Forgiveness

This year in MOPS we’ve been talking a lot about being brave.  What does brave look like for you?  Maybe it’s joining a gym or talking about your painful past.  Maybe it’s going back to work or school, or speaking to a group.  For many of us, forgiveness is one of those ever-daunting tasks that we know we need to do but have such trouble finding the courage. When we finally do forgive though, as with most acts of bravery, we feel such a sense of peace, accomplishment, and utter relief.  But what IS forgiveness? What does that mean? How in the world do we get from resentment to forgiveness without feeling like we're surrendering, giving in, or somehow letting the other person win? 

In Eph 4:32, someone (who may or not be Paul, but that’s another story) tells us to "be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as in Christ, God forgave you (NIV)." We know that God loves and forgives us unconditionally. He forgave David (that in itself is proof enough), Peter, Zacchaeus, Paul, our ancestors, us, and, yes, even our little monsters. He doesn't say "I'll forgive you if you take back what you said about your ex," or "I can get past it if you never do it again."  The problem is, unconditional forgiveness doesn't come naturally to humans. We are excellent conditional forgivers; "I'll forgive my sister as soon as she pays me back," or "I'll let it go as soon as he gets into treatment." We have the mindset that forgiveness is something that must be earned. 

Some of you know that I grew up in an abusive home. I left my parents' house on horrible terms on Christmas day when I was 20, and didn’t speak to my father for the next 10 months.  My sister started running away as a teenager about three years later; this was the first in a string of regrettable decisions.  Finally, my mom realized that my dad was not getting the message.  She sat him down and told him that if he drove her sons away as he had her daughters, he’d find himself single.  Much to my surprise, he took it to heart and started therapy (he'd said for decades that he didn't need therapy; it was his kids that needed fixing, not him).  In about two years’ time, my now-teenaged baby brothers had the dad they needed, and Mom had the husband she deserved.  I forgave him.  It was easy.  He’d changed; my trials had been a catalyst for a change that freed not only us kids from the past, but my father from his past as well. I guess you could say I found a little joy (maybe more like comfort) in persevering through my trials (see James 1:2).

But what happens when the perpetrator doesn’t change?  What if the forgiveness isn’t earned? The human condition is to crave control even when we can't have it. We sometimes forgive on the surface. "well, I can forgive but I'll never forget;" this type of forgiveness sounds nice in theory, but causes internal pain, stress, and eventual explosion, or worse- implosion,  depression, anger, or severe anxiety over living a lie.  In his song Forgiveness, Matthew West sings "the prisoner that it really frees is you." We are the ones being hurt by our grudges, not our friends, siblings, in-laws, teachers, our spouses, or that guy on the freeway whose hurry is apparently more important than ours.  

My mother-in-law sustained brain damage when Jeremy was a little boy; her personality was altered.  That ever-important filter that tells us we shouldn’t say something (you know, the one that I sometimes appear to be missing) just isn’t there.  She couldn’t be tactful if there was a pill for it and she took an entire bottle.  About 8 years ago, when Maya was an infant, she accused my mother of stealing a sum of money from her (which she’d been paid, but forgot).  She went on to attack me and my entire family.  The whole incident ended with an explosion of obscenities and a lack of communication between our households for the better part of a year.  This was the first in several cycles of tension, miscommunication, and bitter breaks in contact.

About two years later, Mom was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a very aggressive bone marrow cancer effecting plasma cells.  My guilt was unbearable.  I wanted my kids’ grandmother to be in their lives; I knew their time together would be limited.  I started praying relentlessly that she would change just as my dad had.  I knew I had to forgive her.  I wanted to forgive her.  I read Col 3:13 (actually most of Col 3) over and over again: “Bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. “  But I didn’t know how.  I was praying, right? I was going to church, praying the Sign of the Cross, studying the Bible, giving to charity. Why couldn’t I let it go?  After several more cycles of blame, anger, tears, and sleeplessness, I was convinced my marriage was over and my kids would hate me forever.  

At a women’s retreat day about 4 years ago, it finally hit me.  Fr. Leo was talking about forgiveness and about how unconditional forgiveness is not something people can execute without help from God.  Unconditional forgiveness is not born of man; we need help.  We need to give control to God.  This wasn’t about Mom!  This was about Col 3:23.  “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for God and not men.”  Yes, this was about my relationship with Mom, but it was as much about my relationship with God. I knew then, in that moment, that I needed to be brave.  I needed to ask for help; I prayed that I would have the strength to accept and forgive her as she was and not how I thought she should be.  Miraculously, the weight was gone.  I felt freer than I had in at least a decade.  

This new feeling was unfathomable for me.  For days, I bit my tongue.  I closed my eyes.  I pinched myself.  I asked Jeremy what the date was and if I was dreaming.  I even tried hating my mother in law.  But I couldn’t.  I laughed.  I laughed at some of the things she’d said.  I laughed at the funny memories I’d buried after years of hurt and tension.  The prisoner that it freed was me.  I don’t even know if Mom noticed.  It doesn’t even matter.  We’re whole.  We’re healed.  Through God’s amazing grace and power, she’s outlived her prognosis.  My kids will all remember her when He calls her home.  And I’ll miss her.

I know I’m not perfect.  I mean, I stalk my ex-sister-in-law (who left my brother for a family friend) on Facebook.  I tell myself she’s someone else’s problem now.  But I’m working on it.  Two down, 75 more to go, right (Mt. 18:21-22)? I don’t want to peak too soon. I know I’m not perfect, but I know that I’m forgiven.