Forgive our Abusers? Surely Not, Lord...

Do We Have To? Not Sure I Can...

In Acts 6-7 there’s a compelling story of forgiveness. It’s the story of Stephen, a man among the first deacons of the church. Whenever I think of ultimate forgiveness, I think of Stephen. So here’s his story:

After the Holy Spirit descemded on the disciples on the Jewish Feast of Pentecost, the number of people who were converted to being a Jesus-follower, a disciple of the Lord – that number of people kept growing exponentially by the day. The original disciples, now called apostles, were kept very busy teaching and preaching. There was a growing need for them – or someone – to take care of the widows and orphans among them. So the apostles, led by the Holy Spirit, chose seven men to serve in that way. The Greek word for “serving in that way,” is “diakonoi.” Therefore when the apostles laid hands on these seven men and prayed for them, the Holy Spirit came upon them to be deacons. Diakonoi. Deacons. Stephen was one of the seven.

So, now everyone is happy. Everyone is being taken care of with compassion. Stephen in particular, felt the presence of the Lord with him in a mighty way. He even saw a vision, in which he saw the Risen Jesus, the Son of Man, standing at the right hand of God. And Stephen said so, in the midst of some dangerous company. Because, you see, that statement was heresy in the eyes and ears of the unconverted Jews. That’s why they “covered their ears, rushed toward Stephen, dragged him out of the city, and began to stone him. They kept stoning him until he died.

The curious thing is, just before he died, he prayed two prayers: 1. Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. And 2. Lord, do not hold this sin against them.

I say these prayers are curious, because that’s not our usual response to being wounded, is it. No, when someone hurts us, or someone we love offends us deeply, we rush to anger, don’t we? Our defenses rise sky high, and we want the offenders to get what they deserve. Isn’t that the response we humans usually rush into in abusive situations?

The thing of it is, when that’s our response, (and assuming we haven’t been killed), we begin to carry the heavy weight of un-forgiveness in our hearts and on our shoulders. We have taken on that burden (our emotions turned upside down) that can weigh us down for months, years even. And most of the time, we don’t even know that our un-forgiveness is making us sick.

Look again at Stephen’s prayers: “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” Who else can you think of who prayed prayers that sound like Stephen’s prayers?

It’s Jesus, isn’t it. While Jesus was on the cross, in profound and excruciating pain, Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

Stephen prayed those same two prayers that Jesus prayed, as he was being murdered. Stephen’s faith must have been deep and filled with the joy of the Lord. He was also utterly filled with the Holy Spirit. That’s why I think, he was able to utter those words, as his breath left him.

Let’s think for a minute before I come down too hard on those of us who react in anger to being hurt. (That’s most of us. I know I’ve been guilty.) When we’ve been really hurt, we really can’t forgive. Not in that moment. Not in the next moment, or the next. There’s a grief in our woundedness. The grief of not being able to ever return to the way it was before the offense happened.

It’s entirely human to wallow in our grief. It’s entirely human that we nurse our wounds. We might hear sermons about forgiveness, but that’s simply not where we are – to be able to actually forgive. Not yet. We can sense that to forgive them would bring upon us another grief – the grief of no longer being able to nurse our wound, and we don’t want to give that up. Not yet. We can’t see quite yet, that the freedom of no longer carrying would be profound freedom. A moment in which we could be joyful and at peace again. A moment in which we might even find ourselves praying the prayer of compassion for the offenders.

Believe me, I know we’re in the Easter Season, in which all is celebratory because Jesus rose from the dead. But we’re presented with the story of Stephen, on the 5^th Sunday of Easter. His story leads me to think and talk about the wounds that Jesus suffered. Remember the Resurrection stories that tell us that his wounds were obviously apparent in his Risen Body. His wounds didn’t go away.

Believe me, I also know that even after we’ve been able to forgive, and to pray the prayer that the Lord forgive our offender – believe me – the after-effect of our wound is still there. Something of it remains. It’s just that the wisdom of the Lord has entered the wound and transformed it. It’s in that transformation that we can pray the prayer of forgiveness.

Through the many centuries since the Resurrection, there have been any number of Jesus-followers, who, because they’re human, have understood the wounds – both theirs and those of Jesus. Their spirituality led them to find comfort by thinking of the imagery of their wounds being hidden within the wounds of Jesus.

I have found that kind of thinking and praying to be helpful in my own struggle to forgive. Perhaps you might find it helpful as well.

Here are the word to an anonymous prayer from at least as early as the 1300’s. It’s attributed to St. Ignatius of Loyola.

SOUL of Christ, sanctify me.
Body of Christ, save me.
Blood of Christ, inebriate me.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.
O good Jesus, hear me.
Within Thy wounds, hide me.
Separated from Thee let me never be.
From the malignant enemy, defend me.
At the hour of death, call me
To come to Thee, bid me,
That I may praise Thee in the company
Of Thy Saints, for all eternity. 

Our forgiveness is in Christ. Our ability to forgive is in Christ. He hides our wounds inside his. That, my friends, is why we can say “Alleluia! The Lord has forgiven me! I am in Him and He is in me.” And yes… “Lord, forgive my offenders, even as you wipe away my tears.”