The Real Easter Gift

Today Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad announced the release of 15 captured British sailors as an Easter “gift” to the UK. The facts of the alleged incursion remain disputed, despite GPS monitoring data placing the UK personnel outside of Iranian territorial waters. Even the initial Iranian complaint plotted the Brits beyond Iranian waters, and their revised position is inside them by only half a kilometer (the length of about five football fields).

Moreover, if there was a real incursion, the British claimed authority for their actions under a UN mandate. This incident, then, is yet another example of Iran refusing to recognize UN authority. If Britain has, indeed, pledged “that the incident would not be repeated,” then the UK has essentially renounced its legal authority to continue enforcing this UN mandate.

The so-called confessions are clearly morally and legally invalid, as they were induced under the duress of custody (if not of torture or other physical abuse). Of course everyone should be glad that the service men and one woman have been released unharmed through diplomatic measures. But the question remains, by what right can Ahmadinejad call this outcome an Easter “gift” to Britain?

What seems most outrageous is the impression of magnanimity that Ahmadinejad obviously wishes to create. By foregoing prosecution despite their “confessions” and by asking Tony Blair not to punish the sailors, the Iranian president has framed the situation as one involving a wrong generously forgiven—a forgiveness that the transgressors had no right to demand under rules of justice.

As with any repressive regime, Ahmadinejad operates with a tailor-made version of events. Rather than conducting an open judicial inquiry into the disputed questions of fact or recognizing the legitimacy of a UN-mandated exception for incursion, Iran’s president served as judge, jury, and would-be executioner. But, like a Roman emperor or a medieval monarch with no accountability to a rule of law and justice, he impersonates a just and merciful ruler by graciously conceding a reprieve to the sailors.

In St Augustine’s time, Roman law provided that no executions would occur during Holy Week. Pilate, you may recall, wanted to give Jesus a reprieve on account of the Passover festival. It is not uncommon for absolute rulers—people with virtually unlimited governmental discretion—to make such gestures of “goodwill” to the people at special times to show how “kind” and “generous” they are. These farces serve only as façades to the more usual brutality that permeates their regimes.

The real Easter gift is not a false sugar-coating meant to disguise the bitter taste of tyrannical rule. It is not a case of brutality blaming the victim: “Why did you make me do this to you? OK, I forgive you.” Fulfilling the mandates of justice is not grace—it is justice, something we are due as rational human beings made in the image of God. Justice is not a gift, but a duty we owe to every human being.

A gift can never be earned. As St Paul pointed out, grace is not grace unless it is free—that means unowed, unearned; something to which we are not entitled. Only if the British sailors were fairly judged guilty according to reliable evidence presented in a court that presumed their innocence could we talk about a “gift” or reprieve of punishment due. Only upon proof of their guilt would it be possible for Iran to give Britain an Easter “gift.”

The real Easter gift is a true gift precisely because it is not owed or merited. It is real grace: free, gratis. It is not something we could have achieved for ourselves. There is no quid pro quo by which we earn it. The only proper response to a true gift is gratitude. Maybe that’s why Tony Blair didn’t say “thank you.”

In an age of pervasive “spin” and wobbly “truthiness”, it is important to be clear about the difference between justice and gift—in particular, the gift of forgiveness. Forgiveness, like any gift, cannot be earned, merited, or compelled in any way. No matter what I do, if I truly have transgressed against you and thereby incurred guilt, I cannot put you in my debt so as to coerce forgiveness from you or put you under a duty to forgive me.

On the other hand, justice also is not something that we “earn.” Justice is something that is due to us from the mere fact of our existence as rational human beings made in the image of God. This is important to recall: Justice is our due as human beings. No matter what we do, we cannot lose our right to justice.

This truth is often overlooked in the heat of passion over especially heinous crimes. The human temptation to vengeance arouses a desire to overlook the humanity of the transgressor—and thus to deny him justice. St Augustine taught that it is wrong for even a just end to be achieved by unjust means. (Here is an area in which America's actions of late bear serious scrutiny.)

In ancient Rome, application of the legal system varied greatly, depending upon the relative socioeconomic and political status of the defendant. Judges held tremendous powers of discretion, with little or no judicial accountability for the quality of its exercise. There was “justice” for the nobility (a relatively high standard for its time) and “justice” for commoners and slaves (much lower).

Ahmadinejad’s misrepresentation of his actions as a “gift” of “forgiveness” ignores the inherent human rights of the British sailors—just as his government systematically ignores inherent human rights of his own citizens (e.g., freedom of expression and freedom of religion). If we are to speak of an Easter gift, the place to look is not in Iran, but on the cross of Jesus. There is the evidence of a clear injustice suffered. There is a transgression—an outrage against dignity, both human and divine. There is a crime. There is something only God could forgive. That forgiveness—extended freely to all people—is the true gift of Easter. For this we can truly give thanks.