What does it mean to forgive?
I have thought about this question many, many times over the course of my life, though it has been on my mind more lately, due to some personal issues. I’m thinking about it tonight because I just read an article about the importance of forgiveness in Oprah’s magazine (which I bought for my Atlanta flight but didn’t finish at that time). And as it’s Good Friday, I can’t help but think of Christ on the cross and his words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Forgiveness has always been a vexed topic for me. The main two reasons why are these: I was sexually assaulted when I was seven years old, and I went to a fundamentalist Christian school for grades 1-12. I heard, over and over again, that we must forgive, because God forgives us and “if you do not forgive, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your transgressions” (Mark 11:26). Passages like Luke 6: 27-37 also left a deep impression on me:
But I tell you who hear: love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28 bless those who curse you, and pray for those who mistreat you. 29 To him who strikes you on the cheek, offer also the other; and from him who takes away your cloak, don’t withhold your coat also. 30 Give to everyone who asks you, and don’t ask him who takes away your goods to give them back again. 31 As you would like people to do to you, do exactly so to them. 32 If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33 If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34 If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive back as much. 35 But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing back; and your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind toward the unthankful and evil. 36 Therefore be merciful, even as your Father is also merciful. 37 Don’t judge, and you won’t be judged. Don’t condemn, and you won’t be condemned. Set free, and you will be set free.
As a young girl, I was left to deal with the impact of my sexual assault completely on my own–I received no therapy, and my family never talked about it (I assume my dad still does not know). I was young, scared, angry, and very much alone. I was in a rigid and repressive religious environment that emphasized I could not receive God’s forgiveness–which I needed so I could go to heaven and avoid hell–if I did not forgive others. While the teachers and preachers at my school did not know of my sexual assault, I took their words to heart and applied them to my situation. I felt that I had to forgive my molester, or else I would go to hell.
And I didn’t have a clue as to how to forgive such a monster. If forgiveness means that we are to offer the other cheek to someone who strikes us, what did that mean for me? Was I wrong to have fought back against my abuser? Was I supposed to lie there and allow him to rape me? In my childhood mind, without any adult in my life to help me cope and work through these issues, this is exactly what I took that passage to mean.
I couldn’t accept that. I could not believe that God would really want a child to allow herself to be raped. This was the first time I began questioning religion and the literal, “word for word” interpretation of the Bible that I had been taught was the only true path to Christ.
Later, as a teenager, I did began talking. I confided in a youth pastor who visited my school, as well as one of my brothers. Their responses gave me much of what I needed emotionally–love, acceptance, awareness, and sorrow for what I had lost. But neither of them helped me resolve the question of forgiveness that vexed me so. They both gave me an answer along the lines of, while God may expect us to forgive, that doesn’t mean we have to forget the wrongs that were done to us or allow them to happen again.
I didn’t understand what that meant then. I still don’t.
In my mind, forgiveness implies that the act that has been forgiven is OK, that it’s acceptable that it happened. I can’t do that. I suspect what my brother and the youth pastor were trying to tell me when they said I don’t have to forget was that forgiveness doesn’t mean the act was OK or acceptable. As an adult, I’m almost 100% sure that is exactly what they were trying to express.
But what, then, does forgiveness mean? What does it mean to forgive, but to remember the wrong? Wouldn’t that be “holding a grudge”? And, on a related note–one that I am currently struggling with mightily–how do we forgive those who continue to wrong us? Or who have never apologized or seemed one bit remorseful for the hurt they have caused?
I think part of why I struggle with the concept of forgiveness is that I have only heard it defined as what it is not; in other words, I’ve only been told what it does not mean. It doesn’t mean we forget. As the article I read tonight (which I can’t link to, unfortunately–it’s not on Oprah’s website) states, “Forgiveness doesn’t mean rationalizing or condoning abuse. And forgiveness doesn’t mean a sudden case of amnesia” (255). But what, then, is it?
At the very end of the article, the author attempts to define forgiveness:
Forgiveness [. . .] is not about pretending you don’t feel angry or hurt. It’s about responding out of kindness rather than rage. It’s about letting yourself feel the full spectrum of emotions–grief and anger and hurt, but also kindness and compassion.
This idea was helpful to me. I can see that there are people in my life–people who have hurt me quite deeply, including my abuser–who, according to this definition, I have forgiven. When I think of my abuser today, I do feel immense anger and disgust. As I wrote above, he was a monster. At the same time, I know now that he was not born a monster. Someone made him into that monster by sexually abusing him. That in no way excuses what he did to me and, undoubtedly, countless other children, but it does enable me to feel something for him besides anger and hate. I can honestly say I don’t hate him. I pity him, and I feel sorrow for whatever drove him to abuse children.
This conception of forgiveness has also led me to re-think my guilt about my reaction to those who hurt me in my adult life. I am someone who does not hesitate to cut out of my life those who betray me or repeatedly hurt me. I do believe in giving people a second chance, but those who hurt me time after time eventually lose my goodwill; those who betray me lose it immediately.
In either case, I cut those people out of my life; they are, in essence, dead to me. That doesn’t mean I’m rude if I have to deal with the person; I am not. But I will never, ever pretend to be their friend, or to even be friendly. Politeness is all I can muster.
For many years, I felt that this meant I carried grudges, even though I felt this response was, in essence, self-defense. I imposed an emotional distance in order to keep from getting hurt again. Quite often I was motivated by feelings of hurt and loss, not by feelings of anger or vengeance. I just didn’t want to let these people back into my life so that they could hurt me once again. I learned this lesson of self-protection in therapy a long time ago, and over the years I accepted the idea that I had to do this for myself, even if it meant I wasn’t a “good Christian.” However, I did feel guilty that I was not living up to the ideals I was taught.
Tonight I’m thinking that guilt has been misplaced. Protecting myself doesn’t equal holding a grudge. When I think of the people who I have cut out of my life in this way, I feel many emotions; in some cases, I don’t even feel angry anymore. I just feel sad. That’s hardly the sign of someone who is holding onto bitterness. That sounds more like forgiveness that does not forget.
Maybe I’m further along with this whole forgiveness thing than I’ve given myself credit for all these years.
