"The Art of Forgiving"

Some time ago I wrote about the feeling that God was being pretty vocal about my need to forgive those by whom I/we have suffered a tremendous amount of hurt and wrong. This divine shout-out came in several different forms, by several different and unconnected people, all with the same message. OK, I said, I got it. But while I knew this journey toward forgiveness was inevitable for me, I had absolutely no clue how to begin, nor frankly had any desire to do so. Where I was at the time -- and honestly still am more often than not -- was at a place of vengeance, wanting to see them pay for what they did, wanting to see them hurt the way they hurt us, wanting to see them fail and suffer pain. I wrote that about a month ago (or more), and while I am able to see where I am supposed to go on this journey, I'm not quite sure I've made any progress. I still have the map in my hand, but my feet haven't started walking.

A short time ago I received a surprise package in the mail from an old friend, a book entitled "The Art of Forgiving" by Lewis B. Smedes. The subtitle jumped out at me instantly: "When you need to forgive and don't know how." From the very moment I picked up this book I knew this is something I had to read. Each paragraph, each chapter is speaking to me in profound ways, addressing every single question I have had since it all happened, and (thankfully) providing a great amount of relief and affirmation, that what we experienced did not come because we "asked for it" (as some actually said), but simply we had been terribly wronged and wounded and there are steps that need to be taken. "When we forgive, we set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner we set free is us."

I have not read his previous book, "Forgive and Forget: Healing the Hurts We Don't Deserve," but this one I'm reading is described as a more practical guide toward the "art of forgiving," outlining such issues as why we forgive (and often the one who benefits the most is the forgiver), what we do when we forgive, whom we forgive (only those who directly wrong us), and how we forgive (starting by ownership of our own pain). There were many times during the course of those six awful months of torture when I let my thoughts travel elsewhere: did we do something to deserve this? This guy who is saying these things is a highly respected leader -- is he really right? He has a lot of people behind him, more experience -- is he justified in what he's saying and doing? Are we making too much of this? The funny thing is that every single time a thought like that crept into my head, I immediately received some word on the contrary, affirmation of our ministry and our calling, outrage at what was being said and done, that this was so wrong on every level. I am sure that there were days where we were so gripped by fear that we said something the wrong way, or responded in a way that was coming from a hurting gut rather than a cool head. Yes, we have to own that and we do. But even so, that is merely being human, and responding like a human to horrible things. It was not even close to "asking for it." Someone actually said to Don that he shouldn't be surprised this happened to him, because he is a "very big person with a big voice and a big personality -- people are afraid of you." Come on. Nobody asks for abuse, or brings it on in any way. Even today, we received a letter in the mail from the very first priest whom Don talked to when he first received his call, the priest who knows Don probably better than any other "church person" on the planet, the priest who first supported Don's journey to seminary, who knows all of the people involved. His letter to us today was full of shock and outrage, yet love for us and affirmation once again that we did not do anything to bring this on -- we were wronged, period.

It happens. I'm not saying, "Oh, woe is me" because I know this happens all the time, this kind of injustice. My point is that from what I'm learning from this book, I have to stop going to that place of questioning (own our part in it, yes) and name it for what it was. The author lays it out very, very simply, saying we have two choices: to stay in this place of desiring vengeance and pain on the other person (which will inevitably become all-consuming), or we can forgive. There is no other option. I know which fork I have to take but it is extremely difficult.

There's one particular point that is seriously sticking in my proverbial craw, and while I know it is true, my mind (heck, why limit my mind -- my entire being) instantly rebels. "No, no, no! I don't want to do that! I can't do that!" Smedes mentions the three stages of forgiveness:

- We rediscover the humanity of the person who wronged us ... looking past the sin, past the wrong-doing, you see the fallen, hurting person. OK, fine -- I get that. I do know a little bit about some things, and there was a time when I felt pity rather than anger.
- We surrender our right to get even ... That's a little tougher. Yet I still think I can handle this element, since I wasn't planning on "getting even." While my imagination might have a good time, I am grounded enough in reality to know there's nothing I can do about this anyway. OK, I'll let that go.
- We revise our feelings toward the person we forgive. In other words, we wish them well. OUCH. "The flagship word of the gospel is grace. No wonder, for grace is shorthand for God wishing us well." OUCH OUCH. Wishing them well? Wishing those people happiness, even success in their ventures? OUCH OUCH OUCH. The next thing the author wrote produced some audible noise from me and I nearly jumped out of bed. It's like he swam around in my hurting soul and resurfaced with these words: "What we felt before was simple hate. We may disguise it so we don't have to recognize it in ourselves. But hate is hate no matter how we pass it off. It may be the passive hate that makes us feel good when we hear that bad things have happened to the person who wronged us. Or it may be an aggressive hate screaming for the other person to feel a pain at least the size of ours ... When we begin to forgive, however, we feel a real though perhaps reluctant wish that some good things might come the weasel's way ... The feeling of good will is likely to be weak and hesitant at the start, and we are almost bound to backslide into malice along the way. But if we feel any stirring of benevolence inside us, any hint that it will be all right with us if some modest bit of good fortune comes our enemy's way, we can be sure that we are teamed with God in a modest miracle of healing." Oh my goodness. I still have to hold my breath when I read that passage. Do I want to get through this journey? Yes, I do. I do not want to become consumed by this. I do not want to be shackled to them any more. Points One and Two I can handle. But ... do I wish them well?

If I'm being honest here ... no. I do not. I just can't get there.

But you know, I'm not too discouraged. I know I am supposed to do this. I know, in a sense, that this is my calling for the here and now. I know I am a "candidate" for this forgiveness process, and that I am not crazy. I know I am able to own this pain and identify the wrong that was done. It's like I have all the necessary pieces of the puzzle; I'm just struggling to fit them all together. I still harbor too much anger. I still receive a sense of satisfaction when I hear of negative things happening. That last step is going to be a doozy. Clearly this is not a step I'll be taking on my own.