choosing maturity, choosing forgiveness

After reading yesterday’s post on praying for our enemies, Not Saussure was kind enough to point me to the blog of Rachel of North London, a woman who survived the terrorist train bombings on July 7, 2005. In her post “The F Word,” Rachel explores the meaning of forgiveness in very real, very practical terms.

As Rachel recounts both her own feelings and those of other victims, the recurring theme is that forgiveness is necessary. She quotes Kristy, who says, “Forgiveness is self-preservation; if I can’t forgive it will destroy me.” Rachel says of herself,

For me forgiveness is about moving through the storm of pain and outrage, holding onto my essential self, which was there before the devastating event. It’s hard to let go of the desire for revenge: anger became my sole driver in the months after the first attack. But to be trapped in a state of permanent rage hurts me. I hold what has happened to me… and I try to live through it. I do not want to live a life defined entirely by an attack on me.

Forgiveness is a choice, and a gift I make to myself, to live freely in the light, rather than to be trapped in a hell of hatred and vengefulness. It has little to do with the perpetrators of the crimes; it is for me, not them that I choose to do this. It is how I stay sane.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu has said that “To forgive is not just to be altruistic. It is the best form of self-interest.” My own experience has taught me this truth: unforgiveness will eat me alive. Clearly, there is a real benefit in forgiveness.

For Christians, the question is not so much “Will I forgive?” as “How do I forgive?” We know from sermons and Sunday school and the Bible itself that forgiveness is required, is necessary. We also know it’s not easy, though I suspect that some of us have the misconception that it should be. We read of Jesus on the cross and hear Him say, “Father, forgive them”–and we think that the words should just flow. And perhaps that’s the ideal–that forgiveness flows unhindered–but I can’t help but think that Jesus struggled with it, that part of what He was working through in Gethsemane was gaining a heart of forgiveness toward those He knew were coming to kill Him.

Jesus gives us some help on the how in the Sermon on the Mount. I quoted this passage yesterday, but it’s worth quoting again. In Matthew 5, He says,

You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Jesus tells us to love and to pray. Many years ago, when I was still in college, I heard a preacher say that we need to take these two steps and put them in reverse order: pray for our enemies so that we might learn to love them. As I have practiced this, I have found it true: it is difficult to pray sincerely for someone and remain hard-hearted toward him. You can say “Father, bless him” only so many times before your heart’s desire aligns with your words and you truly desire that God bless the one who hurt or wronged you.

I’ve discovered that praying for someone I don’t much care for humanizes that person. Rachel quotes Kristy, who said that as she learned about the attackers and their motivation, they “became human, [and] the hate and anger faltered.” One of the problems with the kind of language some commenters were using on Joee’s blog post is that it dehumanizes the Muslim protesters. Calling them “animals” makes it easier to hate–and to kill. We don’t have the same scruples about killing an animal, especially not one that we see as dangerous, as we do a living, breathing human. When Jesus said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do,” He was acknowledging the humanity of His killers.

Jesus also tells us, “You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Izzie, in commenting on my post yesterday said, “But I am not a prophet, not the Son of God, nor a fully enlightened being. I cannot find it within myself to forgive.” Her words suggest that forgiveness is somehow beyond the ability of mortals. I can think of several reasons for this misconception, but Jesus’ words here are likely one of them. Though I’m not a Greek scholar, my sense is that perfect is a poor English translation of the word Jesus uses here. The Amplified gives a better, fuller rendering:

You, therefore, must be perfect [growing into complete maturity of godliness in mind and character, having reached the proper height of virtue and integrity], as your heavenly Father is perfect.

The Message says, “Grow up!” Jesus, I believe, is calling us not to perfection as flawlessness but to maturity, to grown up behavior. God, who has every reason not to bless those who violate His laws, still gives rain and sun–blessing–to everyone. This is the perfect, mature attitude. In contrast, the immature attitude is to be nice only to those who are nice to you. Jesus says that just about anyone can pull that off. We should go higher and be nice to, bless, even those who are not nice back.

Maturity is about the ability to choose, to will, in spite of our emotions. My emotions say, “Make her pay” and “Don’t be nice.” But maturity calls me to choose kindness, to choose to pray, to choose to bless, to choose to love. I can’t be “perfect,” but I can be mature.

Tagged as: choice, forgiveness, Jesus, maturity, Sermon-on-the-Mount