woman – kind, helpful, and full of knowledge. I would say life didn’t deal her a great hand of cards, but she made the very best of that hand, and I admire that.

So, I had little mind or patience to spare on the McVeigh thing today. But, this evening, it was the top story on the 9pm news. I watched, I listened….

The media focus was on the witnesses describing what they saw, and the argument of should he or shouldn’t he. I wasn’t moved by the reporting, nor by the fact of his passing.

But, then they showed families gathering at the Memorial in OKC. These families weren’t there to make a point. They weren’t there to describe anything, or even descry anything.

They came simply to be together, to be in the place it began, as it ends. Or, at least this part of it.

That – that moved me. Simple humanity.

Then, they showed a scene from a local church where those against Capital Punishment had gathered. One woman was quoted “we can’t teach our children not to kill, when we kill those who kill others.” Another said “the best response to violence is forgiveness”.

They’ve got that wrong.

Our society is based on a foundation of law. It is a challenge of that law to make the punishment fit the crime. Without the right balance, people feel oppressed, or the opposite is that there is no deterence.

The highest crime in our system is Murder. The Federal government may consider Treason a higher crime.

The OKC Bombing was murder. But not just one man murdering another. This was not a motivated by the normal passions between individuals. This did not even involve appropriate victims. The victims here were not guilty. Even if we say he was targeting the government – not all of these victims were of the government.

I call his actions an act of treason. I call his actions a crime against humanity. For humanity was the victim in the bombing, and a betrayal of the basic conventions of our society.

The Bible says (paraphrase) “Love people. Hate sin.” Sin is an action. It is something we chose to do, and it is a choice that goes against God and Law. The wages of Sin is Death.

Jesus Christ is the way to God from Death. He has paid the price that frees our soul, if we choose to accept his payment. But Christ’s salvation does not change the consequences of our actions under natural law. It does not spare our physical bodies from death. Only our spirit.

I can forgive the person for his crime. I cannot forgive McVeigh, because I was not one of his victims. His crime does not harm me, so I am not in a position to forgive him. But neither do I want to see the man suffer. I agree, we should forgive him.

But, his death under the penalty of law is necessary as the logical and unmitigatable consequence of his actions. How can any other form of punishment be appropriate for his action? What form of discipline is substantial enough to say beyond a doubt that “this choice was wrong, and will not be tolerated”?

In another country, his family might also be executed with him, and a part of me wonders if even that would be sufficient penalty for a crime of such magnitude.

Hate sin.

Love the people.

McVeigh died to carry out law and justice as demanded by the very nature of society in any context. He made a choice, and this is its consequence.

However, up until the last minute of his life, he had another choice. And he will carry the consequence of that choice with himself for eternity. I fear he chose poorly, and that, too, is a cause for grief.