One of my intentions when I started this blog many years ago was to reflect theologically on ideas in the books I’ve read—not review Christian nonfiction necessarily but consider how we can find God in unexpected places. Especially fantastic ones. But pausing to reflect theologically on a book takes much longer than a typical review. It can also be misconstrued as my recommending a book or not recommending a book. If you want that information, there’s always Goodreads.
I finished reading a book a little over a week ago, and as I was writing my obligatory Goodreads review (which I would encourage everyone to do, especially for new or lesser known books as it helps authors a great deal), I realized that one of the concepts in the book I had just finished was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to be writing about, so without further ado, here are my thoughts on one of the complications of forgiveness, especially forgiving someone who hurt a friend or someone close to you.
Synopsis of book: In true fairy tale fashion, Shyla’s sister had been abducted by Wolves on her way to visit her grandmother.[1] Then she fell in love with her captor and ended up marrying him. There was, of course, a backstory—the situation was messy but not as terrible as it looked—but Shyla only remembered the pain of not knowing what had happened to her sister and the sound of her mother’s tears in the wee hours of the morning. How could her sister be so forgiving that she would even marry the man who had caused her and her family such pain?
I want to pause here for a moment. Forgiveness is always hard. It’s work. And it’s generally not a matter of forgetting something happened. Forgiveness is essentially saying to a person, what you did was so terrible, you cannot simply undo it and make it right, so I am no longer going to hold you to the impossible standard of changing the past. Forgiveness is also something we do for ourselves, so we don’t let anger and hatred fester and draw us to the dark side. And while forgiveness is something that God asks us to do, it doesn’t necessarily mean we will ever be able to fully reconcile with or trust the person who hurt us. But when someone is able to forgive, we ought to be cheering them on, so why is it so hard?
Over a decade ago, I watched one of my friends go through an ugly divorce. Her ex’s family did everything they could to drag her through the mud in order to get full custody of her son. It went on for a long time, and I saw and heard many things that I’ve never been able to forget. My friend, on the other hand, has forgotten. I don’t know if that’s the mercy of God, but somehow those years are now a fuzzy memory for her, while to me, they are still vivid. For a season, she was even able to live in the same town and peacefully drop off and pick up her son from her former family’s home.
I’m happy for her, thankful that she doesn’t have to live with the constant memories of everything she went through, glad that, for the sake of her son, she has found a way to live at peace, and yet, after the names they called her and the things they accused her of, I struggle to look at them, much less be civil. It wasn’t even my battle, so why is it such a struggle for me to forgive?
I’ve been thinking about that question for several months … probably several decades if I’m being honest. It’s not an easy question to answer, but I think it has to do with our desire to see justice done. When someone does something that has harmful or evil results and their actions are forgiven, it feels like they got away with something. Even though they can never fully repay the damage, shouldn’t there be negative consequences for their actions? And when the injured party refuses to press charges or make their oppressor remember, I will make sure I do it in their place.
Besides, isn’t that how social justice movements start? Something happened that didn’t personally impact me but I believe is wrong, so I vow to never forget. When enough of us refuse to forget, a movement begins. It explains why many activists are simultaneously energized and exhausted. Righteous anger makes us feel powerful, yet holding on to painful memories is draining.
I think the Bible has a couple of things to say about this, which as Christians we need to pay attention to. First, God says vengeance is his.
“Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord” (Romans 12:17-19 NIV).
I often want to repay evil for evil. I don’t want anyone to get away with hurting the people I love. I want the perpetrators of violence to learn their lessons and face the consequences so they will stop bringing about evil. But if I’m being honest, even if this was placed in my hands, I’m not convinced I’d have the wisdom to enact justice, so I’m honestly glad that God has promised to take care of it. I know that I can trust him to be just.
But there’s perhaps an even more important verse to consider, also in Romans.
“So when you, a mere human being, pass judgment on them and yet do the same things, do you think you will escape God’s judgment? Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance?” (Romans 2:3-4 NIV).
Compared to God, all of us are incredibly impatient. Of course, that often makes me impatient with God. God, why won’t you act now? But then I need to stop and consider how many times someone else has probably prayed for God to act now after I did something that hurt them. And while I don’t consider myself evil, I can think of numerous times that I hurt someone, which means there are probably countless other times I’ve hurt someone that I’m not even aware of. Times when I said or did something that drove someone away from God. When I was unkind. When I was vicious. When I didn’t reflect the Creator of the universe well at all. And despite how undeserving I was and am, God has always showed patience and kindness toward me.
Returning to the book that started this train of thought, at one point Shyla breaks down, expressing her anger and pain toward the situation that she and her family had been drawn into, the unnecessary and reprehensible actions of her brother-in-law. Her friend lets her cry, something that the rest of us may need to do more—rather than too quickly jumping in and trying to fix things, but we can reflect on that another day. Then, finally, the friend speaks.
“I’m not going to tell you to forgive him,” Adriel said. “I think you will, but that’s for you to do. All I can say is I carried a lot of rage against someone once, and it hurt. But once I forgave, truly forgave, the pain stopped.”
I realize that in the course of this reflection, I’ve shifted from writing about forgiving those who’ve hurt others to forgiving those who’ve hurt us. But the reality is, it’s the same thing. While maybe the person causing pain to our friends doesn’t want us to feel that pain as well, that’s not how things work. You hurt my friend; you hurt me. Life doesn’t happen in a vacuum, nor does suffering. And while someone may have intended (or unintended) the pain to someone else, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t also hurt in the process. But the only way to be free of that pain is to forgive.
So God, help me to forgive those who have hurt me. To forgive those who have hurt my friends. To remember you love them and that you will see justice done. And maybe, one day, they will come to repent. But even if they don’t, you can carry their wrongdoing and my desire for justice, so I don’t have to. I don’t want to give my pain the power to make me someone less than you have created me to be, but I need your help to let go. So help me to reflect you and your patience and kindness. Help me to trust you better. And help me to forgive. Amen.
[1] Winton, Lucy. 2024. The Shifter and the Mage. Independently published.
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