‘ I am a Muslim, and I am thirty five years old. To my second son who was just born, I gave the name “Jihad.” So he would not forget the testament of his mother - revenge. The first time I put my baby at my breast I told him, “May this milk choke you if you forget.” So be it. The Serbs taught me to hate. For the last two months there was nothing in me. No pain, no bitterness. Only hatred. I taught these children to love. I did. I am a teacher of literature. I was born in Ilijas and I almost died there. My student, Zoran, the only son of my neighbour, urinated into my mouth. As the bearded hooligans standing around laughed, he told me: “You are good for nothing else, you stinking Muslim woman…” I do not know whether I first heard the cry or felt the blow. My former colleague, a teacher of physics, was yelling like mad, “Ustasha, ustasha….” And kept hitting me. Wherever he could. I have become insensitive to pain. But my soul? It hurts. I taught them to love and all the while they were making preparations to destroy everything that is not of the Orthodox faith. Jihad - war. This is the only way… ‘ (quoted in Zekjko Vukovic, The Killing of Sarajevo, 134).
This most extraordinary story was relayed to me in Miroslav Volf’s fine book, Exclusion and Embrace (p111). In this work, Volf, who himself grew up in the midst of conflict in the Balkans, tackles the tough questions surrounding reconciliation. How would it be possible for this lady to be reconciled to her enemies?
Her experience is shocking and I’m sure that there are many stories in our world like it. I’m also certain that we each know some degree of a similar rage in our lives.
For me, this story highlights a number of issues that I’d like to explore some more. I would like to consider the gravity of Jesus’ instruction to love one’s enemies (Matt 5:43ff). In particular, I’ve been provoked to consider the difficulties that God has faced in reconciling with me.
“…while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son…” (Rom 5:10)