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The transformative power of forgiveness
By John Gordon

Three simple words-"I forgive you"-were the hardest ever written by the Rev. Walt Everett. He penned those words in a letter to the man who murdered his son. Now, the two share what might seem an unlikely friendship. And the Connecticut minister encourages other crime victims to forgive while he also works to abolish the death penalty.

"My anger was destroying me," said Everett, pastor of the United Methodist Church of Hartford, Connecticut. "It was keeping me from relating to people as I ought to, keeping me from doing my work. And I began to ask, 'Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?'"

Everett's journey of faith began July 26, 1987, when his son, Scott, was shot to death at his apartment complex. Scott was 24, the oldest of Everett's three children.

Scott Everett was killed by Mike Carlucci, who concedes he was a drug seller and addict, someone who describes himself as the "troublemaker of the neighborhood."

"My life consisted of drugs, alcohol, and violence since I was a young boy," said Carlucci. "I was the person that your mother told you to stay away from, don't dare bring home."

The seeds of reconciliation were planted at Carlucci's sentencing hearing. Everett stood and described the pain of losing his son. Carlucci said he was sorry.

A few weeks later, on the first anniversary of his son's death, Everett wrote a three-page letter and sent it to Carlucci in prison. Everett began the letter by describing the "extremely difficult" year since Scott was killed.

Then Everett wrote, "I do accept your apology and, as hard as these words are to write, I add: I forgive you."

Carlucci said he was still struggling to overcome his drug and alcohol problems.

"The night that I killed Scott, I was up for a couple days and I was out in a bar drinking and went home to change some clothes to go out to New York and finish the party," he said.

 "And I remember having a gun against Scott's head, and I knew if I pulled the trigger, he was going to die and I was going to go to jail for the rest of my life. It didn't matter. I pulled the trigger."

While in prison, Carlucci sought counseling and began attending meetings trying to overcome his addiction. He said one of his counselors recommended that he pray for forgiveness.

"I remember saying to God, 'God, please forgive me for what I have done,'" he said. "I honestly can say from that moment on, my life began to get better."

Meanwhile, Everett would not have been surprised if the letter had been his last contact with the man who killed his son.

"I did this initially, primarily, for myself," he said. "What God did for Mike was a bonus."

But Carlucci did respond, and the two exchanged letters for several months. Then, Everett got a surprise. Carlucci wrote and asked him to visit him in prison.

At first, Everett was apprehensive about the meeting, which started with small talk about Carlucci gaining weight eating prison food. Then, their discussion turned to faith and their lives.

"I got up and started to shake hands with Mike. But instinctively, I felt that wasn't the thing to do, and we embraced," said Everett. "His counselor said, 'I think I'm going to cry.' And Mike and I had both beaten her to it."

Everett visited Carlucci at least once a month in prison for the next two years. Then, Carlucci asked Everett if he would support his early release. Everett agreed and met with the parole board, which agreed to release Carlucci after nearly three years behind bars.

"I told them I didn't think he was the same guy who had gone to prison, that he could be a productive member of society, and that God had made tremendous changes in Mike's life," Everett said.

 "God prodded me, prodded me, until I was able to forgive. And I'm thankful for that. I feel sorry for people who can't, because they live with that pain for the rest of their lives."

Such meetings between prisoners and their victims are rare. More prison systems are beginning to study or offer victim reconciliation, but such programs are still in their infancy.

After Carlucci's release, Everett presided at his wedding. But Carlucci's tragedies were not over. He said his wife died from an overdose and he has gone through a bankruptcy.

Today, Carlucci is a supervisor at a trucking company.

"I like to think that Walt was the chauffeur of God's limousine to get me where I had to go," he said.

Everett, 70, plans to retire from his church in June and move to Pennsylvania. He is writing a book about the death of his son and his relationship with Carlucci.

Everett said he would continue encouraging other crime victims to forgive. He is also one of the founding members of the New York-based Murder Victims' Families for Human Rights, a group that opposes the death penalty.

Nearly 18 years after his son's death, Everett and Carlucci continue their friendship, occasionally telling their story to church groups.

"I look at Walt as my friend today," said Carlucci. "Unconditional love. That's the description of a friend."

Everett said he is often questioned about how he could forgive someone who killed his son.

"If it's something small, I say, 'You broke it, now you fix it, and then we'll be even,'" he said. "But with something too big to be fixed, the only thing left for healing is forgiveness."

John Gordon is a freelance producer and writer in Marshall, Texas. Distributed by United Methodist News Service.

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Fitting Forgiveness into hectic lives
often a struggle
By Amy Green

Pick up the kids from school at 3 p.m. Drop them at soccer practice at 6 p.m. Forgive spouse for fight over finances at 9 p.m.

All too often, we live our lives by mechanically running through to-do lists as we juggle tough jobs and demanding family responsibilities. If we work hard enough, we believe we can have it all. But when we slip up, can we admit it? Are we able to forgive ourselves and others, whether it's for a spat about money or something much more serious?

"You can't put forgiveness into your Palm Pilot as something you'll do within a block of time," says the Rev. L. Gregory Jones, dean of the Duke Divinity School in Durham, North Carolina, and author of Embodying Forgiveness: A Theological Analysis.

Life in a deeply competitive society leaves little room for admitting weakness or taking time-and forgiveness involves both. At the same time, we have grown weary as we have lost jobs and sent family to war. We are jaded by our political leaders, corporate executives, even spiritual leaders. Is it any wonder that forgiveness has become that often-overlooked, quaint concept we suddenly yearn to understand?

Religious leaders increasingly find the topic turning up in pastoral care. Dr. Bob Enright of the International Forgiveness Institute at the University of Wisconsin-Madison estimates there were no more than 10 books on the topic 20 years ago when he began researching it. Now there are more than 700, he says, and the number of studies on forgiveness has ballooned.

"Some of the hardships that we have had to face, like 9-11, have gotten people more sensitive and more open to the idea that forgiveness is a healthy part of human interaction," says Enright, who teaches courses on forgiveness and psychology. He is among the institute researchers who study the topic by working with battered women, violent men, and others who are troubled and abused. 

Forgiveness does not come easily, and Jones worries that our society has trivialized the concept. He notes the contrite but camera-ready Bill Clinton who promoted his memoir last summer and former baseball player Pete Rose's admission a year ago that he gambled on the game.

"Pete Rose thought last January that he could apologize and be done with it in one press conference," Jones says.

We also tend to equate forgiving with being a doormat, says the Rev. Anne Robertson of St. John's United Methodist Church in Dover, New Hampshire. Rather than confront old wrongs, we seek retribution in the courts, she says. Working as a court mediator years ago while attending Candler School of Theology in Atlanta, she was struck by the number of cases that were resolved-without the exchange of money-after both parties sat down and listened to each other, acknowledged the wrongs committed, and forgave.

"My jaw would be on the floor," she says. "People would shake hands across the table when they could have gotten tens of thousands of dollars."

Others endure much more personal battles with anger and guilt that can last years. When feelings are fresh, Jones advises pausing rather than lashing out. Silence creates space, he says, and then a small gesture can point to forgiveness. He recommends sharing a meal.

"You tend to have more time, and you tend to look each other in the eye," he says.

We forget we can forgive someone without giving up the right to a fair solution, Robertson says. We can forgive someone for wrecking our car, but demand the offender pay for the damage. Some withhold forgiveness from themselves out of pride, acknowledging that while God might be able to forgive them, they cannot forgive themselves, she says.

"So what, does that make you more righteous than God?" she asks.

She tells of a woman who came to her years ago ready to leave the church because she felt she couldn't be a Christian if she couldn't forgive her physically and emotionally abusive father, who had died. Robertson told her the decision to forgive was hers.

"The irony was in having the freedom to be able to forgive or not forgive, she was able to forgive," Robertson says. "The thing that kept her stuck was that she was being forced to."

Forgiveness takes time. That, too often, is at odds with our hectic lives.

Amy Green is a freelance journalist based in Nashville, Tennessee. This feature was developed by UMC.org, the official online ministry of the United Methodist Church.



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