Tony Elder, Author/Pastor

Revenge Is Sweet (The Other Pathway)

Our paths occasionally crossed over the years. Being of similar age and living in the same vicinity, it was bound to occur from time to time. For the purposes of anonymity, I will simply refer to my subject as Mr. Smith, just in case your age and location cause you to be familiar with him and likewise to encounter him at times. Of course, the first time we met, I would not have used such a formal title in reference to him.  After all, we were merely youngsters. If we had been friends, I would have simply called him Daniel. As it was, I didn’t call him anything. I was walking along by myself when I heard him approaching from behind. He was in conversation with several companions, laughing over some matter related to a boy named James. I gathered that James had in some way offended Daniel and now a plot was being formed to return the injury. As this lighthearted group brushed past me without even glancing my way, I could see the broad smile encompassing Daniel’s face. I could hear him declare, “This is going to be so good. He won’t know what hit him. He thinks he got the better of me, but he hasn’t seen anything yet. Revenge is sweet!” Following that comment, there was another round of laughter.

This encounter caused me to examine my own situation. I, too, had recently been treated quite unfairly by someone. I will admit that it had angered me. As a matter of fact, I was still angry. It wasn’t anything major – just a childhood squabble. However, for a young boy, those confrontations can quickly grow from anthills into seething volcanoes. Maybe I should try to get back at this person who had done me wrong. I could certainly think of ways to accomplish such a mission. It might even be rather fun. And it would be such a pleasure to see him squirm in embarrassment. As I walked behind Daniel and his companions, I fantasized about carrying out my revenge. My heart was silently laughing as Daniel continued to boisterously voice his mirth. However, at that point I heard another voice. It was a reminding me of something my mother had taught me – a principle she referred to as the Golden Rule. The voice reached down into the recesses of my mind, bringing up that saying that had been implanted there. “Do to others as you would have them do to you.” Should I really do the awful thing I was imagining? Would I ever truly want to treat someone like that? Would it be pleasurable to see someone suffer or be hurt, even this victim who seemed to deserve it? Would I want to be treated in that way? I wondered. I struggled with my own desires. I fought my lower self. I could hear the other voice, a voice that wasn’t that of my mother but of Someone who also wanted to teach me how to best live my life. As Daniel and his companions continued on, I decided to turn and take a different pathway. 

It was quite a few years later when our paths intersected again. Although we were now in our late teens, having undergone all the physical changes that one endures in those years of growth, I still recognized the voice of Mr. Smith, or rather Daniel. It was deeper than before, but it was still characterized by the same tone, full of pride and arrogance. I noticed that Daniel looked older than me now, at least more worldly-wise. He also looked somewhat meaner. Once again he was speaking derogatorily about someone. I didn’t catch the person’s name. I just heard the descriptive terms being applied to him – jerk, ungrateful, idiot. Another plot was being hatched by Daniel to orchestrate the downfall of this individual. As in our previous encounter, he made the statement, “Revenge is sweet!” Only this time he didn’t say it with a smile. It was more of a smirk. I got the impression that Daniel rarely smiled, and if he had it would have come across as forced or fake.

My mind wandered to a classmate who had betrayed me. The wound was still fresh. Some of the same words Daniel had used to describe his adversary had found expression within the hidden recesses of my mental meanderings about my betrayer. I was hurt. I wanted to hurt him in return. I thought he had been my friend, but now he had made himself an enemy. I felt hatred trying to rise up and wrap itself around my heart. It was growing, expanding, building up the pressure within me, looking for an outlet by which it could escape in the form of some act of vengeance. Listening to Daniel’s tirade fed the hate in my own soul. It was then that I heard the other voice. It was asking me, no, commanding me, to do the impossible. Was I hearing it correctly? It made no sense. It wasn’t what I wanted to do. Yet the message was clear: “Love your enemies.” How could I love someone who had shown such disregard for me? The voice reminded me of a truth I had been taught but had almost forgotten. It was a story about Someone who loved me in spite of my unworthiness. It was about Someone who even went so far as to sacrifice His life for me – for me, who was guilty of being responsible for His death. If Someone could love me to that extent when I was His enemy, couldn’t I love someone who had wronged me to a lesser degree? I knew I didn’t have it in me to love someone like that. I would need my heart changed. Therefore, as Daniel continued on, I decided to go a different pathway and to follow this One who had so graciously loved me.

We were well into our adult years when I next saw Mr. Smith. He had become a rather important person in the community. He had an entire entourage with him on this occasion. By his side was a young lady, quite beautiful, with a ring on her finger. She seemed to be reveling in the attention the group was getting as they made their journey. However, she appeared to keep glancing uneasily at Mr. Smith, who seemed so preoccupied with other matters that he rarely gave any indication that he knew she was even there. He was busy raging about some businessman who had failed to deliver on a certain promise. Apparently this debacle had cost Mr. Smith a considerable sum of money. Therefore he was determined not simply to recover his losses from the man but to ruin him. “Revenge is so sweet!” Mr. Smith exclaimed with an evil look in his eye.

This time I felt no inclination to follow Mr. Smith’s example. I knew of his shrewd reputation. Although I admired his success, I was glad that I had continued to choose a different pathway. I had no entourage. I gratefully squeezed the hand of the wonderful woman walking beside me, a hand that also had a ring on its finger, although with a diamond much smaller than the one glistening on the finger of Mr. Smith’s companion. I was not viewed as particularly successful, but I had meaningful work to do and our needs had been provided, sometimes miraculously. There were struggles, but we made it through as we leaned upon each other and upon the One whom we followed. It wouldn’t have been so hard, if it hadn’t been for a certain person who had taken advantage of my generosity. As the image of his face popped into my mind, I felt the bitterness trying to take root. However, I heard a voice reminding me to pray for those who mistreat me. So I did, as I watched Mr. Smith hurrying along and as I took a different path.      

A couple of decades passed before I encountered Mr. Smith again. I hardly recognized him. He looked old, harsh, angry, and proud. Although I had likewise aged, he looked much worse than I did, at least according to my wife. He still was surrounded by a crowd of people. However, I noticed the woman who walked beside him with a ring on her finger was not the same one from the previous encounter. She looked considerably less hopeful and innocent than her predecessor, even what I would describe as cold and hardened. Mr. Smith was still walking briskly, yelling at anyone who got in his way. His language was full of expletives. His countenance was filled with hate. Many people still considered him to be successful, but I am not sure anyone really admired him. Some feared him. Others despised him. Some of us pitied him. On this occasion I got a little too close to his entourage. I was pushed aside. I actually lost my balance and fell down. My actions caused Mr. Smith to pause. He angrily glared at me while declaring, “Watch where you’re going! You don’t know whom you’re dealing with!”

But I did know. I picked myself up. This time I was tempted to direct my anger at Mr. Smith. I felt the adrenalin rushing through my body, urging me to return an eye for an eye. Nevertheless, I paused before I did or said anything I might regret. In that moment of cessation of movement, I heard a familiar voice reminding me to bless those who curse me. I found a strength beyond myself to calm my stirred emotions, and to reply, “I’m sorry Mr. Smith. I hope you have a good day.” The stony look on Mr. Smith’s face appeared to slightly soften as he looked at me with a combination of curiosity and perplexity due to my unexpected response. I thought I even saw a hint of admiration in his eye as he realized my response didn’t spring from fear or weakness but rather from strength of character. He formed his mouth into his fake smile, shrugged, and continued along his path. He made a comment to one of his companions about how some people don’t know how sweet revenge can be. I kept walking, glad that I was going a different pathway.

The last time I saw Mr. Smith his full head of hair had turned completely white. I observed that aspect of his appearance with slight envy, since the hairs on my own head had grown very sparse. Although greying, they hadn’t reached the peak of winter to the extent that Mr. Smith’s hair had attained. There was just very little of them remaining. I noticed that Mr. Smith still seemed quite strong for his age, definitely not feeble. He walked more slowly, but with the same firmness and determination as in his younger days. He was surrounded by people who either inherited his spirit or who had become infected by it. They looked at their mentor as if they were grudgingly agreeing with whatever he said as they waited for him to die. They were selfishly ready to assume his wealth, power, and position for themselves. He just needed to get out of their way. As usual, Mr. Smith was complaining about someone. He was plotting his revenge. I thought I saw a few of his companions roll their eyes as he spoke of how tough he was and how that other person was going to pay the price. One last time, I heard him say it: “Revenge is sweet!”

Immediately I heard the other voice. It declared, “Vengeance is Mine.” I knew that it wouldn’t be long before Mr. Smith would hear that voice as well. He would have to give an account to the One who repays good and evil. Mr. Smith would be repaid for his vengeful actions over the years. I felt sorry for him. And I knew in my heart that it could have been me. I was no better than Mr. Smith. I had simply responded to the other voice, followed a different pathway, and received the blessings of doing so. I would soon see the face behind that voice. But I knew I didn’t need to fear it. I was looking forward to it. I thought, “Yes, Mr. Smith, revenge may be sweet, but that initial pleasant taste ends in bitterness. The other pathway is so much sweeter.” So I kept walking that way. And I am so glad I did.