The therapist took a sip of water from his white mug, and the gentle computer tapping stopped as he looked up. “Learn to stare the accuser down,” he said. “Learn to feel the sting of his words. Then learn to extend forgiveness.”
There is a rub here. I am tempted to turn forgiveness into an abstract idea, to mutter, “I forgive; why not?” under my breath and continue carrying the injuries. Forgiveness is easy to feign, after all.
What’s more, how do I forgive a man I do not know? The itinerant faith healer has no name in my memory, and I don’t suppose I could find him if I tried. Should I call the Full Gospel church? Should I ask, “Do you recall the traveling preacher who brought his ten-pound Bible, a gallon jug of olive oil, and a mouthful of empty promises to your church back in the summer of 1984?” This, I reckon, would be a fruitless exercise.
Even more a quandary, how do you forgive a system of faith? How do you forgive those who taught you to strip God of any abiding healing power? There is no ambassador here. It is a general ghost that haunts.
It’s a lesson that can be taught only by Christ. His forgiveness, his reconciliation—it’s quantum. It extends both back through history and forward into our present, and through to the future. Isn’t it Christ who made a way for the reconciliation of the patriarchs who were long dead before his day (Heb. 11:8–40)? Isn’t it the forgiveness of Christ that reaches into the future and provides reconciliation to us, even today (1 John 3:1)? To be a forgiving people, to be the people of Christ’s cross, shouldn’t we go back into our own histories and extend forgiveness to those who have brought us pain, shame, and guilt?
Forgiveness is the path to spiritual wholeness, I know. But it is no easy path. And I must begin to walk it.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Teach me the meaning of forgiveness.