Bill and I went to see “Twelve Years a Slave” Monday night. I knew the background, of course: not only the history of slavery in this country, but that the movie is based on a true story written and published by the man who experienced it. I steeled myself and thought I was prepared. But it was nonetheless difficult to watch. The brutality and injustice was overwhelming. I haven’t read the book, and I realize that it’s possible that some of the raw violence in the film is exaggerated. But even if that’s true (and it very well may not be), there is no denying the horrors perpetrated on generations of men, women, and children. In fact, the reality of slavery was probably much worse than that depicted in the film.

I came away wondering about the effects such evil has on the human psyche and soul. The slaves were the immediate victims, no doubt; but those who committed such atrocities on them must surely have been in their own kind of bondage. Tortured and torturer; not to be compared, but both scarred, both ruined.

For a brief moment, it made me think that there simply has to be a hell; a real fire and brimstone place of punishment for such blatant sinners. Otherwise, I am forced to imagine a place, perhaps something like what we call heaven or the Kingdom of God, in which evildoers and victims meet and confront each other. But when I try to imagine what happens when they do, I find it impossible to imagine. Only God could imagine it. Only God could make such a thing possible.

And then I think, damn! That’s the trouble with grace. I want justice. I want revenge. I want punishment. Don’t we all, especially when evil touches us or someone we love? Doesn’t the Bible speak of such judgment in the end? Yes, it does, but then the overarching message of scripture is about grace. And the trouble with grace is that it is all or nothing. It is either for all of us, for everyone, every single one – so-called saint and sinner alike – or it is for none of us. So if it comes to that, I’ll take grace over justice. Anytime.