My first lesson on forgiveness began my third year in Seminary. My 28th year on this human journey. Thirty years ago!
Every week I attended text study with my internship supervisor. We gathered with other pastors, and reflected on the upcoming lessons for Sunday. We discussed theology, preaching themes, our congregations, and our own stories. Our time together nourished our minds and our spirits. My first time in this group, Beth talked about the pain of her recent divorce, and how she prayed her way through it. “Every day I ask God to help me forgive him,” she shared. “It’s my spiritual practice, praying for forgiveness.”
Although she didn’t say it explicitly, I somehow knew, the forgiveness she prayed for was less about him, and more about her healing. Beth’s fierce forgiveness practice made an impression on me. I was not going through a divorce, but the painful ending of a deep friendship remained unresolved in my spirit.
Elaine and I became fast friends our first year in Seminary. We had almost every class together, studied together, took walks through Gettysburg’s battlefield, talked through theology, prayer, God, our marriages, which professors inspired us and which ones talked so far over our heads we had no idea what they said. As our first year came to an end we planned our second year’s course schedule so we’d be in classes together. We set a date to get together over the summer. Elaine joined me for a few camping days at my sacred beach retreat on Assateauge Island.
On the first day of the Fall semester, I looked for Elaine in the coffee shop, eager to hear about her Summer Clinical Pastoral Education experience, and eager to tell her about my summer at Children’s Hospital. I was stunned when my eyes found hers and she turned and walked away. As I walked into my first class, I found her again, and sat down next to her. She got up and moved.
As we broke for lunch, I caught up with her as she walked to her campus apartment. “Hey, Elaine, is something wrong?” I asked.
“No, Mary. Nothing’s wrong. Please leave me alone.”
Over the next weeks Elaine distanced from me as much as possible on our small campus. After a few more attempts to understand what had happened, I realized Elaine either did not want to tell me, or did not know.
My heart broke.
Elaine’s friendship had been a solace at time when my marriage to an alcoholic partner left me lonely. Her companionship as we embarked on this spiritual pilgrimage of Seminary had steadied me.
The disruption in of our friendship rippled among our classmates. Our class president pulled me aside
and offered to mediate. I welcomed his support, but told I had no idea what had happened. After meeting with Elaine he reported back that she had no interest in reconciliation.
I spent the rest of the year staying out Elaine’s way. In the absence of the truth, I made up many stories
trying to make sense of what had changed between us.
By the time I left for internship, my broken friendship with Elaine had become a dull ache. Beth’s prayers about forgiving her husband created a wondering in me. Would a similar practice help me heal from my broken friendship with Elaine? I wasn’t sure, and I was not ready to find out.
My second lesson in forgiveness came during Lent my senior year in Seminary. Two Lents earlier, I had brought an old childhood wound before God for healing. God and I covered much spiritual territory that year including shame and anger, but we did not get to forgiveness. Two years later, we entered forgiveness season.
Everyday, as I settled into prayer, God brought me into a prayer story. It began by meeting Jesus
in a meadow. Together we walked to where the meadow met the base of a mountain. As we drew close,
I noticed the entrance to a cave. Jesus walked beside me as we entered. The coolness of the cave
settled over me, and I noticed I was wearing a sweater. As I put my hands in the pockets of the sweater,
they found an old fashioned wrought-iron key. I wondered what the key was for as my fingers wrapped around it.
Each day we walked deeper and deeper into the cave. Eventually, we came to large open chamber. Standing on the edge of this underground room, I noticed a man sitting on the floor, shackles on his hands and feet
chained him to the wall. His knees were drawn up to his chest. His forehead rested on his knees. His hair fell like a dirty curtain around a face I couldn’t see.
Immediately I knew. This is the man who had hurt me years ago. They key in my pocket would set him free.
Jesus had brought me here to release him.
NO!
I refused. I sat down on the floor of the cave, leaned my back against the wall, and would not budge. Jesus sat down next me. He told me I did not have to do this. He would sit with me here as long as I wanted. There was no pressure or impatience in his presence.
Every day in prayer, we just sat there. For days.
I got bored. Impatient with the prayer. Nothing was happening.
I knew it was up to me for something to happen. Finally I stood up. I walked across the subterranean chamber. Pulled the key out of my pocket. Put it in the shackle. Turned it. The shackles fell away.
First from his feet. Then from his hands. Slowly he lifted his head to look at me. To my surprise,
I found myself, face to face with myself.
In unshackling this man who had hurt me, I set myself free. The truth of this astonished me. This is what forgiveness means? It’s not something you give someone else? No. Jesus wanted me to learn, we practice forgiveness to set ourselves free.
Jesus makes this point in a story he tells.
A servant owes his master a huge sum of money. More than he could ever pay in a lifetime of work. The master intends to throw the servant in jail. The servant begs for mercy, promising the master he will work to pay back his debt. The master chooses to offer mercy, and forgives the servant’s huge debt.
The servant leaves the master, and runs into a fellow servant, who owes him a small sum of money. The servant whose debt has just been forgiven, demands that his fellow servant pay him immediately. When he can’t, the servant whose debt has just been forgiven, throws the man who owes him money into jail.
When the master hears how unforgiving the servant has been he calls him back.
“You wicked servant!” the master says. “I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?” And in anger the master handed the servant over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt.
Jesus tells this story to Peter, who asks him, “How many times must I forgive someone?”
“Not just seven times,” Jesus answers, “Seventy times seven times”.
Why? Because we put ourselves in jail when we can’t forgive.
That is what Beth knew. Her husband hurt her deeply during their divorce. She would remain in a jail of her own making if she held onto her resentment and pain. So, she prayed to forgive him every day. To set herself free.
In the days following my cave prayer, I noticed my relationship to my childhood story changed.
For years I had imagined this man coming to my door, and what I would do when I saw him there. In some versions, I went to the kitchen to get a huge knife to stab him. In other versions I ran away in fear. Sometimes I had a gun and shot him.
After the forgiveness prayer, I imagined him coming to my door. I opened it. I smiled at him. I offered him a glass of water. I did not invite him in. Neither did I hurt him. He left. He never visited me in my mind again.
I had set myself free.
Desmund Tutu, in his book about forgiveness, says not forgiving is like drinking poison, and then waiting
for the other person to die. We do not forgive to give a gift to those who’ve hurt us. We forgive to keep ourselves out of resentment jail.
It’s a daily practice. Sometimes like Beth’s. Praying everyday to forgive a deep hurt. Other times it’s choosing to smile at the person behind the CVS counter who was not as friendly as we expected, and wishing them a good day. Or putting out the trash when our partner leaves it overflowing in the kitchen. Or taking a deep breath, and choosing to let go of a hurtful conversation with our colleague.
Why? So these moments don’t have the power to ruin the rest of our day. So we can keep ourselves out of resentment jail.
Sometimes though, we prefer to be in jail. We cling to our resentment. We hold onto being right. We wrap the feeling of being the wronged around us like a comforting woobie. That’s ok. Jesus understands how attached we can become to our wounds. How hard it is to let them go. He’s glad to sit with us, and wait.
No pressure. No impatience. Just loving presence.
And when we’re ready, Jesus reminds us. We hold the key to setting ourselves free. It’s called forgiveness.
At the end of my senior year in Seminary Elaine called me. Would I be willing to meet her?
Yes. I was curious why this sudden interest in connecting.
We met. I waited quietly for her to begin. She apologized. She had no idea why she cut me off. She still didn’t know. But she wanted to clean it up. She knew how deeply she hurt me. Could I forgive her?
Yes, I replied quietly. I already have. Somewhere along the way that year, I had set myself free.
Are you in resentment jail? Have you been there a long time? Do you put yourself there frequently? Do small, every day hurts lock you up? Or does a large, old hurt hold you captive? While forgiveness can set you free, it often takes time, especially at first.
I had to clear a lot of other emotions out of my spirit, before I was ready to tackle forgiveness. Beth knew she needed to ask Spirit to help her forgive.
The good news is it’s always available. And it gets easier with practice.
Years later, when a boss deeply betrayed me at work, I knew what to do. In the days afterward, I walked and prayed. “Help me God, to let this go. Help me God, to let this go. Help me God, to let this go.” I breathed in Love, I breathed out hurt. In less than week, I could go to work, without being in resentment jail.
My boss had shown me his true colors. I knew what I could trust, and what I couldn’t. But the betrayal
did not hold me captive. I was wiser. And I was free.
You can be too.