For most of his time on earth William was fueled by rage. The first sixteen of those  years he was both verbally and physically abused by a tyrannical father. If he missed a chore he would get hit. If he came home with a bad grade he would get hit. If he talked back or shared a contrary opinion he would get hit. Even though his mother loved him dearly she could not stop the abuse. William’s home was a silent killing ground.

A few months after his sixteenth birthday he ran away to live at a friend’s house. He was well taken care of but the hatred for his father never abated. William used his anger and spite as a motivation to succeed in school, and then eventually in business. He wanted to prove he was a better man than the ogre of a man that helped birth him. Over time his drive to be free from his Dad made William a very rich man.

Occasionally he would take his mother out to dinner, but he refused to even acknowledge his Dad.”Can’t you just forgive your Dad? Let your anger go!” 

“I can’t Mom. And he is not my Dad, get that straight. I never want to see him or talk to him again.”

A shadow of dark sorrow formed across her weary face. “Son, you need help to work past this. Get married, have children, forget about your hurt. Your bitterness is turning you into a lonely, isolated man.” The son did not reply, nor did he smile, cry, laugh, or even show any sign of acknowledgment to what his mom just said. Instead his face turned stern and stoic, his lips hardened into a thin ribbon of steel. “My dear son, at least try to let it go.”

Standing up from the table, he threw his napkin down on his chair and said, “Goodbye mom. We are done talking.”

The son was a stubborn man, not only did he sink himself even deeper into his work but he also cut off all correspondence with his Mom. A few sad years later she died silently in her sleep. The doctors said her death was caused by a cardiac abnormality, her friends said it was from a broken heart. 

The funeral they had for his Mom was a small graveside memorial service. A sparse group of relatives and friends gathered to pay their respects. Her grieving husband, William’s estranged father, stood thin in a black suit by the graveside, with bloodshot eyes and a heavy heart he placed a small red rose on her coffin. William stood far back in the distance leaning on a nearby tree. He watched everything and felt nothing. Not a single tear fell.

Over the next two years the dad tried to call William. No answer. No response. He tried leaving messages and sent scribbled writings on old yellow paper. The son ignored each attempt. One snowy January day, his father waited in a car outside his work to try to catch a moment with his son. When William walked through the front entrance the dad stepped out of his car and said, “Son, can we just talk?”

The son didn’t look at him and with a cold, blank stare he walked right on by. Grasping for his son’s arm the dad pleaded, “William, can’t you ever forgive me?”

Pulling his arm away, William turned on his heel and with a look of utter contempt for a man he barely even knew, said sharply, “Don’t you ever touch me again you silly old man! I hate you. Always have and always will.”

Silence and scorn continued. Two men growing ever distant. Both remained alone.

“William, there is a call for you on line one,” said his secretary, “it is the local sheriff.”

Picking up the phone William placed the receiver up to his ear, “Hello, this is William Jones, how can I help you officer?”

“Well Mr. Jones, I am sorry to tell you this, but we found your father dead in his living room this morning. It looks like it was suicide. A gun was found in his hand and there were no signs of forced entry that we could find around any of the doors. We need you to come and identify him because you are the nearest relative to him.”

William drove over and one of the paramedics on scene brought William into the room to identify his dad. There he lay cold on his lounge chair, a hole in the right side of his head, a gun in his hand, a twisted sad face. William said, “Yeah, that is him.” And walked out.

An even smaller memorial graveside service was given for his Dad. A friendly pastor said some kind words, and after a closing “Amen” the coffin was lowered into the grave. William watched the whole procedure as the shiny pine box was covered over by six feet of dark brown dirt. As the last load was spread across the grave, William dropped to his knees and began to sob uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop. Clenching muddy soil in both of his fists he screamed out at the man who was now forever gone and buried, “You ruined my life! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Watching the broken man from a distance, the pastor was moved with compassion. Coming over he placed his hand on the weeping man’s shoulder and softly said, “You have to let it go son, let it go.”

Dropping his head, William continued sobbing and then muttered in a tone of heavy anguish, “I don’t know how to let it go because I have been living off the hatred I had for this man my whole life. How do I go on? I don’t know who I am without having someone to fight against.”

The two men said nothing. After ten minutes of silence William finally stood up and looked in the pastor’s kind face and asked, “Is there life after hate?” He then walked away without saying a word.

-— — — -— — — — — 

That is the question everyone in our country has to answer, “Is there life after hate?” Is there hope to be had as we move forward, or do we keep letting our contempt for a person continue to fuel all our decisions? Do we make policy out of spite or what is truly best for a world gone mad?

I am not sure people can get past hate, it is a powerfully addictive drug. And once you let it into your system you need it to keep going. I believe the only way we can let it go is look to the cross, Jesus took all our hate so we could finally let it go. That is our only answer.

My fear is that the continual hatred so many people have harbored for a single man cannot be abated so easily. Hatred is addictive. And instead of letting it go and moving on in understanding, hatred looks for new enemies to fight. And if my fear proves true, our anger toward one another will never subside. 

More’s the pity.