The Note. The Knock.
Nearly nineteen years ago now, what Marie Roberts says she remembers most about that day in October 2006 were those two things: the note and the knock.
As she has told her story in the past, Marie had come home to find a message from her husband, indicating that he, Charles, was in a deep state of depression over the recent, tragic miscarriages of two children as well as drowning under the weight of past transgressions in which he took advantage of female children in his family. He hated himself and could never forgive the man he had become.
As Marie is reading this shocking revelation from the man she loved, she could hear overhead the drone of helicopters circling above the Amish school house up the road in rural Nickle Mines, Pennsylvania. The local radio station out of Lancaster that she was listening to earlier had said something about a hostage situation and school shooting nearby. Ten Amish girls were fired upon; 5 of them as well as the gunman were dead.
She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt her husband was the shooter.
Imagine the weight of the Cross forced upon this woman's shoulders in that moment as state police and FBI swarmed her house, questioning what she knew and searching for clues Charles may have left behind.
Imagine knowing your husband destroyed an entire community and you were left to pick up the pieces. Imagine telling your own children what their beloved father did to innocent school girls who were the same age as they were.
Into that space of utter devastation -- once the police presence had subsided and the TV news cameras turned off for the evening -- came a knock at her front door. Marie's father cautiously opened it to a group of Amish men who wanted to speak with Marie and her children. The Amish were there -- this very unique religious community that has always remained somewhat separate from the modern world -- to offer her comfort in her own personal hell. They were there to let her know they forgave her deceased husband. And they were there to allow their grief heal another's grief.
The Amish community of Nickel Mines took Christ at His Word and lived the entire radical message of the Gospel: a message that started, one could say, on a boat in Lake Gennesaret and came to its culmination on a hill named Calvary.
Here on this boat, the God-Man named Jesus -- an ordinary carpenter/rabbi from tiny unimportant Nazareth who was beginning to make waves with his message and healing ministry -- asked the head of this little fishing squad to go back out into the deep waters.
Jesus wanted to teach the crowds, that is true. But something greater was happening here. One could say in that moment that what Christ wanted most of all was Peter's heart. Jesus wanted Peter to give his life up to the depths of God's incredible mercy.
Peter could have refused the request: in fact, he almost did. "We're tired, Master, and we've been at it all night." You can hear the exasperation and exhaustion.
Like Peter, how many times have we come before the Lord, carrying the weight of our own struggles, anxieties and sins and said the very same thing? "I just can't do this anymore. I don't want to do this."
And yet, there was something about the Master's presence which opened Peter's heart to try again, to return to the deep. Maybe it was the gentle way Christ came to him in his fishing boat, not out of force or anger but rather, from a space of loving invitation: Try again. Return. Trust Me.
And Peter did, to his credit. To the waters where he and his companions made their livelihood, he returned in obedience and lowered the nets. Maybe he thought it was foolish. Perhaps he was ready to laugh in this preacher Jesus' face: "See? I told you. Nothing."
But Peter trusted. He tried one more time. And his life was forever changed because he put out into deep waters.
What Peter found that day was complete forgiveness and transformational love: the two things Christ died to offer to humanity. Forgiveness and love. He offers the very same things to you and me, today. Right here and now.
But make no mistake about it: we have to be willing to invite him into our boat. We have to be open to rowing into the deep waters, perhaps to places we've already been and thought we caught nothing. With Jesus, all of that can and will be changed if we put out into the deep and lower our nets.
Put out into the depths of mercy. Lower the nets of our brokenness and sin in order for those nets to be transformed into catchers of new life and new beginnings.
Every time we come to the Sacrament of Reconciliation and Eucharist, we do the very thing Christ did for Peter on this fishing trip. When we cry out "I am a sinner," Christ pulls up from the depths of His Heart a love so incredible that it heals and lights the way forward.
Sadly, as his note of desperation implied, Charles Roberts couldn't accept this incredible love on his journey this side of heaven. But when those humble and hurting Amish families showed up and knocked on Marie's door offering hearts filled with God's mercy, she accepted. That Nickel Mines Amish community literally embraced the words of Christ from Calvary: "Father, forgive for they know not what they do," and poured His Mercy from the Cross they all carried.
Marie's heart from that moment on was forever changed. She lowered her net into the forgiveness offered, and she pulled up a net that was filled with the beginning of healing, hope, light and peace for herself, her children, and even that entire Lancaster community.
The same thing is held out for you and me.
If you're burdened by sin and tired from the heaviness of brokenness, let Jesus back in your boat. If you feel like you won't find anything good if you row back to where you once were, lower your nets anyway into the depths of merciful Love. God guarantees you'll be catching others into that net of healing love which you were willing to lower at His request.
Had the Amish not done that the night their little girls were murdered, I dare say there would be many families in Nickel Mines still living under the shadow of death today.
But because they radically lived the mercy and offered it to another whose life was torn apart by another's sin, the world healed. Resurrection happened. The victory now truly belongs to Christ's Merciful Love.
It doesn't take a school shooting for this type of transformation to happen, either.
In fact, it happens every time we accept the invitation to row into the depths of Confession and lower our nets of sin into His Heart. We can't help but pull up new life poured out in love for others.
Today, Marie is remarried and continuing to share her story. Her girls are now young adults and, by all accounts, doing well. The Amish community in and around Lancaster continue their way of life centered on the Word. And yet, if we are willing to remember, they have shown us all the power of forgiveness and a radical Christ-like love.
It all starts with a gentle knock and a willingness to row.