The process of forgiveness 19

In my journeys of forgiveness, I've noticed over and over that I've been forgiving people who don't realize or acknowledge they did something that needs forgiveness. Previous posts in this forgiveness series have touched on this, and on how to forgive in this situation.

One thing that keeps rolling around in my head are Jesus' own words of forgiveness from the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Here Jesus is practicing what he had preached during his ministry about the importance of, and need to forgive others. And he is doing it in the most dire of circumstances.

Now, I am not going to equate what happens when we forgive people with Jesus' Great Forgiveness as he was dying to gain victory over sin and evil in the world. But I do think there is some relationship between our forgiveness and God's forgiveness.

There's a key, mystical link there, and Jesus didn't mince words about it during his ministry. For example, in the Sermon on the Mount, he said:

"If you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." (Matt. 6:14–15)

Jesus does not say, "forgive others when they ask you to forgive them" or "forgive them when they come to their senses and realize what they did wrong." He just says to forgive them, period, and that this has some link to how God will forgive us. It doesn't seem to matter what they do, or don't do, or what they believe, or think they did. We are just supposed to forgive them.

I have found that when I am able to go through my process and forgive, I feel more closely drawn to my relationship to the persons of the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. When I forgive those who are not asking for forgiveness (which is most of the people I've forgiven), I feel very distinctly that I am in tune with Christ, who forgave those who "know not what they do."

There must be something very important about this. It is something on which to meditate, and something definitely to practice, as Jesus taught us to do.

The work of forgiveness 2

One thing I am learning is that forgiveness moves in and out of focus. At times I believe I have completed the work with someone. A while later I remember some new, different thing that must be examined, considered, and forgiven. Although this does not set me back to square one, it does teach me that forgiveness is a journey that's a bit longer and more complicated than you might expect.

I try not to get frustrated by this, and instead see it as the way forgiveness works.

It is as if I am a farmer in the northeast preparing a field. At first, many rocks turn up in the field. Each of them must be dug out, examined, and put aside—perhaps into a rock wall. After a while of this, the field has far fewer rocks and can be used to grow crops.

Yet rocks still remain. In fact, some of them would probably have laid buried if it were not for the earlier plowing and removal of other rocks. Occasionally the plow will hit them unexpectedly. What does the farmer do? Once again dig up the rock, examine it, and add it to the rock wall. If the rock is left where it is, sure, crops can be grown. But whenever it's planting or harvest time, that rock will impede the process. Better to dig it up, deal with it, and then move on.

Forgiveness is like that, I think. We are walking this journey with God, open to examining and dealing with any rocks he brings to our attention, in the timing he chooses.

Glimpses of grace

I used to occasionally be allowed to preach. It was one of the greatest joys of my ministry life.

I think I was fairly good at it. I felt God gave me things to say that challenged and helped people. But I could have been a lot better if I had been allowed to do it on a regular enough basis that I could have practiced and developed my craft.

I'm still coming to terms with why that did not happen for me. Sadly, even after graduating from seminary and being ordained, the churches where I served were not in healthy enough places themselves to mentor me and my gifts. The pastors did not do it for me, and I in turn did not do it for other current church leaders like myself or for people who were taking discipleship seriously in the congregation. We were all just struggling to hold these places together.

We were dealing with the crises of the moment, always, always. We were not imagining or building for a better future. Yes, we should have been. But we were doing the best we could with what we had, and taking away another night of the week when one was already spending three or more nights at the church, and putting in 20-30 hours on top of full-time jobs to keep the place going...  Maybe in hindsight we should have been more forward-looking. But that's always easy to say. What I remember is just being continually exhausted and frustrated. Not in any kind of place to innovate or mentor or look to the future.

Actually, I think that's how a lot of ministry goes in the local church. You know what you want to accomplish, how you want to serve Christ. You have a heart for it. You feel a calling towards it. The Holy Spirit urges you on. But there's your people, with their dysfunctions and issues and problems. And survival is always a concern. And so, what you can manage at best is small victories related to the vision God's given you. The rest of it remains elusive and out of reach.

And yet.

I actually think God's OK with that. With the effort, I mean. With the intentions and the small results that come from trying to stay on message even though so much remains unrealized. And every so often he gives us glimpses of his grace to help us keep going.

I didn't get to preach much, but God-things have resulted anyway. A few weeks after I preached on John's prologue at a Christmas Eve service, a shy woman in her 20s in our congregation presented me with a painting she had made, showing the light shining in the darkness, which the darkness could not overcome. What I had said that night had resonated with her and inspired her. Her painting is one of my most treasured possessions.

The other day I received an email from a former congregant who had taken notes in her Bible on a Sunday I had preached, more than a year ago. She was in a time when she needed encouragement, and going through her Bible, she came across her notes, and what I had said, and God spoke to her again. She then emailed me to let me know what had happened, and she in turn encouraged me on a day when I was having a difficult time.

These glimpses of grace keep you going in ministry, even when the overwhelming preponderance of what we do seems to not bear fruit. You have to be attentive and recognize them when they come along, because like the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit they are easily missed.

I wish I had been able to preach more. I wish I still had opportunities to preach now. But I am gratefult that the times I did, God took what I said and did something with it. That's about as good as it gets.