Mercy – Heroic Sanctity of Forgiveness

“For 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.” – Jesus (Matthew 6:14-15)

Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.” – Jesus (Matthew 18:21-22)

In the last post about mercy, we saw that God's mercy is comprehensive and that being a follower of Jesus means extending that mercy to all others. Among other things, that means a call to a radical discipline of forgiveness. (In addition to the above, see Matthew 18:33-35, Mark 11:25, Luke 6:37-38, Colossians 3:12-13)

Charles Williams (1886-1945) was a member of the Inklings, the literary discussion group that included J. R.R. Tolkien and C. S Lewis. He is a favorite of mine. He was an editor and authored several strange, but wonderful “supernatural thrillers”. He was also a lay theologian – mostly self-taught, idiosyncratic, but orthodox. He wrote several theological books and essays. His writing style is not always easy to follow, but what he has to say is almost always wise, evocative, and worth the trouble.

The following is from Williams’ book, The Forgiveness of Sins, which he dedicated to the Inklings. It was originally part of a series of books that included The Problem of Pain by C. S. Lewis. It was published in 1942, in the thick of World War II. The point he makes is no less challenging or pertinent for Christians today:

Forgiveness is not normally a thrilling or an exciting thing. The metaphor which our Lord used has a particular aptness--it is the taking up, the carrying, the Cross, not the being crucified: it is the intolerable weight of the duty, and not its agony, which defeats us--'the weight of glory'. – p. 192-193

. . . .

Forgiveness of all injuries is demanded of the Christian because of the nature of our Lord, and it is demanded entirely. The phrase ‘things that cannot be forgiven’ is therefore to him intellectually meaningless. But it may in fact mean a good deal all the same. It is true that few of us are, fortunately, in a position to understand that meaning; no injuries of which the forgiveness seem unbelievable have ever been done to us. But probably there are at the present moment more persons alive in Europe than for many generations to whom such injuries have been done. . . . The massacres, the tortures, and the slavery, which have appeared in Europe of late that have impressed themselves upon us. In the ruined homes of Rotterdam–or indeed of England–among the oppressed thousands of Poland, there are those to whom the phrase ‘things that cannot be forgiven’ has fearful meaning. Must they nevertheless be forgiven? They must. Must vengeance, must even resentment, be put off? It must. There is certainly a distinction between the desire for private vengeance and the execution of public justice. But there is no excuse for concealing private vengeance under the disguise of public justice. . . .The injury done to many in this kind of war is greater than the injury done to one in private, but the result, from a Christian point of view, cannot be other. That must be, everywhere and always, the renewal of love. But in such states as we are now considering, that renewal means little less than heroic sanctity. It is upon such heroic sanctities that the Church depends–depends in the sense that they are the rule, its energy, and its great examples. . .

Heroic sanctity is required perhaps to forgive, but not to forgive is ordinary sin. There is no alternative; the greatness of the injury cannot supply that. It becomes–an excuse? No, a temptation: the greater the injury, the greater the temptation; the more excusable the sin, the no less sin. – p. 165-167

. . . .

Many reconciliations have unfortunately broken down because both parties have come prepared to forgive and unprepared to be forgiven. Instruction is as badly needed in this as in many other less vital things; that holy light which we call humility has an exact power of illumination all its own. – p. 193

How often do I make excuses for my hardness of heart and weakness of will? How often to I give in to the temptation not to forgive? How often do I refuse to acknowledge that I am the one in need of forgiveness? How often does my mercy fall far short of the mercy of God?

Becoming a People of God's Mercy and Delight, Part 1

Becoming a People of God's Mercy and Delight, Part 2

More Mercy and Delight

We Believe in the Forgiveness of Sins

A sermon for the 3rd Sunday of Easter

Jesus said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things."

Peter said, “Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out."

Every Sunday we pray the Prayer of Confession asking God to forgive us. Then again, in the middle of the Eucharist, we say the Lord’s Prayer and again we confess our sins and ask God to forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And, every Sunday when we say the Creed, we claim to believe in the forgiveness of sins.

The forgiveness of sins is no less audacious or incredible than any of the other things we affirm in the Creed. It is no more obvious that sins are forgivable than that God exists in the first place, or that Jesus is the presence of God in our midst. But we affirm in the creeds and in our liturgy that forgiveness grounded in the grace of God is woven into the very fabric of reality. It is among the things in which Christians must believe.

It is not obvious that sin is forgiven or even forgivable. Not all philosophies or faiths put much store in forgiveness as such. Except for Judaism, it was not part of the philosophical or religious systems of the ancient world.

It is still not obvious that forgiveness is at the heart of things. Vengeance and retribution is a much more common theme in most of our entertainment. And our political discourse.

Fundamentally, we prefer the idea of karma and payback. It seems more natural.

In a dialogue between some Buddhist monks and some Christian monks an episode was discussed about a group of French monks had gone to Algeria to serve the people there.  In the 1990’s Algeria was caught up in a bitter civil war where foreigners had been warned that if they were caught by certain factions they would be killed. These monks stayed anyway and were captured. Their beheaded bodies were found some days later, along the side of a road.

One of the Buddhist monks suggested that this was irresponsible on the part of these Christian monks. Staying when they knew the realities only presented those who killed them with the likelihood of accruing yet more bad karma that would then affect their next life and perhaps the next life until they managed to turn the karmic cycle in the other direction.

The Christian monks responded that in the Christian understanding forgiveness (grounded in the grace of God), not karma, is the governing principle of the universe. Even those who killed the monks were not beyond God’s forgiveness.

In an interview, Bono of the rock band, U2 had this to say about grace:

Bono: You see, at the center of all religions is the idea of Karma. You know, what you put out comes back to you: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, or in physics; in physical laws every action is met by an equal or an opposite one. It’s clear to me that Karma is at the very heart of the universe. I’m absolutely sure of it. And yet, along comes this idea called Grace to upend all that “as you sow, so you will reap” stuff. Grace defies reason and logic. Love interrupts, if you like, the consequences of your actions, which in my case is very good news indeed, because I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff.

Assayas: I’d be interested to hear that.

Bono: That’s between me and God. But I’d be in big trouble if Karma was going to finally be my judge. I’d be in deep shit [I edited that last line in the actual sermon]. It doesn’t excuse my mistakes, but I’m holding out for Grace. I’m holding out that Jesus took my sins onto the Cross, because I know who I am, and I hope I don’t have to depend on my own religiosity.

— The Poached Egg: Bono Interview: GraceOver Karma

Karl Barth, writing about God’s love for us in spite of our sinfulness, says, “God always casts the bridge across the chasm. God’s love always casts a bridge across the chasm. God’s love is always a light shining out of the darkness.” Jesus is that bridge. Jesus is that light. Jesus comes embodying the love and welcome of God – welcoming sinners; inviting them and challenging them; and, receiving them into the new creation that God is breaking forth on the world in his presence. Jesus embodies the forgiveness of God, coming with arms outstretched to embrace all who will turn, all who will come. All that is needed is that turning and that receiving – repentance.

We know that when he came with his arms outstretched to receive the world in the name of his Father, the world nailed those arms to the cross. It is in the passion and the cross that God in Christ enters most profoundly into our situation, entering into the tragic and suffering realities that we have inflicted and that are inflicted upon us.

God in Christ enters into the sin and suffering of the world forgiving, justifying, and transforming. It is only for us to receive it. We could not expect it. We cannot earn it. We can only receive it.

Dorotheos of Gaza was a monk in the sixth century who, among other things, oversaw the infirmary at his monastery.

Dorotheos had an assistant whose name was Dosithy. Dosithy was an earnest monk who desired to please Dorotheos and God. But Dossithy sometimes became impatient with his patients and would get angry and abuse them verbally.

One time in particular he had done that and after he had gotten over his anger and was convicted of his sin, he began to weep and despair. Some of the other monks went to Dorotheos and told Dorotheos.

Dorotheos called Dosithy to him and he asked him what was wrong.

Dosithy said, “Father, I have sinned. I have abused my brother.”

Dorotheos said, “So, Dosithy, you took it upon yourself to judge your brother? You got angry at your brother and abused him? Did you forget that he is Christ? And, when you cause him to suffer you cause Christ to suffer?”

Dosithy, continuing to cry, said, “Yes.”

Dorotheos said, “There, there Dosithy. You are forgiven. Get up. Let us begin again from now and let us be more attentive and God will help us.”

Dosithy wiped his eyes and went back.

Some time later, Dosithy in tears comes again to Dorotheos and, again, Dorotheos says, “Up now, Dosithy. Get up. Start again. You are forgiven.”

And again and again Dosithy fell and Dorotheos said, “Get up. You are forgiven.”

– Dorotheos of Gaza: Discourses and Sayings

I belive that God engages us like Dorotheos engaged Dosithy. He does not find excuses for Dosithy. He does not minimize the seriousness of the offense. But, once Dosithy admits the wrongness what he has done – repents and confesses – Dorotheos declares Dosithy forgiven.

Bernard of Clairvaux said once, “The difference between the damned and the saved is that everyone, except the damned, gets up and stumbles on.”

It is not obvious that forgiveness is at the heart of things. But, thank God, that is what we affirm. We believe in the forgiveness of sins. There is nothing about you or about your past that is beyond that forgiveness.

Repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things."

Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out.

Get up. Let us begin again from now and let us be more attentive and God will help us.

Engaging Enemies (and others) with Severe Humility

On September 10, 1939 at the beginning of World War 2 C. S Lewis wrote this in a letter to his brother, Warnie:

In the Litany this morning we had some extra petitions, one of which was, ‘Prosper, oh Lord, our righteous cause’. Assuming that it was the work of the bishop or someone higher up, when I met Bleiben [the vicar] in the porch, I ventured to protest against the audacity of informing God that our cause was righteous – a point on which he has his own views . . . I hope it is quite like ours, of course, but one never knows with him.

– The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis, Volume 2

And here is something by Lewis’ friend, Charles Williams, written in the middle of WW 2 (1942) when the outcome was still unclear:

The conversion, where it is demanded, of the wild justice of revenge to the civil justice of the Divine City is the precise operation of the Holy Spirit towards Christ. All we need to do is attend to the goodwill, to the civility; the justice (in the personal relation) can be left to Christ. ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, sayeth the Lord.’ It is perhaps desirable to notice that the repayment is not limited to our enemy. We shall be unfortunate if we forget the trespasses, the debts, which our enemies desire to repay with their wild justice and are content to leave to his promise. It is important that we should be ready to forgive the Germans; it is not unimportant to recognize that many Germans (including Herr Hitler? Possibly; we do not very well know) may feel that they have much to forgive us. Many reconciliations have unfortunately broken down because both parties have come prepared to forgive but unprepared to be forgiven. Instruction is as badly needed in this as in many other less vital things; that holy light which we call humility has an exact power of illumination all its own.

– The Forgiveness of Sins, p. 113

It is hard to imagine saying such things about our enemies. I don’t want to. But, then, it was hard to say them about Germany or Japan during WW 2. It was hard to say it about the Romans in Jesus' day. Do we dare to contemplate that people in the Middle East just might have much to forgive us in the West? And we Americans in particular? That the actions of, for example, Al Qaeda of Iran, however horrific and inexcusable, might be understood in some sense as acts of “the wild justice of revenge”? That things have been done on our behalf in the Middle East over the last 100 years that have contributed to the chaotic rage that seems epidemic there? Even a little understanding of our history in the region over the last century would indicate that it is so. It might require a sort of severe humility but I believe it is a faithful Christian approach to contemplate such things in our day just as Lewis and Williams did in theirs. We need to disabuse ourselves of the myth of our own innocence. Everyone is complicit in the mess the world is in. Some more. Some less. But all.

A couple of things strike me in the above quotes. Both Lewis and Williams refuse to get caught up in nationalistic rhetoric that assumes that "God is with us" or that their country is particularly blessed by God. Even in the midst of war, they were compelled by their Christian convictions to accept the possibility that their nation was (at least partly) wrong and that their enemies might well have grievances of their own.

I am also struck that this severe humility leads both Lewis and Williams to demonstrate an admirable reticence to claim to know overmuch about God's mind or to assume their side is necessarily God's. Both recognize that all humans are fundamentally bound to one another in a relational web and all humans are caught in the sin that infects that web. We should thus be wary of presuming our own innocence or consigning  total blame to others – both are awe-full things to contemplate if we recognize that we all live under the awesome gaze of God's love and judgment.

I know enough of both Lewis and Williams to know that neither would advocate anything like a posture of moral equivalency. And that is not what I am suggesting. And neither of them was a pacifist. But, what both do seem to advocate is a deep humility and reticence to assume the innocence or righteousness of their side. And I find both refreshing. I am convinced it is a fundamentally Christian posture, however difficult.

"For our enemies and those who wish us harm,

and for all whom we have injured or offended,

we pray to you, O Lord."

(Book of Common Prayer, p. 391)

See also:

God, Be Merciful to Us All

The Humility and Generosity of Lincoln