The subject of forgiveness is one I have previously visited and no doubt will revisit many times, in experience if not in writing. The issue of forgiveness is ever fresh in human experience, flowing inevitably from the wanton harms and evil that surrounds us and so often affects us directly. It is a subject among Christians that engenders much misunderstanding and sometimes foolishness. In the most uttered prayer in Christianity — the Lord’s Prayer — we are called to ask forgiveness for ourselves and extend it to others: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
Forgiveness requires, first of all, that there is some genuine harm done — real or perceived — to an individual by another. The damage may be physical, emotional, or spiritual, affecting any one of a host of critical areas: our pride, our emotional or physical well-being, our finances, our security, our relationships, and many other areas. The harm must be substantial — the injury must cost us something dear, thereby engendering the inevitable responses to such harm: fear, pain, sorrow, loss, anger, resentment, and disruption of relationships. The need for forgiveness arises from these natural defensive responses to the offense — defenses that tend to be self-perpetuating and self-destructive.
Some of the silliness surrounding the act of forgiveness arises from the lack of such substantial harm. Choosing, for example, to forgive the Nazis for the Holocaust or the terrorists for 9/11, for example, when we have never been affected by it directly in any way (or at best trivially so) becomes little more than pretentious posturing. It costs us nothing to say, accomplishing nothing but the appearance of self-righteous sanctimony. This form seems especially common in some Christian circles, where it serves little more than a veneer of righteousness, allowing us to sound “Christian” while sacrificing nothing.
False forgiveness commonly takes another form, driven by an obligation to moral or religious dictates and facilitated by denial. Having sustained some harm, we know the moral command to forgive and, therefore, simply will ourselves to do so. When the inevitable anger arises again — as it always will if there has been substantial harm — we force it under the surface, recommitting ourselves to the act while trying desperately not to relive the incident. Yet the anger and resentment never get resolved and arise repeatedly — often in areas of life far removed from the direct injury, manifesting themselves in depression, irritability, and acting out in other relationships or domains of life. The forgiveness driven by moral compulsion or law far more enslaves the giver than frees him, allowing the poison to fester rather than lancing the boil.
True forgiveness is about sacrifice. It is an extension of grace, a humble admission that we, too, have harmed others—perhaps even been instrumental in precipitating offense by our own behavior. It arises from a profound gratitude that God has forgiven us of far greater failings than those that have wounded us.
Yet there is more to forgiveness than just having the proper spirit — there must be action. Forgiveness arising from the right spirit is still frail — the emotions, the hurt, and the resentment remain all too close at hand as the injury is relived time and time again. The feelings persist though the spirit forgives. The heart must be transformed — it must, in fact, be dragged to victory by the will manifesting itself in changed behavior toward the offender.
Corrie ten Boom and her family secretly housed Jews in their home during WWII. The Nazis discovered their “illegal” activity, and Corrie and her sister Betsie were sent to the German death camp at Ravensbruck. There, Corrie would watch many, including her sister, die. After the war, she returned to Germany to declare the grace of Christ:
It was 1947, and I’d come from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives. It was the truth that they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed-out land, and I gave them my favorite mental picture. Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollander’s mind, I liked to think that that’s where forgiven sins were thrown. When we confess our sins, I said, God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever. And even though I cannot find a Scripture for it, I believe God then places a sign out there that says, “NO FISHING ALLOWED”.
“I forgive you, brother!” I cried. “With all my heart!” For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then. But even then, I realized it was not my love. I had tried, and did not have the power. It was the power of the Holy Spirit.
To experience the miracle of forgiveness, we must relinquish our right to revenge and serve justice on our enemies — for justice served in retribution is a toxic victory, shallow in satisfaction, engendering only hatred and bitterness and slavery. To be free, we must act: to make amends to those who have hurt us when we have played a role; to pray for those whom we resent; to reach out and serve, if by pure will alone, to those whom we hate, that such hate may be transformed into transformational love. In this manner alone, may we experience the profound miracle and healing of true forgiveness.
