Forgiveness
Forgiveness.
When I’ve contemplated doing it (not as often
as I should), I’ve always thought of it as releasing my offender from my own
wrath/punishment/revenge and instead trusting God’s (more just) dealings with him/her. I’m pretty sure teaching in the church has
reinforced this idea—that the reason we forgive is because we aren’t
responsible for our offender’s consequences. God, however, is.
But
I’ve noticed something: such a release isn’t really a release. For it creates an opportunity (which, sadly,
I’m all too inclined to take) to relish the idea of my offender’s
experiencing consequences for his/her behavior.
And not just any consequences, but those coming from the powerful hand
of God Himself. “Ha!” says my (dark)
heart, as I “release” my offender from my own scrawny-by-comparison attempts at
righting the wrong.
But
Frederica Mathews-Green offers a different definition of forgiveness. She asserts that forgiving someone involves relinquishing
my own impulse for the offender to be punished at all—by me, by circumstances
or “logical consequences,” by God Himself.
She describes the prayer of forgiveness this way: “Father, I ask for my offender to be released
from Your punishment.”
This
is a game-changer. One I’m not sure I’m
ready—and certainly not yet able—to negotiate just yet.
Yet I can't ignore that her definition echoes the prayer of Jesus, who asks God to forgive those who
killed Him, even saying they didn’t know what they were doing. In an audacious prayer, Jesus not only
releases His murderers from well-deserved punishment to be doled out by none
other than God (His father, by the way), but He goes on to release them from
the culpability of realizing the heinous nature of their actions.
When I absorb the ramifications of
Jesus’ prayer, it is nearly incomprehensible.
Such
a release, says Frederica Mathewes-Green, is what real forgiveness looks like.
This
is a new word. And a very hard word.
But
I’m reminded of how readily I accept the idea that God’s forgiveness through
Christ’s death is for everyone. And
although I’ve been hesitant to include my own sin-ridden, very-undeserving self in
the “everyone” category, I've finally allowed myself to believe that I, too
(even I!) could be a recipient of His forgiveness.
And I’ve been overwhelmed at
the all-encompassing, eternal, amazingly redemptive nature of that forgiveness.
But
if I’m going to include myself in the “everyone” category—if I’m going to allow
myself to dance in the shimmer that is His forgiveness—then I must also include
my offenders in that same category.
Certainly
my offender is no less offensive than I, and no less worthy of such forgiveness.
Yes,
this word on forgiveness, it is hard.
And
so I pray: Lord Jesus, Son of God, have
mercy on me, the sinner.
Brilliant. Thank you for a lovely and important meditation on one of the most difficult tasks we face as humans in community with one another. For what it's worth, another take on what you said is that it is only our ego or personality, our false self, that keeps us at any time from forgiving another or feeling so affronted so much that we hold the other person, the supposed "offender" at arm's length. As you have so well described, the one who must stand in supplication to another is none other than that false self of ours before God. There is no other more authentic response, imho.
ReplyDeleteAn interesting perspective, and one worth further contemplation. I wonder whether the ego/false self you mention might be equated with what Christians sometimes refer to as "the flesh," except for that many would view such a "fleshly" response as more closely aligned with our true, human instinct.
ReplyDeleteMore to consider......
Thanks for reading, Annie, and for adding your insights.