Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is from Life Lessons by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler

During the late 1940s, India was engulfed in religious wars as the nation prepared for independence from Great Britain. A Hindu whose son was murdered by Muslims during the internal strife went to see Mahatma Gandhi and asked, “How can I possibly forgive the Muslims? How can I ever find peace again with so much hate in my heart for those who have killed my son?” Gandhi suggested that the man adopt an orphaned enemy child and raise him as his own.

We need to forgive so that we can live whole lives. Forgiveness is the way to heal our hurts and wounds, it’s how we reconnect with others and ourselves. We have all been hurt – we didn’t deserve the pain, but were wounded nonetheless. And, if truth be told, we have almost certainly hurt others. The problem isn’t that hurt happens, it’s that we can’t or won’t forget it. This is the hurt that keeps on hurting. We go through life accumulating these hurts; we have no training or guidance in how to let them go. This is where forgiveness comes in.

SECOND LESSON

The second lesson is from the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 15, verses 1 through 3 and 11b through 32

Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

So he told them this parable: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”

This Week's Sermon

Date: March 14, 2010

Title: What God Wants: Forgiveness

Message Delivered By: Rev. Dr. Joe McMurray

Dogs know.

In a moment she was off, tail high and wagging its crooked shape vigorously as she bounded down the path.

Moments before, all was still, just a twitch of the nose scenting the air.

Six months ago it was different. There were shouts, slammed doors, curses, a kick and then a yelp. And then he was gone, bag in hand.

And she cringed in pain by the step. It was lucky her tail had not snapped right off. She was badly bruised.

But he was gone, nobody knew where. Off to make his fortune, anything but home, anyone but family, and away from that damned dog.

Jobs weren’t easy to come by. Streets were not friendly. Parks were sometimes cold.

And down he went, caught in the spiral, used, abused. Promise and hope turned to hopelessness and despair. There was nothing left—but to go back home. Give it a go again!

And she saw him coming from far off, she caught his scent. Now nothing was stopping her. She bowled him over with one great leap of love. She wee-wee’ed in ecstasy just to see him. As she licked him with affection, he broke down and wept.

Nothing more needed to be said. Barking enthusiasm, she announced the homecoming, annoyed the brother away from football on TV to get up and see, jumped up and licked him too—and then fetched the ball.

She knew.

God knows dogs know.

_____________________________________________________________

Will you pray with me? God, the lessons you’ve taught us about kindness, truthfulness and compassion are all too often forgotten or pushed aside. During this time of Lent, may we be attentive to the ways we have disappointed you by disappointing others. Help us to move beyond our pettiness, our stubbornness, and our need to put ourselves first. Instill in us a compassion and love for others, as you yourself love and are compassionate toward us. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen.

The first thing I want to say this morning is that I don’t want anyone to misunderstand the title of this sermon series, “What God Wants.” When I planned the series, I knew immediately that using language like this insinuates that I know what God is up to. I do not. I am only presuming what God wants based on my understanding of the traditions of the Christian church, based on centuries of Christian theology as I understand it, and a based on a sense of my own interactions and experiences with life.

We are all aware that many others have interpreted what they believe God wants, and these interpretations are, for the most part, vastly different than what I have suggested. Some of the other proscriptions of “what God wants” are bound in very narrow Christian teachings, are barely recognizable as Christian theology, and are completely devoid of social justice or ethical thinking and praxis. Some are selfishly contrived and presented and do not possess the most obvious and necessary component—what I call the litmus test of Christian thought: are they life-giving.

The following is from the Book of Genesis, Chapter 50: 14-21:
After he had buried his father, Joseph returned to Egypt with his brothers and all who had gone up with him to bury his father.
Realizing that their father was dead, Joseph’s brothers said, “What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back in full for all the wrong that we did to him?” So they approached Joseph, saying, “Your father gave this instruction before he died, ‘Say to Joseph: I beg you, forgive the crime of your brothers and the wrong they did in harming you.’ Now therefore please forgive the crime of the servants of the God of your father.” Joseph wept when they spoke to him. Then his brothers also wept, fell down before him, and said, “We are here as your slaves.” But Joseph said to them, “Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as God is doing today. So have no fear; I myself will provide for you and your little ones.” In this way he reassured them, speaking kindly to them.

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

When is the last time you forgave someone 490 times before you gave up on them? That is what, according to Jesus, is our responsibility as Christians—to forgive someone, basically, until they do not need to be forgiven anymore—however long that takes. This is the principle of Christian forgiveness.

Yet with most people I know, Christian or otherwise, once, maybe twice, and just maybe three times we’ll tolerate the let-downs, and then suddenly whomever we tolerated is out of luck. We humans are impatient. We don’t have time for such things as “forgiveness.” And we have expectations from each other on how many times forgiveness can or should be employed. We even run out of patience with those who are patient when they forgive others. How many times have we said, “You’re just wasting your time. Why do you keep giving them another chance? Why that matters to us—I’m not certain.

We may say we don’t have time to waste on others who continue to abuse us. We dismiss them because we don’t want to appear ridiculous—as if we’d been taken for a fool too many times. We don’t like to be used. We don’t want to expend the energy to help others work through whatever their issues might be that cause them to behave the way they do. We wish they’d stop doing “whatever it is they do” to us.

Too often, we refuse to forgive without certain conditions being imposed. Instead, we decide it’s our right, if we’ve been wronged, to pass judgment on others. Sometimes we savor the possibility that others may find the courage to crawl to us, begging to be forgiven, while we take our time deciding whether or not to accept their atonement and offer our absolution.

We behave this way because we are attached to outcomes, we are conflicted by issues that reveal our need for superiority, personal power and attention; we are wary of issues that expose our own frailties; and we are tempted by feelings that all too often rule our hearts and stand in the way of healing.

The story of Joseph is a perfect example of the multitude of sins that arise from our inability to forgive. Joseph’s brothers could not forgive that he was extremely gifted or that he was his father’s favorite. They could not forgive that he was somewhat arrogant. He openly interpreted his dreams depicting his entire family paying homage to him. And so his brothers became hateful, spiteful and jealous, so much so that they ignored the deepest beliefs of their tradition and their conscience and planned to cause harm to him.

Joseph knew he was his father’s favorite; he openly enjoyed the privileges that came with that favor. His brothers were resentful, enough for them to want his death. They initially conspired to kill him, but instead abandoned him in a deep pit. They left him isolated and alone to teach him a lesson.
They assumed he would eventually be found and returned to his father. They gravely misjudged the situation, and their desperate actions led to sadness and sorrow within the events that unfolded.

From Luke’s gospel, we heard the age old story of the prodigal son, the young and impetuous youth who took his share of his father’s inheritance, left home, and squandered his wealth. Finally, he found himself destitute and would have been satisfied if he could but share the same food the pigs enjoyed. He realized he had but one choice—to take a chance and return to face his father’s mercy.

Even with his own admission of sinfulness against God and against his family, his return, in the eyes of his father, brought quite the opposite effect of what we might expect of ourselves in the same situation; whereas the reaction of his brother was filled with torture, turmoil and remorse. We would be naïve and foolish not to notice the pivotal role that jealousy played in the development of both of these stories.

What is it about our ego and our sense of pride that interferes with the path of forgiveness in our personal relationships? Why is it that we feel so differently when we are seeking forgiveness? In this posture, we are eager, hopeful and repentant; we wish to atone for our sins and be offered the hand of forgiveness so that we can move on with our lives.
But when we have the power to extend forgiveness to another, how should we respond? Equally important, how do our personal relationships mirror our relationship with God?

These are challenging questions to consider. But the answer to the last question has the simplest solution. If God is present and all around us, if God is within every person, if even in the slightest way we feel accountable to God, we can’t possibly deny forgiveness to a sister or brother.

God bears witness to the movement of our hearts and the extension of our actions goes well beyond human relationships.

Part of the problem is that we spend so much time living in the past.
When we choose to live in the past, when we refuse to forget the wrongs committed against us, when we replay and relive the pain and anger of those moments of our experience again and again, when we refuse to forgive, whether the transgressor is penitent or not – in each of these instances we are doomed to repeat the past again and again, a path lined with misery, regret and discontent.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler acknowledge that the problem isn’t that hurt just happens, but that we choose not to forget it. We accumulate our hurts, and our resistance to let them go prevents the process of healing to take place. And without forgiveness, healing cannot happen.

We are fooled by silly pronouncements such as, “I can forgive, but I can never forget.” What is that, really, but an admission that I haven’t forgiven at all?

Why can’t we be as intelligent as our animals? Our animals offer us unconditional love—we can get angry at them, yell at them, treat them harshly with misplaced anger; yet they always come back to us, already having forgiven anything we’ve said or done.
These are the principles of the universe. These are God’s principles that work throughout all of nature automatically, it seems—except with humankind. We have such a hard time with forgiving.

Instead, we choose to hold onto our pain.

And so it’s important to ask ourselves this very difficult question: If we extend forgiveness to others—if we give up our hold on those who have harmed us—if we release or surrender our need to feel superior—what would we really be giving up? What would we be sacrificing?

We’d lose quite a lot, actually. We’d lose our ability to control, for we would no longer have anything to hold over anyone else. We’d lose the pleasure of our suffering—the attention we get and the pity we enjoy. For some of us, if we’re not suffering, then there’s nothing to complain about. And if there’s nothing to complain about, there’s often nothing worth talking about.

Continually describing our suffering to others is nothing more than a cry for sympathy—energy that would best be used by forgiving. And the dividend would be a lot more positive energy left over to allow us to bring joy into the world. By failing to keep alive the anger that festers inside of us, we would also lose our motivation for revenge; we would lose the lust for the kind of power that comes from believing we’re better than the one who had wronged us.

There is no formula or timetable for healing. Some wounds are so deep they take years to heal, sometimes perhaps even centuries. Some wrongdoing is so heinous it would take a saint to forgive it. Yet there are such saints that walk the earth.

A few years ago, I read about a man who had sexually assaulted a University of Virginia student in 1984, and who finally apologized to her two decades later as part of the ninth step of his AA twelve-step program. Step Nine calls on participants to make amends to those they have harmed.

This man, though he had spent the past twenty years working hard to better himself and his community by helping those who needed his help, knew he would face prosecution and prison. Yet he had the courage to come forward, to admit his wrongdoing, and to apologize for his violent action. He was sentenced to 18 months in prison and 500 hours of community service.

And his victim—a married woman who continued to live with the horrible memories and the painful realization that justice had never been served—chose to forgive him. She said that his sentence was very fair.

It’s difficult to comprehend the tremendous courage it must have taken for this man to seek repentance and for her to relive those awful moments in her life, offering forgiveness to her attacker for what he had done.

Forgiveness is not a simple thing—forgiveness is a complex and sometimes miraculous extension of grace. Forgiveness often comes at a price to the one who offers it. Forgiveness is a provocative and radical step toward healing; and it often brings an unexpected outcome.

Recalling the schoolhouse shooting that killed and wounded several female students from the Amish community a few years ago, not only did the families of the victims pray for the attacker, but they refused to assign blame.

Instead, they reached out to the family of the perpetrator. On the same day of the shooting, a grandfather of one of the girls who was killed expressed forgiveness to the killer, who also died. Neighbors visited the shooter’s family that same day to comfort them, and invited them to one of the funerals for their own children. The Amish families also attended the funeral of the shooter, outnumbering the other attendees.

Such compassion and sympathy is commonplace for the Amish people, who strictly follow Jesus’ teaching on forgiveness. They place the needs of others before themselves.

How could they possibly do this? They can because they believe God can bring remedy and healing to any situation. Talk about courage; talk about strength; talk about solid Christian principles and lived faith.

Mahatma Gandhi’s radical resolution—“adopt the child of your enemy and raise the child as your own”—is where the true understanding of forgiveness should lead us: to remedy; to change; to a shift in our ability to dispense grace. It should challenge us to the very depths of our faith; it should make us question exactly how attached we are to the Christian principles to which we say we subscribe.

Forgiveness is a much needed commodity in the world we live in today. This is especially true in our country, in our community and even here in our own church.

I would like to think that those things that hold us back; those reasons we’ve used to keep ourselves from forgiving; those stubborn, painful reminders that we have not been in keeping with what Jesus would have us do—that somehow we can put aside our pettiness, our selfishness, our arrogance, and our fear—and do what God wants—take the first step by offering forgiveness to those who’ve harmed us, whether or not they are seeking forgiveness.

The process of forgiving is not without risk. We take a huge risk that a person may respond harshly, “I don’t want your forgiveness; I’ve done nothing to you that needs to be forgiven.” This is the chance we take. We leave ourselves exposed. This type of situation might also say a lot more about the receptiveness and honesty of the person we are trying to forgive than it does about us. But we must release them from that, as well.

Joseph assumed that his brothers had endured enough suffering for what they had done to him. They offered to be his slaves, if only their lives would be preserved. But Joseph was not interested in this type of atonement. He was only invested in restoring relationship with his brothers.

The father of the prodigal son needed only to see his son in order for the grace of forgiveness to pour out of him. These men both realized something that many of us do not: there is a point to our suffering. There is an opportunity for growth behind the wrongs that are committed against us. There is a chance for a great movement of the Spirit that always follows.

A lot depends on how we use these opportunities—and what life lessons we are to draw from them.

During this time of Lent, I invite each of us to search our souls; to consider forgiveness a gift that we are willing to give.

We are well aware of our capacity to extend the grace of forgiveness. Tremendous growth is available to us if we can only allow ourselves to tap into this grace. And when we do—when we truly forgive—the layers of pain and guilt that have weighed us down will melt away. Ask for God’s help for the strength necessary to extend arms of forgiveness.

And may we continue to follow where God is leading. Amen.