John Mark Hicks

The annual season we know as Christmas is a time when most people remember the stories of Jesus’ birth. The media is full of movies, articles and advertisements, which remind us of those stories. There are good stories — Joseph & Mary, Bethlehem, “no room at the inn” which is traditionally badly interpreted as inhospitality (but that is for another time), the manger, the shepherds, Herod the Great, the wise men, and the celebration by angels. They are stories we need to tell our children and on which we can reflect with our neighbors and colleagues, especially at this time of the year.

However, the real story of the birth of Jesus, the story, which both Matthew and Luke emphasize, is that the birth of Jesus is the incarnation of God. It is the appearance of God himself in the flesh. It is this event which we celebrate weekly and this person whom we worship daily. The real story of the wise men, for example, is not that they visited Jesus, but that they worshipped him and gave him gifts — an example we seek to imitate.

The incarnation, God coming as one of us in the flesh, is at the heart of Christianity and one of its central themes. This is the story we need to tell — that God humbled himself to become one of us….the humility of God….the love of God.

He became one of us to be present within his creation as a creature and unite himself to his creation. His union with creation through the flesh, through becoming a human being, sanctifies creation, redeems it, and communes with it. Becoming flesh, living in his own skin, and being raised in a glorified but yet still human body bears witness to God’s intent to live in relationship with creation itself rather than simply relating to “spiritual” ghosts floating through the “spiritual” clouds. The incarnation is God’s testimony that–and means by which–God intends to unite himself with the creation.

He became one of us in order to reveal God to us. The life of Jesus tells the story of how God would act if he were a human being. In Jesus we have a concrete example of who God is, how he behaves, and how he relates to people. We see God when we see Jesus. He embodies God so that we may know who God is. Jesus is the truth, God in the flesh. He is the life and the way; he is God available to the eyes, ears and touch. We know our God because we know Jesus.

He became one of us in order to experience and sympathize with our suffering. God in himself does not know what it is like to be thirsty, hungry or to experience physical pain. God in Jesus, however, experienced all of these human frailties. Now God knows what it is like to be a human being. He is the empathetic and sympathetic God through Jesus. He shares our pain and temptations, sits on the mourner’s bench with us, and dies with us (as well as for us). God knows humiliation through Jesus;  God knows the experience of fallenness. Our God fully knows us–cognitively but also existentially and experientially.

He became one of us in order to redeem us through the sacrifice of his own life. As the God-Human, Jesus is the mediator between God and Humanity. It his human life that he offered as an atonement for our sins, but he did so not as an act of human blood sacrifice but as an act of divine self-substitution. God became human so that God might engage the powers of evil and defeat them.  God became human so that God might bear sin, take it up into his own life and resolve the cosmic problem of mercy and justice–however that is resolved. God became human that we might have a representative at the right hand of the Father who is one of us. 

At this Christmas season, remember the real story of Jesus’ birth. It is not found in the moralistic (though profitable) stories of Rudolf, the Little Drummer Boy, or the movie “Miracle on 34th Street”. The real story is that God became one of us so that we might become one with God. That is the story we need to proclaim year-round and celebrate daily. It is, truly, the gospel story rather than simply a Christmas story.

A touching video entitled “Emmanuel – God is with us” is available at Benji Kelly’s website that is worth a meditation or two.

Last Saturday evening Jennifer and I attended a 5th-8th talent show at the Lipscomb Campus School.  It was almost three hours long, but had several excellent performances.  However, it was long.

About thirty minutes into the program, I began to feel uncomfortable.  Something was gnawing at me. My insides were pushing me to run, to get out of the building, to find a way to excuse myself.  Something was telling me that if I could just go home I could regain my serenity.  And, a year ago, that is probably what I would have done, but the serenity would have been an illusion, an escape.

This night, however, I turned inward.  The problem was not the program but something going on inside of me. As the program proceeded, I began to meditate, calm myself and pray.  I wanted to know what was really going on with me.  The kids were doing their best, and they weren’t so bad that I needed to escape.  There was something else from which I wanted to escape.  I needed to sit in my feelings, discern what was happening, and feel my way through the mess that is my soul.

As I meditated, I became aware that I was envious.  I did not envy the children, but the parents. I noticed that I was agitated by the joy of the parents and the wonder of their eyes. I was particularly annoyed by how much the parents and family members behind me were enjoying their star’s performance.

Envy.  Not envious of talent, money, power, job, but envious that these parents were blessed by God to watch their children perform. I was never able to do that with Joshua. When he was the age of these children, he was in a wheelchair, could barely walk, and spent most of his time unaware of his surroundings. From eight to sixteen my family watched Joshua slowly die. I never saw Joshua play a team sport, never saw him perform on a stage, never saw him read a poem–or read at all!  I envied the parents and begrudged their joy, and–in my harsh and unkind judgment–wondered whether they truly appreciated their blessing.

But that was not the root. Resentment was the root of my feeling that night; that was my discomfort–my rationale for escape. I wanted to run away so I would not have to think about my pain, Joshua’s illness and death. I did not want to acknowledge my resentment. I would rather not think about it or feel it. It is easier to simply escape.

I did not resent the parents. I resented God. He blessed these children, but not Joshua. He gave these gifts to these parents, but I was never able to enjoy that gift with Joshua. I had missed out and there was no one to blame except God. Is he not reponsible for his world? Did we not pray that we would have a healthy son? Why did he say, “No, he won’t be healthy”? I resent that answer and sometimes I’m not sure that I can put up with a God like that.

Even as I write these words I know that I received many gifts from Joshua and they were divine blessings.  Even as I think again about his broken body, I still remember his smile, his laugh and the joy of just sitting with him in my big chair watching one of his favorite movies (The Wizard of Oz).  I realize I was blessed, but Saturday evening I resented that God had not blessed me more richly–that he had not blessed me like those parents in that auditorium that night.

As I meditated on that resentment, I noted my feelings.  Irritation. Frustration. Anger. Envy. Jealousy. Resentment.  And I took them to God. I told him how I felt. I let it out so I could let it go, so I could release it into God’s hands. I needed to be heard…by God!  And in being heard, I could let go…at least for that night. In that moment I could forgive God.

In letting go, I could remember the blessings I did receive through Joshua. I could treasure those and hold them in my heart, and thank God for them. I could value the experiences–the learning and growth experienced in the process. I could even see God in many of those painful moments–God present to comfort  in my laments, God present through people who served my family, God present in laughter as well as tears.

That night–at least for that night–I forgave God. In releasing my resentment, I was given some peace and joy. Bit by bit, day by day, little by little, the comfort is renewed and joy returns. 

Thanks be to God for his patience with me. Even when I bitterly resent him, he loves me, he graciously receives my forgiveness (when he, of course, does not need it!), and he is not frustrated with me when the resentment returns on a cold Saturday night in December seven and a half years after Joshua’s death. 

Thank you, Yahweh.  Truly your lovingkindness endures for ever.

 Postscript:  Here is the contemplative, meditative process I used Saturday evening to journey toward forgiving  God. I find myself returning to it daily.

1. Find a quiet, private place where you can sit in uninterrupted silence.  I center myself through a breath prayer.  I concentrate on my breath–inhaling and exhaling.  I offer a breath prayer to still myself, soothe myself and given space for the Spirit of God to calm my soul.  I follow the breath through my body and permit the whole of my being to focus. I usually use a breath prayer like “Jesus Christ, Son of God” as I breath in and “have mercy on me, a sinner” as I breath out. (This is the traditional “Jesus Prayer”).
2. I recall the moment of pain, sit in the hurt, and feel the pain. What do I feel? What emotions emerge as primary. I name them and describe them.
3. I contemplate God in relation to this pain. When I think about God in this context, do I feel anger, frustration, fear, love, gratitutde? What negative emotions do I feel? Do I feel any irritation, anger or bitterness as I think about this pain and unanswered prayers? Do I feel rejection, hurt or anger when I remember the pain and ponder why God permitted that?
4. I then bring those feelings into the presence of God and tell God how I am feeling. We all have the need to be heard, and we need for God to hear how we feel. I speak it audibly when I can (and sometimes I wonder if anybody is listening).
5. I then tell God that I want to release the negative emotions associated with this memory and that I need his help to release them. I am powerless over my feelings. I cannot help but feel what I feel. At the same time I process those feelings in the presence of God and by the power of his Spirit.
6. I then reflect on where God was in that past moment of pain. Can I point to people, events, feelings, or circumstances that signal a God-presence? Where did God show up in that pain? I may not have recognized it at the time, but as I reflect, sit in the presence of God with this pain, and broaden my vision of the event perhaps I can see God where I had not previously seen him.
7. I then reflect on the meaning of that pain. What did I learn through the experience? What lessons surface in the reflection? What endures as meaningful and significant for me? How has it shaped me and changed me? How has it affected my vision of God?
8. I then remember who God is, how he has loved me in the past, how he loves me even now in the present. Remember his sovereignty, his creative intent, his redemptive work. I seek God’s face through the eyes of Jesus and embrace his love. I recall the story and meditate on God’s works. I see the face of Jesus, remember his loving kindness toward people. I remember the story of the widow’s son–he raised him from the dead. I permit the compassion and love of God to flow into my mind, heart and gut.
9. God, I forgive you because I am not God.  There is only one God and I am not him. I don’t know what you know; you are greater than I. You must have your reasons. I trust you because I see you in Jesus.  I humble myself before you and release my anger, bitterness and resentment toward you.  You are my God, and I forgive you, and, I pray, you will forgive me because even in forgiving you I don’t know what I am doing.

Forgiving God is a controversial topic among many believers, especially Christians. Jewish believers, however, have a long history of talking about “forgiving God,” and it is present in the classic story of Job as my last post suggested. In the aftermath of the Holocaust, for example, one of the most significant questions in Jewish theology is whether believers can forgive God for the death of millions and the seeming failure of his promises.

A familiar Jewish tale relates the story of a rabbi who encountered a tailor as he left the synagogue. The rabbi asked the tailor what he had been doing. The tailor responded that he had been praying about forgiveness. It is good, the Rabbi replied, to pray for forgiveness and then asked the tailor what sins he had confessed. He confessed his “little sins.” The Rabbi, a bit concerned, asked what he meant. He had confessed the sin of cheating his customers in a few minor ways. But, the tailor continued, he also forgave God of his “big sins.” After all, the tailor theorized, his sins were little compared with God–while he cost his customers a few coins and some cloth, God oversaw a world where children die. So, the tailor concluded, he made a deal with God. If God would forgive him of his “little sins,” he would forgive God of his “big” ones.

No doubt this offends some sensibilities. I was offended the first time I read about “forgiving God” in Rabbi Kushner’s When Bad Things Happen to Good People. But the idea has grown on me through the experience of life, the depth of hurt, the lament tradition in Scripture, and a resentment towards God that ebbed and flowed with the pains of life.

Forgiving God does not, in my mind, refer to forgiving God of his sins. Rather, it refers to letting go what is hidden in my heart against God. Let me explain….

When tragedy overwhelms us, it fills our life with hurt and pain. Reality hits us in the face. The pain is unavoidable; the hurt is deep. And our thoughts as believers naturally and appropriately turn to God.

Some turn to God in praise and thanksgiving. Perhaps through the experience of life and their walk of faith they have learned to “give thanks in everything.” Perhaps it is a conditioned first resposnse.

Others, however, turn to God in anger and lament. They are disappointed with God. Like Job, they believe (or at least it sure appears) that God has wronged them. They are frustrated with God’s hidden purposes; they are irritated by the seemingly meaningless pain. It depresses some and creates anxiety in everyone.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with anger and lament. It is modeled in Scripture. The wisdom story of Job is a dramatic lament. Half of the Psalm-worship of Israel was lament, and much of it filled with depression, anger and confusion. Even the martyred saints around the throne of God and the Lamb question with the classic lament question, “How long? How long?” (Rev 6).

Thus, while some respond with praise and others with lament, both are appropriate and understandable. Indeed, most of those, if not all, who respond with praise also learn to lament as a healthy way of grieving. Saints often move from praise to lament and ultimately (it is hoped) back to praise.

However, the return to praise is not an easy road to travel. It is filled with potholes and stalked by robbers. Some, including myself, turn to bitterness rather than back to praise for seasons of time. In this bitterness we dwell in our resentment. We project onto God all the inner demons of our own souls. We blame God for all the hurt and pain in our lives. We envy those who have it better; we resent the God who would permit our pain. We doubt, question and wonder why.

Stuck in bitterness, some ultimately reject God. They move from faith to doubt to unbelief. They rebel against and curse the God they once trusted. I believe this move from bitterness to unbelief is ultimately driven by our own inner woundedness, perhaps our own unresolved anger and alienation. When we project our “stuff” (whether it is parental abandonment or whatever it might be) onto God, then we make a God in the image of our woundedness or even equate God with our woundedness. And who wants that kind of God? It is better to live without that God than to live with him.

Forgiving God is my language for that process that moves us from bitterness back to praise. Perhaps “forgiving God” is not the best language to use–it is subject to misunderstanding. But “forgiveness,” at its heart, is release. To forgive God is to let go of the resentment, to let go of God’s throat and our demand that he treat us as we think we deserve (which, btw, is a dangerous thing to demand of God–do we really want what we deserve?!).

Acceptance is a key issue. To accept our reality, that is, to live life on its own terms, to take life as it comes, is necessary for comfort and peace in the midst of tragic circumstances. This acceptance is generated by trusting God.

Trusting God arises out of comtemplating his greatness–he is God, not me. It arises out of contemplating his sovereignty–he is in control, not me. It arises out of contemplating his wisdom–he knows better than I. But, most importantly, this trust arises out of contemplating his faithful love–I am beloved by God. I will not trust a God who does not love me, but convinced that God loves me more than I love myself I will trust that God. And this is the God of Jesus–the God who gave himself for our sakes.

When I trust God, I can forgive him. When I trust God, I can accept my reality. I can let go of control and power. I can let go of my pride that believes that I could run the world much better than him. I can let go of judgment and accept the truth of my circumstances….but my acceptance is contingent upon trusting God’s love for me and his sovereign purposes. And trust is learned–knowing the story, living the story, and experiencing the story through God’s people.

This trusting acceptance is forgiveness–it releases us from our own resentments, bitterness and self-inflicted wounds. Forgiveness then empowers us to praise God once again, and through praise we experience transformation.

This has been my experience. When hurt and pained, I lament (sometimes with anger). My lament can easily turn to bitterness and resentment. But recalling the story, seeking the face of God, and trusting his love for me, I accept (to one degree or another) my lot and release the resentment. Forgiving God, I learn again to praise him.

Only recently have I realized that this is a constant cycle in my life. Something triggers me (e.g., envy of other parents who watch their sons play football when I never had that opportunity with Joshua) and the cycle begins again. But, I trust and hope, it is a spiral toward transformation rather than a degenerative plunge into unbelief.

But the move from bitterness and resentment to forgiveness has never been an easy one, and only recently have I discerned what is for me a healthy, helpful and hopeful contemplative process for letting go, forgiving and once again praising God. I will share that process in my next post.

More to come…..

For visual learners (like me), this chart illustrates this post. I used it this past Sunday as I taught this post at Woodmont Hills in Nashville, TN. I kinda like it myself. 🙂 At least, it is true in my own experience.

To forgive God is, for many–if not most, a necessary bridge to praising him.  But it is a difficult idea to grab hold of–how does one forgive God? What does that mean? And, indeed, it sounds blasphemous….as if God has done something wrong that needs forgiveness.  And who are we to forgive God anyway? We are the creatures, he is the creator; we are the clay, he is the potter.

Bear with me for a few posts on this topic…it is one with which I struggle, and I struggle to forgive my God.  Walk with me for a few days, meditate with me and pray with me.

I will begin with Job whom, I believe, learned to “forgive” God.

From Praise

Yahweh gave and Yahweh took away; blessed be the name of Yahweh. 

Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?

Job 1:21; 2:10

Job’s initial response to his tragic suffering is noble, laudable, and….practically unbelieveable!  How can he bless Yahweh in the face of such loss–prosperity, servants, health, and–most of all–his children!? 

This has led many to think that these are mere cliches on his lips; superficial expressions of piety that arise more out of his ritualistic (even legalistic, according to some) way of being religious.  It is all he knows to do in the face of the tragedy…repeat the phrases…repeat the prayers….hang on to the ritual as a way of believing.

I can appreciate that take on these words.  Indeed, there is some value to hanging on to the ritual in difficult times.  The ritual provides stability, a connection with past believers. But I don’t think this is true for Job in the prologue. Job–from beginning of the prologue to the end of the epilogue–is righteous, a person who fears God and shuns evil. His faith is not shallow. In fact, he is the one whom God offers as a cosmic test that there is such thing as faith in the universe God created and has permitted to fall into trouble. He is a true believer.

I have known people who have responded to tragedy with just such faith, particularly in the initial moments–me included for some of my circumstances.  I suppose we could say that they, too, are leaning on proverbial straws, but not necessarily.

It may be that a life of faith prepares one–to a certain extent–for tragic experiences. Perhaps living with God day-to-day enables a faith response to tragedy in those initial moments. I have seen mature believers face tragic news, dangerous surgeries and life-threatening situations with great faith, piety and–yes, even–hope.

But…

To Bitterness

I will speak out in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.

I will give free reign to my complaint and speak out in the bitterness of my soul.

God has denied me justice and made me taste the bitterness of soul.

God has wronged me…though I cry “I have been wronged,” I get no response….his anger burns against me; he counts me among his enemies

Job 7:11; 10:1; 27:2; 19:6, 7, 11.

But sometimes when believers sit in their grief and begin to feel the fullness of their loss other emotions emerge and begin to dominate.

Job sat in silence with his friends and then let our a heart-wrenching lament where he wished he had never been born and recognizes that what he had feared most had actually happened to him! He confessed that he felt hopeless.

The friends were stunned. Where was that “blessed be the name of the Lord” Job they knew? They told him shut up until he was willing to repent.

Job, however, could not remain silent. He had to speak.  He had to speak out his anguish, his bitterness.  He complained about the unfairness, the injustice, the meaninglessness of it all.  He assaulted God with words and felt God’s hostility in his very bones.

Job was embittered. God had wronged him. He had treated him unfairly. He thought God was his friend, but he turned out to be an enemy. He felt betrayed.

Job resented God. He resented his fate.  He resented how the children of the wicked dance about their tents while his are gone.  He resented how the wicked prosper and go to the grave in ease while he lives in a garbage dump.  He resented that his relatives and friends, who once sucked up to him, now avoid him.

He resented everything, and Yahweh was responsible!

But….then something happened….

To Comfort

I melt before you and am consoled over my dust and ashes.

They comforted and consoled him over all the trouble that Yahweh had brought upon him.

Job 42:6, 11b

Or, I should say, someone happened.  God showed up. He came near. He spoke.  God did not abandon Job; he did not beat him up or slay him. He spoke with him; he reminded him. He cared for him.

And Job let go….he let go of the resentment. He forgave God; Job released God from Job’s own human, fallible and self-consumed judgment.

Job 42:6 is probably the worst translated text in all the Bible. Most translations make it look like that Job recanted his earlier complaints, or that he repented of his sinful words, or that he now did penance for his sins.  But that makes the friends right, and clearly the friends are wrong! God sides with Job, not the friends.

I prefer my translation.  (I know you are probably surprised by that!) 

Job melts before God; he humbles himself.  He lets go.  He does not regret the laments or the words. He lets go of the bitterness, resentment and anger.

“Repent”–not at all!  Rather, the Hebrew word is the same word translated five verses later (v.11b) as “consoled,” and was used earlier in Job 2:11 describing what how the friends intended to help Job, and how they failed as “miserable comforters” in Job 16:1.  Just as Job is consoled by his family and friends over the trouble the Lord had brought on him in 42:11, he was first consoled over the dust and ashes of his life by his encounter with Yahweh (42:6). Having let go, he experiences a comfort in the midst of his mourning and grief, his dust and ashes.

The divine-human encounter, when God whisphered grace in his ear,  enabled Job to let go. Divine presence comforts like nothing else can.

Comfort came to Job when he let go of the bitterness, the resentment; when he let go of his presumed right to judge God. Job was comforted when he forgave God by accepting Yahweh’s sovereignty and trusting his purposes.

More to come…..

Psalm 143

O Lord, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy….

Do not bring your servant into judgment, for no one living is righteous before you…

So my spirit grows faint within me, my heart within me is dismayed…

I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done…

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love…

Teach me to do you will, for you are my God….

In your unfailing love, silence my enemies…

One of the classic penitential psalms, Psalm 143 expresses a deep need to experience God’s unfailing love and mercy on the part of one whose depressed spirit is overwhelmed with the presence of enemies and self-condemnation. The Psalmist seeks a renewal of God’s grace and call in life after a season of sin and oppression from enemies.  I don’t think it is too much of a stretch to say that this Psalm has something to share with those of us who yearn or have yearned for self-forgiveness. Self-forgiveness is my topic in this third installment on forgiveness.

There have been times when I wondered–not out loud, of course–whether verse 2 of Psalm 143 was simply an excuse.  Do not bring your servant into judgment, for no one living is righteous before you. It can sound like “don’t judge me since everybody sins” or “everybody does it, what’s the big deal?”  Today, however, I hear it more as a confession that I am human, a sinful human…just like everybody else.  The cry for God’s mercy is also a cry for self-compassion…to give myself a break just as God gives me grace.

Self-forgiveness is a controversial topic. Many believe it is too tied to self-help and self-esteem pop psychology and that it is actually a reflection of pride and lack of faith.  There is no text in Scripture which explicitly commands self-forgiveness, so it is said, and only God can forgive. Others, however, genuinely punish themselves by denying themselves self-compassion. They feel a need for self-forgiveness and their life is stuck in cycles of guilt, depression and self-hatred. I have been stuck in that cycle myself in the past–and it still raises its ugly head on occasion.

At one level self-forgiveness, in the strictest terms, is not what we need. What we need is divine forgiveness.  What some call self-forgiveness is, I believe, actually the process of accepting God’s forgiveness and removing the barriers to that acceptance that burden our hearts. In this sense, I think, self-forgiveness is an expression of a biblical notion of self-love that is grounded in God’s gracious forgiveness and unfailing love.  But we cannot receive and feel that grace if we erect walls between God and our true selves.

What hinders self-forgiveness?  Here is a partial list and I’m sure others could add more out of their own experience.  All of these we might list under the broad rubric of pride.  

• unchanged behavior–we continue the sinful behaviors even when we don’t want to
• given our past failures we fear that we will do them again
• burying our unresolved guilt that becomes a festering wound
• “fixing it” by doing good stuff to restore the balance
• perfectionism–our expectation that we are better than that; we should have know better!
• lack of trust in God’s love, feeling unworthy of love
• no experience in grace–we have been judged by others and we habitually judge others
• self-anger and self-hatred over past behaviors which leads to self-punishment

If self-forgiveness is actually the acceptance of God’s gracious movement toward our real selves, then it is fundamentally about relationship with God, about being with God and accepting his love. Here is a partial list of what that might entail as we move from intellectual acceptance of grace to the authentic experience of grace in our hearts that yields self-forgiveness through a healthy self-love because of what God has done and who he is.

• confession of sin to God and trusting the promise of forgiveness (e.g, 1 John 1:9)
• seeking transformation through spiritual disciplines instilling a hope for recovery
• recognizing our unrealistic perfectionistic expectations (let go of self-anger)
• mutual confession of sin in a supportive, safe community of believers
• making amends to those we have hurt
• accept responsibility for sin and its consequences (let go of “making up” for sin)
• contemplative prayer on the nature of God who is full of mercy, compassion and love
• meditation and visualization of God’s word to us:  “you are beloved”

Should we forgive ourselves?  Yes, but not because this arises out of our own self-will, self-esteem or self-worth.  Rather, we forgive ourselves because God has already forgiven us and we have accepted that forgiveness which gives us worth, joy and authentic love. We forgive ourselves because God is greater than our hearts and he has received us as one of his children whom he loves.

Our need for self-forgiveness is generated by our prideful rejection of God’s forgiveness–our pride that somehow we think we know ourselves better than God does!  Such pride is expressed in words like–whichI have said to myself though I intellectually knew better–“How can God forgive me of that when I knew better?!” After all–my mind thinks–if you really knew me, you would not forgive me either, and thus it is hard for me to believe that God forgives me or that anyone else could forgive me.  Yet, he does. And others have as well. This is the wonder of grace, the joy of being loved even when I feel unloveable. Paradoxically, it is pride that refuses to accept, internalize and authentically feel that love. Grace–the active, dynamic, experiential love of God–can heal woundness if we will but open our hearts to it and let go of the pride.  The movement from pride to acceptance is a process, a journey of faith, through which God heals us and transforms us into his own likeness.

So, strictly, I suppose we do not forgive ourselves but rather God forgives us, and when we accept that forgiveness deep within our guts, then we can let go of the self-punishment, self-hatred, and fear of failure. We are then equipped, by God’s grace, to give to others what God has given to us.

Tonight I was blessed to listen to Terry Smith teach a class at the Woodmont Hills Family of God.  He asked each of us to meditate on a story about Jesus from one of the Gospels, and then asked some of us to share that story.  While it was helpful to hear what stories impacted others and why, it was especially wondrous to hear Terry connect those stories with our hearts and guts.

One line, however, has stuck with me in a special way. It was a text that Terry emphasized this evening. It is a line from John 17 that I had read many times, but tonight I experienced it in a new way and I believe it is sinking deep into my heart. I want it to sink deeply into my heart.

In my thinking and teaching about John 17 I have regularly underscored the love between the Father and the Son and how God seeks to draw us into the circle of their love. The Father and Son intend for us to experience the love that they share. As John 17:26 states, we are designed (created for the purpose!) to know (experience and enjoy!) the love that the Father has for the Son. We are created to dwell in the love of the Father and Son.

But Terry stressed a different line in this prayer–different even from the laudable and traditional emphasis on unity that has characterized the Stone-Campbell Movement from John 17:20-21. 

Terry stressed a single declarative statement in John 17:23. Jesus says to the Father, “you have loved them even as you have loved me.”

Wow!  Let that sink in.  Dwell on it for a moment. Take some time to let that ping through the corners of your brain…and your heart…and your gut.

This rocked my heart. I had read it before…many times…many, many times. I had read more times than I could possibly remember. For the first time, perhaps, I really felt it in my gut.

The Father loves the disciples just as he loves Jesus.  Yes, the disciples.  The tax collector.  The sinful, cursing, impetuous fisherman sarcastically (perhaps) named “the rock.” The Zealot.  Judas the betrayer, no, the betrayers! They all betrayed him; they all ran eventually. They would all hide.

The Father loves the disciples just as he loves Jesus.  He loves screw-ups. He loves those who don’t understand him. He loves those who betray his Son.  He loves those who live in fear rather than faith. He loves them in their brokenness, their humanity, their finitude, even in their sin.

The Father loves the disciples just as he loves Jesus.  No more, no less.  He is love, and the love between the Father and the Son is the love with which he loves the disciples. The disciples are loved, even when they don’t feel loved and know they are loved.

The Father loves me just as he loves Jesus. Can it really be true? Surely not! I have screwed-up so many times.  I am broken.  I know myself too well. But the Father knows me, too. And he loves me just the same…even as he loves his only (monogenes) Son.

The Father loves me just as he loves Jesus. What a wondrous thought; what a powerful, transforming truth! This is the truth I need to believe; this is the truth that needs to sink deep within me.  This is the truth that should shape my heart, ground my security, and produce my joy. This love is what is really real; it is the truth of the gospel. It is the truth that is the foundation of a redeemed comsos.  My Father loves me just like he loves Jesus.

It is not really a new truth, of course.  But it entered my heart and gut in a new way this evening. It is the kind of newness that I need every day. I need to hear that truth anew every day and know deep within me that the mercies of God are new every morning.

With this truth I can crawl into my Father’s lap, trust in his care, and feel his loving arms enwrap me.   Thank you, Father.  Thank you, Jesus.  Thank you, Holy Spirit, who pours that love into my heart.

Forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors….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.

Matthew 6:12, 14-15

Mercy triumphs over judgment.

James 2:13b

[NOTE:  The Sunday before last, November 2, I returned to teaching at Woodmont Hills Church of Christ after an eleven month rest. It felt rather odd but yet comfortable. (I know that doesn’t make sense, but welcome to my world. 🙂 ).  I decided to return to teaching with a series on forgiveness that was stirred by my recent reflections on The Shack as well as my journey over the past year (and the cumulative effect of previous years). The four lessons are: (1) Receiving forgiveness, which I posted last week, (2) Giving Forgiveness, which is this week’s post, (3) Forgiving Self, and (4) Forgiving God.]

Giving forgiveness is exactly that–it is an act of grace, a gift. Forgiveness is not owed; it is not a debt we must pay any more than it is a debt God must pay when he forgives us. As such, forgiveness cannot be demanded, coerced, or even expected by offenders. Forgiveness is something we give.

At one level, giving forgiveness is therapeutic and healthy. It does something for us and inside of us, including lowering blood pressure and decreasing heart rates. It releases negativity; it vents the poison that can corrupt our souls.  It is freedom from repressed negative emotionis. When we refuse to forgive we fuel a cancer that devours us. Consequently, forgiveness is something we do for ourselves. We forgive that we might live without resentment and bitterness.  We forgive for the sake of our own health.  The practice of forgiveness ultimately transforms.

But forgiveness is much more than a humanistic act of self-transformation. Forgiveness is participation in the divine life. It is being with others in the way that God is with us. It is to love as God loves. When we forgive we participate in God’s redemptive movement within the world. We stand with God as we forgive others; we participate in his own forgiving act.

Viewed in this way, forgiveness arises out of the work of God’s Spirit in our hearts. It arises out of our own experience of having received forgiveness from God, the empowerment of the Spirit to forgive as God forgives, and the sense of security/assurance that we are beloved by God no matter how others may treat us. Forgiveness is God’s work in our own hearts.

Remembering our own mistakes and sins empowers forgiveness; if God has forgiven us, then who are we to withhold forgiveness from others? Are we better than they? And, ah, that might be the very problem that hinders us….our pride, our sense of superiority, our self-righteousness.

What hinders forgiveness is our own resentment and bitterness.  We humans tend to wallow in self-pity, blame everyone else for how we feel, and fail to act positively with our negative feelings.  This resentment and bitterness leads to negative actions such as revenge so that we return evil for evil instead of forgiving the evil done against us.

Yet, when we have experienced hurt through the offense of another, anger is a natural and healthy response. There is nothing ungodly about a rape victim’s anger toward their assailant. There is nothing ungodly about a abused wife’s anger toward her husband. There is nothing ungodly about anger toward one’s sexual abuser. Part of the process of forgiveness may, in fact, involve confronting the other person with what they have done. Forgiveness does not mean that what the other person did is OK, but it does give the forgiver space to be OK about their past.  Forgiveness does not necessarily remove the hurt and pain of the past offense. Forgiveness prevents resentment or rids one of resentment, but the hurt may well remain. That hurt will take time to heal.

Actually resentment and bitterness arise out of our own woundedness.  Life has wounded all of us–we have been betrayed, neglected, and attacked by others and even (as it may seem) by God.  As a result we want to protect ourselves, rely on our own self-sufficiency, and blame everyone else rather than take responsibility for our lives.  Thus, we resent others when they hurt us.  We resent rather than forgive because this is how we think others have treated us. Our negative self-image, developed through childhood and other life experiences, yields a negative reaction to hurt in the form of resentment.  Unchecked, this resentment leads to revenge.

Forgiveness releases the other person to God. Instead of taking matters into our own hands or grabbing the offender by the throat with threats, we let go.  We let go and let God handle it. Anger becomes ungodly when it turns to revenge. When we return “evil for evil,” then we become an abuser rather than the abused. When we take vengenance into our own hands, then we become judge, jury, and executioner…we become God.

This does not mean that the forgiver must now reconcile with the forgiven. Reconciliation is a different matter altogether. Forgiveness–as an act of grace toward another–can happen without reconciliation since the other may not receive the forgiveness, may not think they need forgiveness, or may not want to renew (or begin) the relationship. It only takes one to forgive but it takes two to reconcile. While forgiveness may pave the way for reconciliation, forgiveness does not necessarily lead to reconciliation and reconciliation is not required for forgiveness.

Reconciliation may actually take much longer than forgiveness since reconciliation invovles a synergistic, cooperative process of mutual understanding. That takes time, intimacy, and trust.  Reconciliation assumes rebuilt trust and that is a painful, time-consuming process.

Forgiveness does not mean the offense was insignificant or that it did not hurt or there was no reason for anger. Rather, forgiveness is our decision to let God handle the justice, to let go of the other person’s throat, to let go of the resentment, and to let go any personal desire to punish. Postively, and more significantly, forgiveness means desiring for that person what you desire for yourself and treating that person the way God treats you. In short, it is to love them, even if they–in their minds–are our enemies.

We can only love when we feel loved by God. Our acceptance of God’s own forgiveness and our experience of the divine circle of love surrounds us with safety and security. We forgive out of that secure place–the place where we hear God say, “You are my beloved no matter what your past; you are loved.” That love overflows into forgiveness for others.

At bottom, “to forgive is divine” (Alexander Pope).

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

Ephesians 4:32

Love covers a multitude of sins.

1 Peter 4:8

P.S.  Here is a chart I designed to communicate the point of this lessson for the class I was teaching.

Whatever your political allegiance–or non-allegiance, like me–the election of an African American to the Presidency of the United States is a historic event, and that is an understatement.

Whatever direction your vote went last Tuesday we can all rejoice that another ethnic and racial barrier has been breached.

A century ago, when Jim Crow laws were in full force, very few African Americans could even vote much less hold governmental office.  A half-century ago, when segregation still reigned, an African American President was unimaginable. A decade ago, the only African American in the United States Senate–Carol Moseley Braun of Illinois–was defeated in her re-election bid.

Change, indeed, has come to America!

Change has come to Churches of Christ as well.

In 1902 an author (initials G.P.O.) in the socially progressive (by comparison with other journals among Churches of Christ) Christian Leader (November 11, p. 3) opined that given their ignorance, emotional immaturity, and general idleness “the repression of the negro vote in the South may even prove a blessing in disguise by turning the negro’s attention towards self-improvement and the necessity of making a living by toil.” With historical hindsight–and recognizing that had I lived at the time I probably would have agreed–I can only say, Wow! Plus, this appears in the only journal among Churches of Christ that had a regular column by an African American preacher and educator, Samuel Robert Cassius.

Fifty years ago Churches of Christ were silent about segregation and if they were vocal, they were usually defending the status quo (see Bobby Valentine’s blog for an illustration of such in 1957). The silence of our major periodicals in the late 1950s and early 1960s during the birth of the Civil Rights Movement is deafening and chilling. One would only need to read through some of the articles from the 1950s and 1960s at Don Haymes’ anthology to get a feel for how deeply Churches of Christ were embedded in their southern culture. Listen to just one example: “The good, honest and sincere Negroes do not want integration as is attempted today. They know that they are happier and can serve God and their fellowman by remaining as God intended them to be and the purpose for which he created them.” Patronizing and self-serving; another (hindsight) Wow!

Last Tuesday, many within Churches of Christ voted for Obama, especially those who have come to see that voting for social justice is just as important as voting against abortion–both are pro-life orientations. Deuteronomy, for example, is just as concerned about just wages, fair treatment of aliens, and protection for the poor as it is protecting innocent life. Unjust wages and abortion, I believe, are both murder (read James 5:1-6, for example).

In my estimation neither candidate in this election was without flaw on the question of life. But I will leave that issue to the conscience of each reader and voter.

The deed is done. Whatever the political and policy ramifications, the racial witness here is a welcome one. It is a step in the right direction as far as race relations are concerned in this country.

Whether Obama will implement good policies is a different question and one upon which I will not comment. For now, I think we can enjoy the particular change that the election of an African American represents just as I would have also enjoyed the change that the election of a woman to the Vice Presidency would have represented as well. Either way would have been progress.

As for the future….in God we trust; I neither trust Obama/Biden nor McCain/Palin.

One of the most vivid scenes in Luke is Peter’s 3x denial, particularly “the look.”

         “The Lord turned around and looked straight at Peter” (Luke 22:61, GNB).

The verbs are intensive, descriptive, and full of significance.  “Turned around,” which is actually a participle in the Greek text, involves twisting or reversing; it is turning the back 180% degrees. Jesus turned around–he “converted” as the term is sometimes translated–to look at Peter. But it was no mere glance; it was an intense gaze. Jesus looked at Peter with piercing, discerning eyes.

         Turning his body toward Peter, the Lord’s eyes rested on Peter (JMH amplified).

The next verbs in Luke 22:61-62 describe Peter’s actions.  He “remembered” what Jesus had predicted about the denial….he went and wept bitterly.” Confronted with his betrayal, Peter “remembered.”  He then escaped; he ran away. And then he wailed violently–a visible, audible, wrenching sob. Peter, faced with his denial and memory, was a totally broken man. Remembering Jesus’ prediction–and, no doubt, his own insistence that it would never happen–he burst into tears.

What  did Peter see in the eyes of Jesus that pierced his heart?  What did those eyes tell him?

I think how we answer that question will probably say more about our own vision of God than it would Peter’s.  We can’t get inside of Peter’s head, but we can examine our own.  Our root image of God–perhaps one we learned in childhood, one that is at the core of our inner being–will probably shape how we “feel” this text.

We can easily imagine what Peter felt.  No doubt he felt shame and guilt.  We have all felt the same when confronted with our sins. That shame and guilt taps into something deep within us, and our core understanding of God will shape how we deal with it.

For some the eyes of Jesus may be primarily condemning. Peter sinned; he did not measure up. He did not keep the law; he betrayed a friend. The law condemns him, and Jesus condemns him. At the root of this perception is an angry God, a judge who strictly administers the law without mercy. Jesus, with these eyes, is insulted and offended.  “How dare Peter deny me!  I thought he was my friend!   Didn’t he say he would go to the death with me! He deserves whatever he gets!” This God is the Zeus who sits on the throne ready to cast his lightning bolts to earth on those who deserve his vengeance. These eyes convey no hope, no redemption. Unfortunately, they are the eyes that many have lived with for years, even when intellectually they know the story of grace much better than their guts will let them feel. It is what some got from their parents–a series of spankings, condemnations. They heard the message that they were bad kids and deserved punishment. Are these the eyes that met Peter’s eyes?

For others the eyes of Jesus may be primarily filled with disappointment. Peter disappointed Jesus; he had hoped for better.  Peter knew better; he knew he should not deny his Lord, but he did nevertheless. Peter had expectations of himself. Even if everyone else ran away, he would not.  He would die with Jesus if necessary. The disappointed eyes are the opposite of what Peter wanted. He wanted approval, praise, and honor. To feel Jesus’ disappointment means he was seeking Jesus’ commendation. It is what we often seek from parents as children; we don’t want to disappoint our parents. Some parents, when disappointed, shame their children.  “I knew you couldn’t do it.  Why can’t you be like Johnny? When will you ever learn?  Do I have to do everything myself? I can’t trust you with anything. I’ll have to finish what you could not complete.”  We tend to project this onto God so that he becomes like the shaming parent who voices disapproval, disappointment, and dissatisfaction. Are these the eyes that met Peter’s eyes?

At my core, my childhood images–images that I learned but surely few, if any, ever intentionally taught me–tend to see the eyes of an angry, disappointed God. My sin gave me a toxic shame that meant that I was worthless, a mistake, a screwup. I needed to get God’s approval, to get on his good side. I wanted God to like me and certainly not punish me. So, I needed to work harder, better, even faster…to do more, to do enough.

Intellectually, I know that last paragraph is bogus. Emotionally, however, it has been a different story. And so when I worked my way to a hellacious screwup (read: sin)–working for what I thought God wanted but actually working myself to death, even a spiritual death–I immediately felt God’s disappointment.  “John Mark, you should’ve known better.”  Or, “John Mark, how could you?!”  Or, “John Mark, what were you thinking?”

This week I have been meditating on these eyes–the eyes that pierced Peter’s heart.  I am Peter. What did Peter see?

I don’t think he saw condemning, judgmental eyes.  Neither do I think he saw disappointed eyes.  I think he saw sadness, a compassionate and hopeful sadness.  Jesus grieved for Peter. His eyes expressed sympathy and caring. They were redemptive eyes. Jesus is more interested in relationship with Peter than excluding, punishing or shaming Peter. Jesus reveals the divine loving parent who grieves over the failures of his children but does not give up on them. Peter saw in Jesus’ eyes his ongoing compassionate, forgiving, loving prayer that Peter would be strengthened by this experience and the hope in his eyes was the assurance that indeed Peter would.

In our betrayals, our sins, our denials, what do we see in the eyes of Jesus? With Peter we will remember and weep bitterly. That is understandable and healthy.  But also with Peter we may gain strength through the compassionate hope in those eyes.

In The Shack, Mack asked Papa: “honestly, don’t you enjoy punishing those who disappoint you?”  Papa “turned toward Mack” and with “deep sadness in her eyes,” said:  “I am not who you think I am, Mackenzie. I don’t need to punish people for sin. Sin is its own punishment, devouring you from the inside. It’s not my purpose to punish it; it’s my joy to cure it” (pp. 119-120).

I think Paul Young got that just about right. Intellectually, I understand it.  Emotionally, well, I’m learning.

Jesus’ eyes, though sad, anticipated the joy of redemption for Peter….and for me…for all of us.

“From each according to their ability, to each according to their need.”

                 Karl Marx

“At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality [fair balance, NRSV; or, equity], as it is written ‘He who gathered much did not have too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little” [quoting Exodus 16:18].

                  Apostle Paul, 2 Corinthians 8:14-15

The former quote has become quite popular in some circles since Barbara West quoted it when she asked Joe Biden a question about Obama’s supposed Marxism.

There is something quite healthy about Marx’s point. Indeed, there is something quite biblical about it…sort of. 

Paul writes something similar and even grounds it in God’s distribution of manna in the wilderness. When God distributes wealth (manna), he intends to supply the needs of the impoverished and those who have too much share what they have with those who have too little. God provides every blessing in abundance and blessed people scatter those gifts to the poor (2 Corinthians 8:8-9, quoting Psalm 112:9). God’s creative intent did not design poverty and the kingdom of God–whether Israel (Deuteronomy 15:4) or the Jesus community (Acts 4:34)–should have no needy among them.

Within the community of God this sharing is voluntary. Giving to the poor in both Israel and the Jesus’ community was a choice. It was not violently coerced. Marx, however, was willing to employ violence in his pursuit of economic justice.  In addition to the quote that heads this post, Karl Marx also said, “The last capitalist we hang shall be the one who sold us the rope.”

The kingdom of God, hopefully embodied in Jesus’ church, willingly and generously gives so that there is equity. This does not mean there is no private property or that some will not have more than others. Rather, it means that everyone has what they need. Disciples of Jesus share their wealth, sell their possessions to give to the poor, and announce good news to the poor. They do this out of the riches of the grace God has supplied rather than out of duty, threat, or coercion. Unfortunately, and admittedly too true of me, disciples often do not trust God sufficiently to share their abundant resources with the needy so that those who have too little have enough.

But we move too quickly when we say that it is purely voluntary. The Torah regulated Israel’s treatment of the poor.  It did not coerce lending to the poor, but there were legal protections for the poor and legal provisions for the needy that hindered and even restricted the open-ended growth of wealth. 

The law required the cancellation of debts every seven years.  This hindered the wealthy from exploiting the poor through interest rates and permanent indebtedness.  I wonder how many credit cards college students would receive in the mail if every seven years their debts were wiped clean. This legal provision regulated financial predators.  The return of the land to original families at Jubilee prevented the rich from unlimited wealth through the acquisition of property.  Generational wealth based on land ownership was limited. The Jubillee regulation was partly intended to hinder the acquisition of land to limitlessly enrich a particular family.

Israel’s example of how government can regulate wealth and protect the poor provides some fodder for discussion.  I tend to think unrestrained capitalism is a problem, but neither do I find socialism or Marxism particularly beneficient to the poor or a discouragement to elitist luxury.  Humanity is “naturally” (“by nature” through our sarx) evil, covetous, and greedy whether in a capitalist or socialist society.  

Yet, government, according to Romans 13, is ordained by God to protect the innocent and punish evil. Economic injustice, as the prophets of Israel make clear, is an evil. Given the systemic evil and greed within the structures of society (whether capitalist or socialist), I think government should play a role in restraining greed, pursuing economic justice [e.g., protecting the poor from predatory practices that prey upon their circumstances], and assisting the poor.

I am not a specialist in economics. In fact, I have no doubt that my ignorance is much greater than my knowledge. I wish I knew how to pursue economic justice in American culture. I know I don’t have the answers. I tend to think a restrained capitalism is the best system and can accomplish the greatest good for the poor, but I don’t feel myself qualified to determine whose economic policies, McCain or Obama, are best. I wish I knew though I believe both have a heart and interest in protecting the poor from exploitation.

I do not intend my blog to become a place for political partisanship. My interests are larger than the election of a particular President. I am not advocating for either on this issue. I can see it both ways and I am uncertain about which economic policy is best for the poor and growing the economy.

I am bothered by those who seem to think that only Obama cares for the poor or middle class.  I am bothered by those who will vote for McCain simply because they want to keep their money. I tend to think that McCain and Obama are fighting over a middle ground of some kind–protect the poor, assist the poor, but do not punish the wealthy simply because they are wealthy. 

I am not even an economic specialist when it comes to my own lifestyle.  I “tithe plus,” but it still seems inadequate to me.  I drive cars over 100,000 miles and don’t buy new cars.  I shop first at Goodwill.  But it still seems inadequate to me. I am rich…and I certainly don’t make anything near $250,000.  🙂

I suppose my point is this.  Disciples of Jesus share their wealth. Government has a function to punish evil, including restraining the evil of economic greed and injustice.  How that should play out is uncertain to my mind. I simply don’t know, but I don’t have to know.

What I think I know, however, is that disciples of Jesus spread their wealth around and give their gifts from God to the poor. This is my point, a reminder to myself and perhaps to others.

Whoever is elected, McCain or Obama, my allegiance to the kingdom of God means I will share my wealth with the poor. Whoever is elected, McCain or Obama, God will accomplish his will and continue to introduce his kingdom into the world. Whoever is elected, McCain or Obama, has little to nothing to do with the in-breaking of God’s kingdom.

P.S. Charitable giving by the candidates according to tax returns (where not all charitable giving is recorded, at least for my family).

McCain personally gave 26% of his income in 2007 and 18% in 2006 plus donating his book royalties since 1998 which totals almost $2,000,000.

Obama and his wife gave less than 1% from 2000-2004 but 5% in 2005 and 5.7% in 2006 (book deals gave the family increased income in the last few years).

Biden and his wife gave .03% in 2007 and .01% from 1998-2007.

Palin and her husband gave 3.3% in 2006 and 1.5% in 2007.