Newspaper Columns by Bishop Paul V. Marshall
Forgiving what still hurts does not come cheap
Bishop Paul V. Marshall
April, 2003I started to grow one day in 1968 when I had a fight with a girlfriend. She said and did something to me that hurt me to the core of my being.
Then she did something worse. She was truly sorry. She apologized.
There are times when to respond “no problem” to an apology is an obscenity, denying both the depth of the hurt and the sincerity of the apology. This would have been such a time.
My love for her, together with my beliefs and my desire for peace all prompted me to forgive her. Then the frustration started. I soon realized that by forgiving her I gave up the right to look hurt, to appear the victim, to sulk, and to make her suffer by seeing my pain. I had not planned on losing that arsenal of subtle revenge. So this is what it is like to be an adult, I thought, with a touch of regret.
Realizing I had no weapons left, at least none I could use without feeling silly, I recognized a change inside me. Although there remained a few neural pathways of habit jerking with the desire to exact little punishments here and there, I realized that, having truly forgiven out of love for her, I had lost my fury. It just wouldn’t feel real to act wounded or to withdraw.
Old habits die hard. I tried to sulk, but could not. The encounter was life-giving and slightly frustrating. The best I could manage was to look sort of convalescing, which is not very satisfying and slightly comic.
Something died in me that day. Its death was a release. Habitual recourse to outrage or victimhood simply perpetuates suffering. On the other hand, having the upper hand morally and using it to reconcile rather than punish gives life to all around.
I have written several times that our souls are in the most danger — and we are potentially the most dangerous to others — when we believe that we are in the right. No other statement in this space has gotten quite the same degree of angry correspondence.
Many heard me suggesting that there is something wrong with being right or that there is no such thing as absolute truth or that there is no right and wrong. That’s not the point. The point is that Crusaders tend to kill.
“While we were yet sinners, God loved us,” wrote St. Paul long ago. To forgive comes not from being satisfied that an offense is paid for, but from the desire to overcome separation and hostility. Jesus was at his most infuriating when his first word from the cross was, “Father forgive them,” even offering an excuse for his enemies, that they did not know what they were doing.
To forgive someone while they are still hurting you is to inhabit a level of compassion that most of us seldom visit, except perhaps with our children. The wound my girlfriend gave me hurt for a long time. It still does and may do so for ever, just as my arm would remain chopped off if that is what she had done to me. Forgiveness does not fix; but it can heal or, perhaps, overcome. Forgiving what still hurts does not come cheap.
You will read this shortly before Christians observe the days of Christ’s death and resurrection. When we see human nature — our nature — at work in that act, we can recognize God’s love overcoming sin as Christ continues to love us at our very worst.
St. John’s telling of this story has the crucified Christ “drawing” people to him. It’s not the sense of a bill being paid, but the portrayal of love being faithful to my unloving self, that continually draws me to him and the way of life he offers.
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