May A Millstone Be Hung Around His Neck

I do not pretend that what follows is easy to digest, and I fully expect some pushback. In truth, this may raise more questions than it answers (I certainly hope it does not lead you to question my commitment to orthodox Christianity). We love it when life is black-and-white. Unfortunately, living between Genesis 3 and Revelation 22, life is not often kind enough to draw the solid lines we want.  

In 2014 I entered a ministry situation where, unbeknownst to anyone, my predecessor had been committing heinous crimes against children for the better part of a decade, using the church facility itself as the primary venue for his depravity. In 2016 when that information came to light, it made ministry there nearly impossible. The fallout of his perversion touched every single aspect of the church and beyond, and covered everything we did under a heavy cloud. It was without question the darkest years of my life.

During the months when news was still fresh, I bumped into an old friend, Dave, who asked how things were going at my church. Being someone with whom I have a great friendship, I told him exactly how things were going—they were ugly, and one man and his heinous crimes against children was to blame. When I shared details, Dave’s response both surprised and relieved me.  

His exact words were, “May a millstone be hung around his neck!”

It surprised me because Dave has always been a solid Christian and spiritual mentor of mine. I would think that in light of his Christian values, his reflex might be tied to mercy and forgiveness for the offender—perhaps, “We’d better pray for him.” Instead—and I pull no punches here—Dave wished for death; a death as hideous, violent, and gruesome as the crimes he committed against children. “May a millstone be hung around his neck” is a biblical phrase whose direct descendant is the Mafia outfitting an informant with “concrete shoes.”

Is it right to wish for the death of a fellow human, especially in light of everything Scripture has to say about mercy, forgiveness, and reconciling with enemies? Is it even right to suggest such a thing in rhetorical outrage? Surprising indeed!

Yet at the same time I was relieved. Dave said out loud what I was thinking but was too afraid to say. My entire value system was completely conflicted, because on the one hand I know what I am supposed to say, and how I am supposed to counsel someone who has been the victim of someone else’s grisly injustice.  

    Forgive him as your heavenly father has forgiven you!

    Show mercy and welcome to the offender!

    You're a sinner too, after all!

That’s what I’m supposed to say, all of which might be true. But doesn’t that sound a bit hollow in the moment? When wounds are still fresh and bleeding, is “forgive and forget” the right card to play?

This conflict rose up again more recently when a friend relayed an experience. Her daughter, like our son, has significant special needs. Her disabilities are on full display, beginning with the obvious wheelchair. At a grocery story, two grown men turned the checkout line into their own private comedy club at the girl’s expense! They were laughing about her size, laughing about the way she held her head, giving themselves a cheap giggle at every imperfection they could see.

What is a parent to do in that situation? Particularly if you take biblical faith seriously, what is the right response? My friend asked if there is a right way to handle adults heckling her special-needs daughter.

    Turn the other cheek!

    Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness!

    If you don’t forgive them, your father in heaven won’t forgive you!

I could have said any of those things. As a pastor, I felt pressured to say exactly those things. But I pivoted. The mom was seeking advice on a healthy response to adults like that, but there is none. I get the sense that often times our requests for help are nothing more than venting our frustration, giving voice to our emotions. Instead of offering some trite, hollow comment about forgiveness this and mercy that dripping with pseudo-piety, I took a page from Dave’s playbook:

“I would like to think there is an especially dark corner of Hell reserved for grown men who get a laugh at the expense of a disabled child.”

Not very Christian, is it? Not a lot of love oozing from that phrase. Not a lot of forgiveness and mercy offered to the offender.

But why is the appeal to mercy a more orthodox, more biblically faithful response than a wish for justice toward our enemies? Does biblical Christianity stand with oppressors more than the oppressed? Paul quotes Deuteronomy saying, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay” (Rom. 12:19). So it appears we must leave it to the wrath of God, but doesn’t this prove that vengeance and the wrath of God are on the table?

Yes, Jesus speaks of mercy, love, forgiveness, and reconciling enemies—any reading of the New Testament makes that obvious. But it was this same Jesus who originally gave voice to “May a millstone be hung around his neck!” Matthew 18:6 serves as a grim warning to any who would commit crimes against children. The Mafia New Testament might read, You are better off “sleeping with the fishes” than to cause a little one to sin.  

It is the same Jesus who twice elsewhere in Matthew (12:34 and 23:33) calls his audience a “brood of vipers” with a veiled suggestion that maybe there is, in fact, a dark corner of hell reserved for them.

Yes, God “forgives us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” But when asked by martyred saints, “How much longer before you avenge our blood?” (Rev. 6:10) the same God later has his angel summon scavenger birds to “gorge themselves” on the flesh of his and their (and our) enemies (Rev. 19:17-21).

The God who is characterized by his love, mercy, and forgiveness is no less characterized by justice, judgment, and punishment, and those two realities—despite the internal conflict they create within the believer—do not actually conflict.  

Let’s, for a moment, stand with the child abuser and checkout-line bullies. What happens if our reflex is to jump too quickly to forgiveness and mercy? First, we just sound hollow. Telling a victim to forgive and forget is not always a phrase of winsome piety; it can, in fact, be a nauseating half-truth. Second, we risk negating the experience of the victim. In our attempt to be orthodox, we make it seem like the natural response of the wounded doesn’t matter. Aren’t victims of brutal bullies also candidates for God’s mercy, or does mercy only run in one direction? Third, we declare that an oppressive overlord’s need for forgiveness is greater than a victim’s need for healing. Urging my friend to forgive as she has been forgiven while she still lives with open wounds only compounds her pain, it doesn’t heal it.

Maybe such a day of mercy and forgiveness will come, but jumping too quickly to that place also fails to take seriously the “Imprecatory” Psalms. Those are songs where the author calls down a curse from God upon his enemies, and 69:22-28 is particularly chilling:

Let their own table before them become a snare;

and when they are at peace, let it become a trap.

Let their eyes be darkened, so that they cannot see,

and make their loins tremble continually.

Pour out your indignation upon them,

and let your burning anger overtake them.

May their camp be a desolation;

Let no one dwell in their tents…

Add to them punishment upon punishment;

may they have no acquittal from you.

Let them be blotted out of the book of the living;

let them not be enrolled among the righteous.

Somewhere between the lines we wouldn’t be surprised to hear the author say, “Reserve the darkest, hottest corner of Hell just for them!” Chilling indeed! This is not all Scripture has to say about our relationship with our enemies, but Psalm 69 is no less the inspired Word of God than “love thy neighbor.” The beautiful thing about Psalms like this is they often say out loud what we think but are too afraid to say. They give voice to our hardest experience, our deepest pain. They give us permission to have those feelings without shame or apology. They don’t immediately take mercy and forgiveness off the table, but they allow the grieving to grieve. Maybe someday genuine repentance will come, and reconciliation can be shared. The apostle Paul is a case-study in exactly that. I am just not convinced that needs to be the first card we lead.  

In our deepest pain, and when we are at our most vulnerable, still nursing the open wounds of abuse, maybe the right initial reflex is not to offer trite, hollow reminders of mercy and forgiveness. Maybe the right reflex is, indeed, “may a millstone be hung around his neck."