Just as the third Sunday in Advent brings a lighter feel to a season of reflection with the lighting of the pink candle on the Advent wreath; with the reading of Mary’s song, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;” as well as with Paul’s reminder to his churches to “Rejoice in the Lord always;” so here on the fourth Sunday in Lent we also have a change in the seasonal atmosphere. We also have a lightening of our hearts as we hear the promise of new life.
“So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation,” Paul writes. “Everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” The coming of Christ has made all the difference, he says. All things, “including time, history, and all that goes to make up life and the world as we know it, are created over again….A new age has dawned….For those who are “in Christ,” says one commentator, “a new [world] order has begun.” (Craddock, 157)
Through Christ, we have been made new, we have been reconciled to God and our very relationship with God has been made new as well. Not restored, not put back the way it was before, but in Christ, made entirely new, starting from a whole new footing.
And because of this new relationship with God, which is ours as followers of Jesus and as participants in his resurrection, we ourselves are called to go forth and bring the same reconciliation and healing into the world – reconciliation with God and with each other, reconciliation even at the level of our most intimate relationships; and as today’s readings from Scripture attest, the key to bringing reconciliation is to first engage in forgiveness: to engage in the process of forgiving, and also in the process of being forgiven.
Here on this fourth Sunday in Lent, it’s no accident that all of our readings – not just 1 Corinthians, but Joshua, the psalm, and Luke as well, deal with issues of forgiveness; and three years ago, at Trinity in Orange, we used as our Lenten study book the late Archbishop Desmond and his daughter the Rev. Mpho Tutu’s joint book, The Book of Forgiving. I don’t think you’ve ever used this book here at St. Matthias, but I’ll put in my vote for its power and its ongoing relevance, especially in these days.
Not surprisingly, Archbp. Tutu and his daughter are by no means the first clergy to write a contemporary book about the dynamics of forgiveness, as well as about the importance of forgiveness for our own spiritual, emotional, and physical health. Back in 1992, in my former Diocese of Southeast Florida, a priest named Bob Libby wrote, “…when we are unable to let go of the past and so to forgive, our identity is defined by who we hate and who has hurt us.” (The Forgiveness Book, 36)
Fr. Libby went on to say, “As much as I often want to tell someone that what they need to do is forgive, I know that isn’t the way to go about it…The best we can do is to be witnesses to the experiences we ourselves have had of forgiveness.” (125) And, as Fr. Libby himself was many years in recovery, he knew what he was talking about in terms of experiencing forgiveness in his own life.
Witnessing to their own experiences of forgiveness as well as the experiences of others, especially in light of the work of the Reconciliation Committee in South Africa, is exactly the approach the Tutus take in their book. They also break down the steps involved in what can be the very difficult and very emotional processes of forgiving and of being forgiven; and they emphasize above all that whichever side of the dynamic we find ourselves on, whether we’re the one forgiving or we’re the one asking for forgiveness, going forward into reconciliation is a choice we make and a journey we undertake for ourselves. We make this choice for our own freedom, and for our own future.
Yes, the Archbishop and his daughter do agree along with Paul that by walking the path of forgiveness in solidarity and in companionship with others, we ourselves do become ministers of God’s reconciliation in the world. First and foremost, however, we walk the path of forgiveness for our own sake.
And what does walking this path entail? I’m going to talk about the details in a moment, but before I go on, I first want to state very clearly that no 15 minute sermon, and certainly not this one, can do justice to the emotional and psychological seriousness of forgiving and of being forgiven. Forgiveness is a complex, time consuming, and intimate undertaking; and depending on the offense or offenses in question, a lot of bad memories and a lot of pain can be stirred up in us. I want to emphasize that none of us should take either these memories or these experiences lightly, because forgiveness may be the work of a lifetime.
Additionally, if these words today lead any of us to want to know more about walking the fourfold path in our own lives and we have any hesitation, I encourage us to speak to a trusted friend, clergyperson, or other qualified helper about any concerns going in.
All this being said, one of the gifts of The Book of Forgiving is a visual diagram of what the Tutus call the Revenge Cycle and the Forgiveness Cycle. Any time we’re injured or insulted or diminished in any way, they say, we stand at a fork in the road with a decision that is in our power to make: we can choose to retaliate and seek revenge on the one who has hurt us; or we can choose to move forward towards healing and forgiveness – realizing that moving forward towards forgiveness does NOT mean forgetting, denying justice, or letting the offender off the hook.
If we choose the path of the Revenge Cycle, the Tutus say, we are choosing to remain in a closed loop that will perpetuate the cycle of pain, continuing to deny the humanity we share with the one who has hurt us. If we choose revenge, we are choosing to remain a prisoner of the past as we cycle around, again and again, “rejecting our pain and denying our grief.” (Tutu, 50). And, as Fr. Libby pointed out, if this is the choice we make, the Revenge Cycle will become the source of our basic identity.
However, the Archbishop says, it doesn’t have to be this way. “Instead of rejecting our pain and grief,” he writes, “in the Forgiveness Cycle we accept our pain and grief. If it is a small slight to our dignity or a small harm we have experienced from a spouse, this might be the end of it, and we might be able to forgive that person quite quickly and easily. However, if we have been hurt deeply or have lost someone or something that is precious to us, this part of the Forgiveness Cycle may be intense and long.” (51)
He goes on to say, “When we face into and accept our pain, we start to recognize that we don’t have to stay stuck in our story.” (52, emphasis mine)
We don’t have to stay stuck in our story.
If we choose to move into the Forgiveness Cycle, there are four steps in the overall path – and this is where here in the pulpit on Sunday morning, I can only offer these steps as food for further thought. They are totally not the whole enchilada.
The first step is “Telling our Story,” telling what’s happened to us as many times as we need to, to whoever we feel safe telling it to, as through the telling, we work to make sense of the situation for ourselves.
The second step is “Naming the Hurt,” being able to identify our feelings in response to what’s happened to us; naming the feelings in our story, and accepting them.
The third step – and there can be a long, long time between steps two and three. This is where things can’t be minimized – the third step is recognizing the common humanity we share with the one who has hurt us, and “Granting Forgiveness” – and again, very important, to grant someone forgiveness is not to condone or forget what they’ve done, not to deny ourselves justice for the injury we’ve experienced. “Forgive and forget,” either as a behavioral directive or as a quote, in NOT in the Bible. NOT.
Going back to “Granting Forgiveness,” as Mpho Tutu writes, referring to an ongoing struggle with granting forgiveness in her own life, “It isn’t as if the feelings go away once they are named. This is so important to realize. The Fourfold Path isn’t a path where you step off one piece and step completely into another.” (134). As with the stages of grief, which are also involved here, the steps go back and forth, two steps forward and three steps back, and so on.
Finally though, when we’re ready, the fourth step is “Renewing or Releasing the Relationship” – and to clarify, as in 1 Corinthians, “renewing” a relationship is not to restore it, not to make it like it used to be. To renew a relationship, whether with God or with another human being, is to make it a new creation, starting from a new place…and sometimes a relationship does need to be released instead.
Now: the steps involved in asking for forgiveness (as opposed to granting forgiveness) are similar to those just discussed. The differences are that “Confession,” or admitting what we’ve done, replaces “Telling our Story”; and “Taking Responsibility” for the harm we’ve caused and making restitution, however and whenever possible, replaces “Naming the Hurt.”
Interestingly enough, the steps of asking for forgiveness can be seen in this morning’s psalm, Psalm 32.
Taking a look at the text in our worship booklet, in verses 1 and 2 the psalmist celebrates the completion of the cycle and celebrates the joy of having been forgiven: “Happy are they whose transgressions are forgiven, and whose sin is put away!” In verses 3 and 4, he reflects on the destructive nature of not telling his story, of keeping his wrongdoing a secret and not confessing. In verses 5 and 6 the psalmist chooses not to conceal his guilt any longer and he names the harm, acknowledging his responsibility for the spiritual damage he has caused. In verses 7 and 8 he celebrates his renewed relationship with God, claiming God’s assurance of protection and deliverance; and in verses 9 through 12, the psalmist goes on to instruct others, becoming a minister of reconciliation as he witnesses to his own experience of forgiveness. This is the fourfold path at work, long before it got its contemporary name.
We get a somewhat different spin on forgiveness in the parable Jesus tells in Luke, because at the end of the day we’re left with a true-to-life cliffhanger. Traditionally known as the parable of the Prodigal Son, some scholars say that a better designation is actually the parable of the Loving Father, because it’s on the father that Jesus himself places the emphasis: “There was a man who had two sons.”
Through the course of the story, both of the man’s sons will need their father’s forgiveness, which he gladly gives; and the implication here is that as the earthly father forgives, so much more will the heavenly father forgive.
As I said, both of the sons will need forgiveness, but will they both be willing to receive it?
In the parable, the younger son starts out as a wealthy young Jew who over the course of time and through his own self-indulgence, ends up destitute and starving in a non-Jewish, or Gentile, country, reduced to feeding unclean pigs and coveting their unclean slops. Coming to his senses and seeing how low he has sunk, he chooses confession as the first step in regaining his personal dignity. He travels home to his father and according to plan, asks for forgiveness, making it clear that he’s not asking to have their relationship restored to its former state: “I am not worthy to be called your son.”
This is actually the last thing the younger son gets to say in the parable, because in his own compassion and joy, the father has run out to meet his son in the road and welcome him home. He grabs his son in an embrace, cuts off his confession mid-sentence, and gives orders for a huge celebration. The young man is clothed in finery as the feast’s honored guest, and the festivities get underway.
(This is how we know they’re actually Episcopalian! ;-D )
At this point, enter the older brother who, when learning about his brother’s return and hearing the music and dancing, becomes angry and refuses to go inside.
Pointing out that this parable was triggered in Luke by grumbling and discontent because Jesus himself was eating with collaborators and social pariahs, a Presbyterian pastor writes, “…anger doesn’t manifest itself in a singular way, because [anger] is tied to other emotions like grief, loneliness, sadness, insecurity, and more. [Anger] isn’t just tantrums or outbursts or rage….[B]ehavior communicates. How a person behaves…can give us a glimpse of their inner world, if we pay attention.” (Christian Century, 3/9/22, p. 19).
Are those who grumble about Jesus morally offended, or is there more going on inside them? And what about those who might grumble against us? What’s really going on?
Back with the parable, is the older brother angry because he’s jealous, or because he’s tired of trying to keep things going; tired of trying to make up to their father for the loss of his brother? Does he stay outside because he’s still processing the fact that his brother’s not dead after all, or does he have no desire to forgive his brother for leaving in the first place? Does he have no interest at all in renewing their relationship?
Both the parable and this chapter in Luke end with the father’s words of forgiveness to his older son and his assurance that the older son won’t be displaced; but even with these words, both the parable and the chapter end with the older brother still standing outside.
Which path will he walk? Will he choose to hold on to his anger and stay locked in his resentment? Will he cycle round and round, caught in bitter thoughts, forgiving neither his brother nor his father?
He made a start to telling the father his story, a telling that expressed his pain and his sense of injustice. (“You never even gave me a young goat to celebrate with my friends!”) Will he continue? Will he try again? We don’t know.
All we can do here is to reflect on how we respond to God’s forgiveness of the righteous and the sinners alike. All we can do is to choose which path we will take in our own lives.
“God is forgiveness,” we sing in a popular Taize chant. “Dare to forgive and God will be with you. God is forgiveness. Love, and do not fear.”
We have been entrusted with God’s ministry of reconciliation in the world, and in our own hearts. We are called to be witnesses to the world of the forgiveness we have experienced, and continue to experience, in our own lives, that all may find new life – and may we all have the courage to do so. May we all dare to forgive. May we all dare to be made new. Ame