Forgiveness and Penn State

So I'm sure we've all heard about the Penn State scandal at this point. Obviously, a lot of horrific stuff was covered up by men who were more concerned about their reputations and the reputation of their institution than the well-being of the children who were being victimized by Sandusky. I think it's moments like this in our culture that test the meaning of the word "forgiveness" in a way that other situations don't.

Perhaps the most complicated story in all of this is that of McQueary, who was the first person to directly witness an assault by Sandusky on a child; he was at the time a 28 year old graduate assistant and, after seeing Sandusky raping a boy in the showers of a Penn State locker room, decided to report the issue to football coach Joe Paterno (and only Paterno). Since these facts have come to light, McQueary has received so many threats that he been moved to a secure location.

I've seen quite a few commentators (bloggers and such) piling onto McQueary, and perhaps rightly so. I'm quite sure that no one would try to justify NOT reporting the rape of a child to the police. Some have also attacked him for not running in to physically protect the child. And I'm going to say right here that I hope, I pray that if I am ever in the situations McQueary found himself in, I would at the very least call the police; still, I've never been confronted by such an insane situation, so I can't say with certainty. Here I'm referring to not just the rape of a child, but a rape being perpetrated by a friend and a respected member of the community (apparently McQueary had known Sandusky for a while).

So while I'd be just as happy to condemn McQueary and move on, I do not think God ever gives us that option. I've been thinking about a recent episode in my own life, and I'm seeing parallels. A few days ago, I was walking home on a very cold, windy night; I was walking by the entrance to the local subway station and I saw a (apparently) homeless man sleeping by the entrance (or at least I suppose he was). His ankles were exposed as he didn't look to have any socks. I felt a pang - maybe I could go get him a pair of my socks, or maybe even a blanket. I didn't have the resources to give him a bed or the money to get him a room, but I could at least give him something to keep him warm. My home was only a few hundred feet away, it would not have been much trouble. And yet . . . What if he was on drugs? What if he was mentally ill? What if he just wanted to be left alone? Poor excuses, all of those - the worst thing that could have possibly happened is I would have been rebuffed and gone back home.

We allow this sort of thing to happen in our country every day. It's more visible here in NYC than in most places, as we have a large homeless population. The point is, it is an EVIL state of affairs and we are all complicit in it. Human beings should not have to spend the night on the street in the cold, without even adequate clothing to keep them warm, period. And yet it's an evil we tolerate, because we feel powerless to stop it. Maybe that's how McQueary felt when he saw a young boy being raped. I know that's how I felt when I saw that man by the subway. And yet he could have called the police. I could have gotten that man a blanket.

Am I here trying to create some sort of false equivalence? Well no, of course not. But I am trying to point out that all of us are bystanders to various sorts of evil in the world. By acknowledging our own need for forgiveness, we can find it easier to forgive others, such as McQueary, who fall woefully short. Why is this important? For one, God commands it. For another, if we cannot forgive others, how can we ourselves be forgiven when we inevitably fall?