Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Why I Need Forgiveness | March 4, 2009 blog post


Let’s put the emphasis right here and now on need—as opposed to ought to consider, or may come in handy, or try it you’ll like it. The statement at hand is Why I Need Forgiveness, and every word counts.
 
Growing up Catholic, and if I may say a pretty good little Catholic girl, the Forgiveness lesson/principle wasn’t clear to me. No one quite explained it to me. Maybe I wasn’t bad enough; or maybe I didn’t want to be good enough, or maybe the adults around me felt too guilty themselves.
 
Or maybe Confession just took care of all that, thank you very much.
 
I remember having to go to Confession at least once a year because that’s what you did. We waited outside the triple chamber confession booth for our turns, the middle chamber occupied by the priest and the two flanking ones for us hardened sinners. A little red light above the door lintel of the priest’s chamber served as a high tech signal for “The Priest Is In.”
 
We fidgeted in the hard wooden pews amid the solemn cold of the church hearing only whispers and shuffles and the occasional cough-cough-cough. Then someone would escape a confessional box, and my sisters and I would negotiate “You go, no you go! Once inside, we’d kneel in the dark, unlit interior, and suddenly the small grate to the priest’s side would slide open so you knew: okay, let’s hear it, spill your guts.
 
I didn’t like going to Confession. I really didn’t know what to say: I was mean to my sister? I didn’t have any grave errors or omissions to report. Hadn’t stolen or killed anyone lately. What were those 10 Commandments anyway? I was a pretty good kid, but I had to give up something. The whole reason I was there was to ‘fess up. So I’d mumble something, and the priest would assign me 1 Act of Contrition, 3 Hail Mary’s and a Glory Be. He probably thought I was “cute.” No, I was scared.
 
My parents stopped making us go to Confession when we got to be older. It was enough that we made it to Mass in time. But Jesus hung on the cross behind every Catholic altar; he was kind of hard to miss. And I still felt compelled with the raising of the Eucharist and Cup at Communion to pound my chest with my fist three times reciting, “My Lord and my God. My Lord and my God. My Lord and my God.”
 
The question never left: What do I need forgiveness for?
 
As a young adult, my born-again Protestant friend confronted me about what I believed about God, Jesus, and why Jesus had to die—for me. The light went on for the first time. Jesus died so that I who am wholly human can have a relationship with God who is holy divine. The terrestial could mix with the heavenly; sin would not prevent me from approaching the sacred. What was in me that hurt others, hurt myself, hurt God—things I thought, did, felt, said would not permanently mar, but would be erased, forgiven. My years in cold, hard pews now made sense.
 
Forgiveness as a Survival Skill
However, in recent days, forgiveness has taken on a different depth, understanding, and even urgency. I am discoveringi that beyond the theoretical, philosophical, theological, I need to practice forgiveness so I can continue to live in this world.

Relationships fail us. People fail us. And that’s why I need forgiveness. It’s not a question of if something will go wrong, but when. We are just not perfect enough to prevent that from happening, intentionally or not.
 
I may not be the chief sinner. On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the most despicable, I-dare-you-to-forgive sin that includes murder, rape, genocide, torture, I sit pretty low. Not much has changed for this little Catholic girl.
 
And yet, if I do not, cannot forgive those whom I feel fail, betray, dishonor, ignore, hurt me, I will slowly shrink away. I will withdraw from relationships, refuse to interact, not have the strength to give relationships another try because I know failure is just around the corner. I will in short turn cold, allow my heart to harden, become less human.
 
I can only live amid the imperfectedness of this life through forgiveness.

In an email to my husband the other day as part of their ongoing dialogue about matters of faith, one of our daughter's friend quoted his Northwestern University professor Susanne Sklar as writing this:
 
If the Religion of Jesus is "Forgiveness of Sin" as [18th Century writer, poet, painter William] Blake says it is— then what might be called "imperfection" is part of the art form. We all sculpt space and time to create a world in which forgiveness is the animating or structuring principle. Space and time are ingredients with which we CREATE.

Creation is dynamic—it's beautiful and it may be fallible. But that's all right. Because the highest art form is forgiveness.  That creates a space for more love. And love is not merely an emotion.

Nail on the head, or maybe quite vividly—to the cross. Jesus’ whole life spoke, demonstrated, practiced, and taught forgiveness. It’s what he lived by and what he died for. Even as he was dying, Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." [Luke 23:34]
 
Did Jesus say this only because the people who crucified him had done wrong? Was it only because they needed forgiveness? Or perhaps is it what I’m discovering: that unforgiveness creates havoc in me. I need to forgive for my sake, not others’. I simply cannot exist, let alone co-exist with others if I am carrying away the crushing weight of hurt. And as Susanne  Sklar says, when I do forgive, I create space—space for more love, and love validates my existence. As Paul the apostle wrote, “If I…have not love, I am nothing.” [1 Cor 13:2]
 
Creating space for love.
It’s hard to forgive. I’ve spent a lifetime learning how to do it, learning that I must do it, learning that it takes time and process to do it. It can be pretty painful. But it’s far worse to not forgive. However, Jesus can take away the pain when we give over to him the wrongs and injustices. He will carry it away, and in its place, he will create a space for love.
 
 

Posted via email from 40 Day Fast