Scriptural Maunderings for 9/11 – Can I Forgive?

In Liturgy-speak, this is Proper 19 (24), Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A.  In normal-speak, it’s 9/11, which makes this (very) occasional series of thoughts about a given Sunday’s readings at our (Episcopal) church a bit more of a challenge.

The theme for the week’s readings (to my mind) is Forgiveness. Always an interesting topic, especially today.

First Reading: Exodus 14:19-31

The Israelites flee across the Red Sea, while the Pharaoh’s troops get drowned.  It’s a thrilling epic (esp. with Yul Brynner as Pharaoh), but pretty Old Testament in its treatment of God.

I’ve always like the gloss on this in the Talmud:

When the Egyptians were drowning in the Red Sea, the angels in heaven began to break forth in songs of jubilation, but the Holy One, blessed be He, silenced them: “My creatures are perishing — and ye are ready to sing!”

That Lord, at least, shows some remorse over what’s happening, whether or not it was necessary. In Exodus, all we get is a  demonstration designed to impress the Israelites (and to instill fear in them).  Meh.

Epistle: Romans 14:1-12

Paul can be damned persnickety at times, but I like a lot of this passage.

Welcome those who are weak in faith, but not for the purpose of quarreling over opinions.  Some believe in eating anything, while the weak eat only vegetables. Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat; for God has welcomed them. Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another? It is before their own lord that they stand or fall. And they will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make them stand.

Some judge one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike. Let all be fully convinced in their own minds. Those who observe the day, observe it in honor of the Lord. Also those who eat, eat in honor of the Lord, since they give thanks to God; while those who abstain, abstain in honor of the Lord and give thanks to God.

We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living.

Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God. For it is written, “As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to God.” So then, each of us will be accountable to God.

Shorter Paul: “Don’t be critical of others religious opinions or practices. That’s between them and God, just like yours are between you and God.  Get over it.”

Given how much blood has been spilled — by Christians, often of Christians — over differences of theology or religious practice, it’s a shame that particular reading or parts of it aren’t in bold print and tattooed on certain people when they get in a tizz over this stuff.

The dividing line, I guess, is while tolerance of others (and the lack of hubris and arrogance to think you’re the One Whose Right in All Things) is a positive trait, you also can’t just shrug and say, “Well, yeah, I’m not all that jiggy with human sacrifice, but, hey, that’s between you and God.”  There are things that people do on their lives, sacred and profane, that are rightful to prevent.

But it’s not something to do casually, without consideration.  Is what they are doing actually harmful to others (the Lord can take care of Himself), or are you just “quarreling over opinions”?

And that brings us to …

Gospel: Matthew 18:21-35

One of my favorite Gospel passages, and one of the toughest to live up to.

Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?”

Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times. For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves.When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made.

“So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt.

“But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’ Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt.

“When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?’ And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt.

“So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

The parable can be summed up in the words of the Lord’s Prayer: “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” (Or “tresspasses” or “debts,” choose your term).  If you hold with the Christian belief that God forgives even the worst sins that we commit, if sincerely repented, then to the extent that we are called upon to be like God, we must strive to forgive.

Forgiveness isn’t a one-off act. It’s not easy. It’s not straightforward. It’s not always possible, in the face of an offense against us.  But it’s something we should be striving toward, processing toward, aspiring toward in every case we can.

(N.B. There are those that take the subject of what Peter asks — which more commonly is translated as “brother” — and try to make it out to mean we’re only called upon to forgive fellow Christians, not folks of other religious.  To which I can only imagine Jesus shaking his head sadly.)

Christians are called to forgive.  To figure out how to extend our mercy the same way God extends mercy to us.  To be transformed from an Eye for an Eye, or to folks who cheer when Pharaoh’s troops are drowned.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetfulness. And turning the other cheek doesn’t necessarily mean allowing hatred and pain and abuse and bloodshed to continue. It doesn’t mean letting the guilty walk, to hurt someone else.  It means seeing beyond the offender’s hatred, or ignorance.  It means not letting the offenders actions control ours.  It means recognizing our own shortcomings (and more), and …

*     *     *

I took a long pause in the writing of this post at that point.  Went off, did some other things.  Came back. Still couldn’t go on.

See, there are things that I can’t tell people they should forgive.  I can see that they are being corroded from within by those things, but it’s not my place to tell them how the must, or should, or perhaps even might address them.

A woman raped forgive her rapist?  A person abused as a child forgive their abuser?  Someone being hit, lynched, tortured, oppressed, cheated, unjustly accused or imprisoned or fired or blamed forgive all the people involved in that offense?

I cannot tell them what to do.

And, yeah, Jesus, condemned unjustly, beaten, humiliated, nailed to a cross, said “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” But maybe that’s not true, and even if it’s not true, that’s Jesus and that was his job.

Forgiveness is hard.  And not something you can demand of others to give.

So all I can do is try to forgive, myself.  (Both with and without the comma.)  Just like I can’t, and won’t, impose my moral code on others, or try to persuade them to it, what I can do is try to live my life in the way I think a life should be lived.  With forgiveness.

Which isn’t any easier.

People sometimes ask me why I go to church. Even if my attendance has been a bit more lax over the past several months, I still consider it important.  And part of that is just this — going to church confronts me with what I actually believe, on at least a  weekly basis.  And not just “do you really think that Jonah was swallowed by a whale” kind of “quarrelling” stuff, but the important “do you really believe in forgiveness, and for whom, and when, and why” kind of stuff.

Because I’m a lazy SOB, and if I don’t set up my life to think about these things now and again, I’ll take the far easier path.  And that’s not what I want.  It’s what I’m more comfortable with, but not what I want.

*     *     *

One of my favorite TV shows of the 80s was The Equalizer.  Edward Woodward played a former spy/agent/operative now trying to something new with his life, using his talents and connections to “equalize” things for those who were oppressed, in fear, at their wit’s end.  (In some very odd ways, it’s bears a mutant resemblance to one of my current favorite shows, Leverage.  But I digress.)

In one of the early episodes of the series, Woodward’s character deals with a crooked cop in ways that, he realizes, are dragging him back into the abyss of his amoral “do whatever it takes” days with The Agency.  And, in confronting the cop, he confesses that, and slams him against the wall, repeatedly saying, “And that, I will not forgive! I do not forgive! I do not forgive!”

(I loved that show.  It’s a travesty that only the first season is available on DVD.)

I forgive, when I can break away from what I know hurt me, and continues to hurt me.  It doesn’t mean letting myself be hurt again.  It means turning what has hurt me into something that no longer does.

We are animals programmed to break others out in to Us vs Them.  Me (and those who support, care for, look like, protect, act the same as me) vs. All You Other Folk.

Part of what forgiveness does for me is break me out of that dynamic.  There are those who have wronged me.  Are they perpetually in the Them category, people with whom I am at war, who are less than human, who are my enemies and subjects of my hatred?

*     *     *

So let’s get down to brass tacks, because this is still (for another hour by my clock) 9/11.

There are two sets people who, as Jesus would tell me, I need to forgive, if I am, myself, to be forgiven.

There are the hijackers, and those who concocted their plot. These are men who willingly killed thousands, just to express their anger, their hatred, their disdain for their enemies.  Who wanted to create a war between Islam and Christendom. Who wanted to destroy America, not through the actual attacks they made, but by causing us (like the Soviet Union in Afghanistan in the 80s) to exhaust ourselves against phantoms and will-o-the-wisps that could be, perhaps, killed individually, but never at a cost that could be sustained.

These were men (and the occasional woman) who decided (those who entered into this faithfully) that their Deity wanted them to do this, would reward them for their part, and were willing to slaughter people they were willing to see as enemies to that end.

Can I forgive them?

Then there are those in America who saw this as an opportunity. Who saw this as a fulfillment of their fears. Who saw this as an avenue to power, by manipulating the populace into fearful compromises of their freedoms.  Who turned this into a never-ending war. Who turned this into a way to strike at those they thought were our enemies (whether they were involved in 9/11 or not).  Who saw this as a way to extend their influence. Who saw this as a way to exercise power over America, even as they changed what the meaning of America was.

Can I forgive them?

No easy answers there.  I am called to forgive them all, but even with the understanding that doesn’t mean letting them just walk away to hurt others, it’s not in me to do so.

Yet.

I can oppose them, whether I forgive them or not.

But can I forgive them, and stop them having power over my feelings? Can I extend the universal mercy and patience I believe that God possesses (even beyond what normal orthodox Christianity would apply)?

Would I be content seeing Osama bin Laden or Dick Cheney (just to grab two names out of a hat) welcomed into the Kingdom of God, forgiven (and, in infinite time, repentant) of their sins?

It’s an easy thing to answer in the abstract.

It’s a tough thing to answer in the gut.

And what does that mean to me, in my mind, if I can’t?