I have been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately, mostly because I have discovered I am not particularly good at it. This came as a surprise. I had always rated myself highly in the category, the way most men rate their own driving.
I can forgive a waiter who brings the wrong order. I can forgive the driver who cuts me off, eventually, usually by the next exit. But the deep wounds, the ones that cost me something real, are a different story. Those I keep in a file cabinet in my head, neatly labeled, cross-referenced, and ready for review at three in the morning. The filing system is immaculate. It is the only organized thing I own.
One of the most beautiful moments in all of Scripture is Jesus on the cross. He has been beaten, mocked, and nailed to a piece of wood. And what does He say? “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” Not Father, get even. Not Father, wait until these fellows find out who they are dealing with. Forgive them. The people killing Him, while they were still holding the hammer.
Think how strange that must have sounded at the foot of the cross. Soldiers gambling for His clothes. Religious leaders sneering. A crowd that had shouted for His death. And from the middle of all that cruelty comes a prayer for their pardon. That is not a footnote to the faith. It is the whole ballgame.
Then comes the part that makes me squirm. We are told to forgive others as we have been forgiven. I like the idea of being forgiven. I am a big fan. I would sign up for that program today and recommend it to friends. It is the second half of the arrangement I keep trying to renegotiate, like a man asking the bank to keep the loan but drop the payments.
I have argued plenty of cases in my head. I have delivered magnificent closing arguments. I have cross-examined witnesses who were not in the room. I have won every one of those trials. Not one of them brought me peace. That is the trouble with being judge, jury, and prosecutor in the courtroom of your own mind. You always win, and you never get to go home.
I have also noticed that in these imaginary trials, the defendant never gets to speak. I play every part. I quote what they said, what they meant, and what they should have said instead. I am a very persuasive prosecutor when the other side is not allowed in the building.
Jesus said we cannot remove the splinter from our brother’s eye until we remove the log from our own. For years I walked around assuming I had a log in my eye. It turns out I have the whole tree. The stump, the branches, the leaves, the squirrels, and very likely a family of woodpeckers who have filed for homestead exemption.
And somehow, through all that lumber, I can still spot the tiniest speck in everybody else’s eye. It is a remarkable gift. If speck detection were an Olympic event, I would bring home the gold and then point out a flaw in the medal.
Unforgiveness is heavy. Heavier than I expected. It promises to protect you, but mostly it just weighs you down. The other person usually is not carrying any of it. They are at the beach. I am the one hauling the lumber up the hill every morning.
Real forgiveness, I am learning, does not require me to pretend the wrong never happened. It does not require me to call evil good, or to hand my trust back to someone who has not earned it. Forgiveness and trust are two different things. One is a gift. The other is earned over time, usually slowly, often with receipts.
What forgiveness does require is that I stop demanding payment. I have to tear up the bill. I have to stop waiting for the apology, the confession, the moment when everyone finally admits I was right. That moment may never come. If my peace depends on it, I may never have peace at all. I have checked the mailbox. It is not there.
Peter once asked Jesus how many times he had to forgive his brother. Seven times? Peter probably thought he was being generous. He was probably expecting a compliment. Jesus said seventy times seven. I do not believe He meant we should keep a tally until we hit four hundred and ninety and then cut loose. I think He meant stop counting altogether.
I am a counter by nature. I remember the date, the time, and the exact wording. I could tell you the weather on the day somebody wronged me, along with the barometric pressure. That is not a gift. That is a sack of rocks I have been carrying around while complaining about my back.
I have also had to reckon with how much forgiveness I have received. When I tally my own mistakes, the list is long. Some of them hurt people I love. Some of them cost me dearly. Some of them landed me in places I never pictured myself going, which I will get to in later entries, with the appropriate amount of shame and a few jokes for cover. And still God has not given up on me. People have not all given up on me either. That should make me the most forgiving man in Alabama. I am working on it. There is a lot of competition, mostly from grandmothers.
There is a parable about a servant who owed his master a fortune he could never repay. The master forgave the whole thing. Then that same servant walked outside, found a fellow servant who owed him a few dollars, and grabbed him by the throat. Every time I read that story I wince, because I recognize the man doing the choking. He looks a lot like me, only with better hair.
So here is my plan, such as it is. Every morning I name one person I need to forgive. Not out loud to them. Just to God. Some mornings it is the same person as yesterday. That is fine. Forgiveness, I am learning, is less like flipping a switch and more like chopping down that tree. One swing at a time. Some days it means praying for somebody I would rather complain about. Some days it means refusing to replay the old argument one more time. Some days it just means admitting I am not ready yet and asking God to make me willing to be willing.
I am a long way from the example on the cross. But I would rather be a long way down the right road than comfortable on the wrong one. First, though, I have some lumber to remove. I had better start today. It is a very big tree.
“For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.”
Matthew 6:14 (KJV)
— JC
Leave a Reply