choosing forgiveness

“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins,” (Matthew 6:14-15).

Simple equation. You forgive, you get forgiven. You refuse to forgive, you don’t. Said another way, the degree of forgiveness you offer will be proportionate to the degree of forgiveness you will be offered.

Sounds fine and good, even fair. It sounds like karma. It’s as if there is some kind of cosmic balance maintained, as if, like matter, there is only so much forgiveness in the universe and if you horde the forgiveness you ought to be giving, there will be none out there in the cosmos to come back to you when you need it. But as easy and balanced as it is, it’s scary, too.

The thing is you aren’t in a position to forgive until someone has wronged you in some way. That means at the very moment when you are hurt, attacked, mistreated and even abused you are under obligation then, in that moment, to somehow offer mercy and grace to the offending party. You can’t attack back and then claim to offer forgiveness later without expecting God to respond to you in the same way. Yeah, pretty scary stuff.

I’m particularly challenged by this reality because I’ve recently endured what I consider to be horribly unkind behavior and I find myself wanting to pass judgment on those who have been hateful toward me, wanting to go Old Testament on them using all kinds of prophetic ancient texts to remind them of God’s contempt for the wicked…

…and then I remember that I am wicked, too. I too have committed horrible sins. In the situation in question there are certainly things I could have done better. In the rest of my life, I have sinned with such resolved endurance that if it were an Olympic sport, I’d be in the running for the gold. I can’t condemn unless I am comfortable with being condemned.

No condemnation for me, thanks. I’ll pass.

Often these days I am reminded of the treatment I have endured and anger begins to creep into my mind. In those moments the only thing I can think to do is pray. I know how trite that sounds, but honestly, that’s all I can do to keep from soaking in my anger, marinating in rage.

At first when such moments arrived I prayed for myself, that God will allow me to release my anger. But that didn’t work as well as the prayer I now pray. I pray for them, for the people who could not forgive me. I pray, not that God will strike them down and not that God will reveal the wickedness of their hearts to them, but that God will make the same mercy available to them that I so desperately need for myself.

I pray that God won’t hold their wrongs against them.

That, too, sounds trite, I’m afraid, as it so obviously echoes Jesus’ prayer for His killers from the cross. I’m in no way comparable to Jesus in my capacity for mercy, so please do not read an “I’m like Jesus” message into what I’m writing here. I sink into despair and anger as often as I rise above it and I am far from fully forgiving.

But I’m trying. Trying to be what Jesus has asked me to be. Trying to forgive because I want to be forgiven. Trying to love because I want to be loved. I don’t know what else there is to do, really.

I realize I’ve thrown a lot out there, some of it obviously of the fresh-wound variety and I hope my indistinct references don’t confuse you too much. But this is where my heart has been for the last few weeks, so maybe something in all that, something in the mess, will encourage or enlighten you.

The point is a simple one: you have the choice to forgive or hate. I would encourage you to choose forgiveness.