Well, it’s January. January is the month, a few years back, when something happened to me and my family (a story for another time) that has required a lot of forgiveness work — work I have not yet completed.
That work, incomplete though it may be, has taught me a lot about what forgiveness is — and isn’t. And since we all have something to forgive, those insights seem worth sharing with you this January.
First of all, when something terrible has been done to us, why should we even bother to forgive? Has the offender done anything to deserve forgiveness? Even if they have, why should we let them off the hook? It feels awfully good to nurse our anger — to dig our heels in and say, “I will NEVER forgive you!”
Or does it?
Anger can feel good in the moment. But when we feed on it, when we wallow in it, sometimes it doesn’t feel so good. It starts eating away at us from the inside. It starts invading our other relationships. It makes us miserable to be around.
Perhaps Jesus knew what he was talking about when he encouraged us to forgive. Perhaps it’s not just another hoop for us to follow. Perhaps it’s for our own happiness — in this life and the next.
We forgive for a lot of different reasons: first and foremost, because Jesus asked us to — and in fact clearly told us that the forgiveness we receive will be based on the forgiveness we give. We forgive because the person against whom we hold our grudge is an image and likeness of God, whom we are called to love. (That “love one another” stuff isn’t always as simple as it looks, is it?) We forgive because nursing anger and bitterness causes us to lose our peace. And if we know anything from Scripture, it is that the God who repeatedly says, “Peace be with you” has created us for peace — the peace that only he can give. The peace that comes from walking the narrow road he calls us to.
In short, we forgive because our refusal to do so doesn’t hurt the offender. It hurts us.
Hold on here. So, I just have to “love” this person and completely ignore what they did to me? No. That wouldn’t be human. When someone does something unjust to us, it causes hurt. It causes anger. It causes disappointment. If we subscribe to some form of facile “forgive and forget,” we aren’t really forgiving. We’re just stuffing all of that hurt and anger and disappointment down, where it can fester in our subconscious and wreak all kinds of havoc. That is not forgiveness.
What else isn’t forgiveness?
Well, for starters, forgiveness doesn’t mean pretending that nothing bad actually happened. Nor does it mean condoning or excusing what happened. If we aren’t acknowledging that a wrong was done, we are just living in pretend land. That isn’t healthy, and it doesn’t lead to healing.
Nor is forgiveness saying that the offender shouldn’t suffer legal or practical consequences for what they did. After John Paul II recovered from a 1981 assassination attempt, he visited the man who shot him, Mehmet Ali Agca, in prison. He forgave him. But then he let him remain in prison. He did not request that Agca be legally pardoned, or that his sentence be commuted. Forgiveness is not pardon. Forgiveness is a personal decision, rooted in grace. Pardon is a legal decision, rooted in justice. We need both. Automatically letting an offender “off the hook” for misdeeds or crimes committed is not forgiveness, nor is it justice, nor is it healthy for individuals or for society.
Nor does forgiveness necessarily imply reconciliation. Sometimes it does, but it is not automatic, and it is not strictly required. If you steal from me, I may forgive you. But don’t expect me to loan you money if I see you still can’t be trusted. If you are cruel to me, I may forgive you. But if you remain cruel, don’t expect me to continue hanging around to take your abuse. I’m a Christian, not a doormat. If I see no evidence that you are willing and likely to change your offensive ways, I’ll be keeping my distance. Hasty reconciliations in the name of “forgiveness” often lead to disaster.
So, what is forgiveness? Quite simply, it is the process of letting go of our justified anger and resentment. The “justified” part is important. I think for many of us, the call to forgiveness feels like God is somehow taking the side of the person who hurt us, saying “Oh come on. Just get over it.” But that’s not it at all. If a real injustice was committed, we are entitled to feel hurt. We are entitled to feel angry. God is perfect justice. And when we forgive, we are forgiving a breach of justice — an injustice. Forgiveness is not about pretending it didn’t happen, or that what happened is okay. It is voluntarily relinquishing, or working to relinquish, the anger and hurt to which we are entitled.
What then? We work to replace that bitterness with the recognition that the offender is created in the image and likeness of God, and loved by him despite (not because of) their sin, and to respond to them in the spirit of that love. We aim to desire what is truly best for them. We harbor no further bitterness toward them in our hearts.
Notice “process,” “work to,” “aim to.” Forgiveness is not a one and done situation. It is not a decision that we make and then immediately move on from. It takes time. Often the greater the hurt, the greater the time needed to complete the process. We need to work through what happened. We need to invite the Lord into the hurts that it caused.
As Christians, our number one goal is to imitate Christ. Yes, he instructed us to forgive. But he also showed us how it’s done. How many of us, while in the midst of being cruelly executed, could look to God and say, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”?
Anger is not automatically bad. Righteous anger has spurred many to do great things. But suppressed anger, nursed anger, long simmering anger — that is unhealthy. Letting it go frees us. But that’s not something that can be done under human power alone. It requires assistance from the One who showed us what forgiveness looks like.
And so, in whatever anger or bitterness or resentment you may be harboring, I recommend turning it over to him. Surrender it to him. Lay it at his feet. Give him all of the anger and hurt and bitterness. Let him love you in the midst of it.
And, over time, let him transform it, and give you the peace that can only come from him.
Bonacci is a syndicated columnist based in Denver.
