IN 1975, HIRO, a Japanese Mennonite co-worker, and I set out on our bicycles. Anh My, the physical therapist in the Quaker rehab centre, joined us. We soon left behind the dusty town of Quang Ngai, our home for five years. We headed out on the gravel road toward the South China Sea. We pedaled between emerald rice paddies on both sides of the road. At a village market that spilled out onto the road, we steered carefully through baskets of sweet potatoes and rau muong, the leafy watercress.

We rode past the village of My Lai. Seven years earlier, on March 16, 1968, American troops full of rage and fear helicoptered into this village and burned houses and opened fire on the farmer families. By morning’s end, 502 men, women and children lay slain. Today, three days after the 1975 communist takeover of our province, My Lai lay quiet. The rebuilt mud and thatch houses sat mostly hidden within a great grove of bamboos and coconut trees.

Just beyond My Lai, we came to a wide canal. There was no way across. The dike that once spanned the canal had long since been bombed. We would have to find a boat. In due time, one came along. A local fisherman rowed his woven bamboo boat toward us across the canal. When he pulled his boat ashore and spotted us, he yelled out in alarm, "American! Grab him. Don’t let him loose! Get him. Quick!"

Ahn My quickly stepped to the boatman’s side. "Sir, sir," he implored, "these Americans are different. They are not here to fight the war. They are friends of the Vietnamese."

"But look what they did to our village," the boatman waved toward My Lai. "They not only burned our houses and killed our people, they even bulldozed our graves into the sea. Grab him, I say!"

Anh My continued to explain the work of MCC, helping farmers deal with unexploded munitions in the fields and providing assistance for the dislocated farmers. Hiro and I stood quietly, trying to look as pleasant and harmless as possible! Ahn My and the boatman continued the earnest exchange.

Finally, the boatman scratched his head and said, "It’s hard to believe, but if these fellows are who you say they are, then I accept them as my friends. And I’ll take them across the canal in my boat."

The ability of many Vietnamese people to let go of the past and consider new information and new possibilities astounds many visitors to Vietnam. Indeed, in recent years numerous American veterans have returned to Vietnam and discovered warmth and hospitality among the people. One vet, who returned three times, told me recently, "I am just trying to find a way to live in Vietnam."

Suspicion among various parties in Vietnam ran deep during the war. Many of those are still healing. Somewhere within the soul of the Vietnamese people lives a capacity to heal. This ability to be angry, to grieve and to move on without bitterness remains for me one of the most profound gifts of the Vietnamese people.

Several images still move me as I recall a visit to Vietnam a few years ago. One afternoon Mr. Sung, a long-time artist friend, took me up a bamboo ladder through bougainvillea branches to his flat porch roof. Here, in his sacred get-away, this artist sits cross-legged for an hour each afternoon as he looks out over rice paddies and mountains and contemplates wholeness for his native land.

In the same small town, I attended the local evangelical church on Sunday morning and heard the venerable Pastor Vong preach on Palm Sunday to 150 farmer folk packed into the village chapel. Appealing to the image of Christ nailed on the cross, Pastor Vong asked the congregation, "How does our Savior on the cross say we shall respond to our enemies?"

"Enemy." Ke thu! It was a word that carried much power for people who had lived under bombs – a people whose families had been divided on opposite sides of the war. A people who had seen sons and fathers sent off after the war’s end to years of hard labor called "re-education." These were people who knew what "enemy" meant.

Pastor Vong repeated his question, "How does Jesus on the cross ask us to respond to our enemies?" He waited a moment for us to wrestle with the question. Then he replied, "Jesus says to his enemies, "Father, forgive them. Father, forgive them.""

I thank God for the people of Vietnam.

Earl Martin currently works as a carpenter in Harrisonburg, Virginia. As an MCC worker in Vietnam, he stayed on three months after the communists took control of the country. Earl is a member of Shalom Mennonite Fellowship in Harrisonburg.