How far is too far?

I have been reading and researching more on conscientious objectors in the twentieth century. I found one story extremely challenging to my faith. It is a personal story from the book I Couldn't Fight. It has caused me to wonder: "How far is too far in regards to nonresistance or is there never a too far?"

Lloy Kniss wrote his story in regards to the time he spent in training camp as a man of conviction in regards to violence during World War I. This war was the worst period in our nation's history in regards to the treatment of the group the government labeled conscientious objectors. Lloy, like many other conscientious objectors, was ridiculed, mocked, and eventually beaten for his stance to not fight. The main flaw in the governments system was that they attempted to break the objecotrs by throwing them into the normal training camps. That created an environment for scorn, abuse, and murder in a few unfortunate cases. It was successful in breaking the faith of many men who were convicted of nonresistance, but there were others who stood firm to their convictions. Lloy was such a man.

The following excerpt has forced me to think about whether I am truly following Christ and carrying my cross or whether I just like wearing a cross necklace. (I really do not wear a cross necklace.)

The next day Sergeant ------- (he did not include the name) came to the tent and called me to go with him. I think I had refused to do something he wanted me to do. He took me into the large bathhouse. He and I were in there alone. He locked the doors. He told me to stand at a certain place. Then he asked me a question that made me either recant my position or say no, which would displease him. I did not answer in his favor, so he hit me in the face with his fist. He was a very large man and very strong. He asked me another question, and then hit me in the face with the flat hand. He repeated this many times, alternating his fist and his flat hand, or he would wring my nose or bump my head against the stud in the wall. He would hold me by my hair with his left hand, to keep me from falling when he hit me with his right hand. My eyes were hurting, my nose was bleeding, and my lips were cut and bloody. For a week or two I had black eyes and a swollen face. He never hit me again after that. But I was fortunate because he was unfair in my favor. He mistreated some of the other boys much worse than me. It made me almost wish he had been harder on me, or better yet, that he had not been so rough with the others. He broke a number of bones in others.

Evidently this was never reported to Washington, D.C. These officers would have lost their positions if we had reported them. Someone asked me later, "Why didn't you report him to Washington?" My answer was simply, "Then where would have been my nonresistance?" These men felt safe because they knew we would not report them. This was a compliment to our sincerity. In the case where they put the uniform on me, I reported to my parents, and they, in turn, to Washington, but that was a different case because I wanted to get rid of the unifrom. This did not bring any punishment to him. Being beaten is different from being forced to do something wrong as far as the law is concerned.

I am left with the thought that I am just non-violent, not non-resistant. But is that what I should be. Is non-violence really turning the other cheek or walking the extra mile? Is it really loving my enemies? Non-violence would allow me to report the pricks that beat me and have them removed from their positions. Non-violence allows me to fight in every way except physical against those who are destroying the environment, fighting wars, or just trying to make me pay a bill that I should not have to pay. Non-resistance seems to be a complete lifestyle of turning the other cheek. Part of me wants to say that it worked for him but it was a just a choice. I am not required to follow such a radical path.

Then I see Lloy's heart. He held no bitterness toward those who wronged him. He reminds me of Jesus on the cross. That is an incredible thing. Then I examine my heart; it is not nearly as pure. I would want to get an officer fired who beat me. I would proclaim, "Father, convict them for what they do!" I would argue that I am submitting to the law of the land and they are also under that same law. If they break the law, they should be reported. For if I do not report him, then other people will also receive unecessary beatings. Is it loving to report the man so others would not receive beatings or to love the man who beat me by not reporting him? If only loving were not grey at times.

I just cannot see how one can function practically in the world being nonresistant. Maybe I have too little of faith. I used to have the view that non-violence could not be practically lived out. It might be time to take another step, or maybe that step is just one step too far. How far is too far? Is there such a thing a too far in regards to following Christ?

Later in the story, Lloy shares this story. I find his story an amazing testimony. Whether it was the same man that gave him that specific beating or not, the essay is not clear.

At Pittsburgh I had to change trains. It was late in the evening when the train arrived. The depot was filled with people. As I was going from one train to the other, a young man came out of the crowd and wanted to shake hands with me. I did not recognize him at all. He was very much surprised that I did not know him. Now he was in civilian clothes. When I saw him last in Camp Greenleaf, he was in uniform. He was a corporal then.

He was discharged before I was. His home was in a suburb north of Pittsburgh. He said, "I found out that you were coming through here tonight on your way home, and I came to meet you to apologize to you for the way I treated you in camp." He had been a bit rough with me several times. I assured him that I held nothing against him. In fact, this is the way I still feel today toward all the officers wo did not understand me and so mistreated me.