Vengance and Revenge

Fr. Scott Haynes

A Meditation for the 3rd Sunday after Epiphany

Brethren: Be not wise in your own conceits. To no man render evil for evil, but provide good things not only in the sight of God, but also in the sight of all men… Be not overcome by evil, but overcome evil by good. (Romans 12:16–21)

Today’s Epistle confronts us with a subject that touches every human heart: revenge. Whenever we feel wronged, insulted, or violated, something rises up within us that cries out for retaliation. We tell ourselves that justice requires an “eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” Yet history and experience teach us otherwise. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, because the cycle of vengeance is never satisfied. Blood thirsts for blood. If we surrender ourselves to that spirit, we do not merely harm the other person. We wound our own soul.

That is why an old proverb wisely observes, “If you devote your life to seeking revenge, first dig two graves.” The grave is not only for the enemy, but for the one who refuses to let go of hatred. Revenge promises relief, but it delivers bondage. It feels powerful for a moment, yet it quietly hands our interior freedom over to the very evil that injured us.

St. Paul offers a radically different path. “If thy enemy be hungry, give him to eat; if he thirst, give him to drink.” This teaching shocks us because it runs against every instinct of fallen nature. Yet St. John Chrysostom explains that nothing makes us more like God than mercy shown toward those who have wronged us. Retaliation, he says, does not conquer evil. It multiplies it. Evil feeds on imitation. When we repay injury with injury, we allow evil to reproduce itself within us. But when we respond with patience and charity, we rob it of its power. We do not excuse injustice; we refuse to become its accomplice. Mercy breaks the chain that revenge forges.

This is what St. Paul means when he says, “Be not overcome by evil, but overcome evil by good.” The Christian victory is not merely endurance. It is transformation. It is entrusting judgment to God and choosing the harder, holier triumph of love.

But who actually lives this way when suffering is real, when wounds are deep, and when the temptation to strike back is overwhelming?

Let us turn to the life of St. Rita of Cascia.

Born as Margherita Lotti in a small village near Cascia in late medieval Italy, she longed from childhood to give her life to God. Yet obedience led her down a far different road. Pressured by her parents, she entered a marriage marked not by peace, but by cruelty. Her husband Paolo was violent, arrogant, and consumed by a bitter family feud. For years, Rita lived in fear. Yet she refused to repay violence with bitterness. Day after day, she answered brutality with prayer, anger with patience, and cruelty with gentleness. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, mercy began to disarm evil. Paolo’s heart softened. He renounced the vendetta that had consumed his family. Charity, not force, accomplished what threats never could.

But evil, wounded and frustrated, struck again. Paolo was murdered by members of the rival family. Now the temptation to vengeance returned with terrifying force. Rita’s sons burned with anger. Blood cried out for blood. And here Rita faced a terrible choice. She knew that if her sons avenged their father, they would destroy their souls. So she prayed—not for revenge, but for mercy. She begged God to prevent them from committing murder, even if it meant a sorrow that would pierce her own heart. Within months, both sons died of illness.

Rita grieved deeply. Yet she did not give herself over to hatred. She forgave her husband’s killers. She refused to let evil reproduce itself again. Like the teaching of the Apostle and the Fathers, she would not imitate what had wounded her. Instead, she entrusted judgment to God.

Even then, mercy demanded more. When she sought entrance into the convent, fear stood in the way. The nuns hesitated, worried that old feuds would bring violence to their walls. And so Rita did the unthinkable. She went to her enemies. She went to those bound by hatred. Through humility, courage, and patient persuasion, she brought reconciliation where bloodshed had ruled. Written peace replaced generational violence. Only then did the doors of the convent open.

In the cloister, Sister Rita continued the same quiet victory she had lived in the world. She overcame evil not by striking back, but by refusing to let it claim her heart. She became a living witness to the truth St. Paul proclaims and St. John Chrysostom explains: evil withers when it is denied imitation.

And so we return to today’s Epistle. “Vengeance is Mine, says the Lord.” These words are not a threat. They are a promise of freedom. They free us from the crushing burden of playing judge, jury, and executioner. They invite us to trust that God’s justice is purer, wiser, and more merciful than our own. In St. Rita, we see what this trust looks like when it is lived to the end. She teaches us that holiness is not found in dramatic retaliation, but in steadfast charity. She shows us that evil is truly conquered only when it finds no echo in our soul.

May her intercession help us to live the courage of Romans 12—not merely to endure wrong, but to overcome it with good. And may we learn, like her, to choose mercy, even when vengeance seems easier.