Silence filled the courtroom as the mighty judge processed to the front, his footsteps weighted by the influence which wooed an opinionated crowd to respectfully stand. Shaking at the thought of his deserved sentence, the poor offender stood with elbows tucked close to his body, wincing as the jarring sound of the gavel commenced what would become the most memorable trial in the history of the court.
I sometimes find myself wronged by others, placed in a position of seemingly undeserved pain because of the thoughtless actions of other people. This seems quite unfair. What did I do to deserve such heartache? Nothing, if you ask me. It must be my job to bring justice; I must be the judge. From my ledge of hurt, I can identify many weaknesses in the offender, concluding that he must deserve punishment for the way that he has treated me. Yet Jesus calls His followers to a radical lifestyle: release the offender, bless those who persecute you, and forgive as you want to be forgiven. His logic competes with my desire for cause and effect, unraveling my methods of measuring the offender's worthiness to be forgiven.
Jesus understands that the basis of forgiveness is not worthiness. In reality, how can a human even measure worthiness, or "deservance", as I like to call it? "Deservance" is completely subjective and abstract, differing according to the various criteria that each individual values. Unfortunately, what often happens in our quest to determine if someone is "worthy" of our forgiveness is that we measure how much they offended us or hurt our feelings. Surely hurt and degree of sin are correlated; the more hurt I feel, the worse the sin.
The problem is that we, as humans, rely on the very human characteristic of pain (i.e.- emotion) to judge what is ultimately an eternal issue (purity vs. sin). We are not equipped to make such decisions because we see every situation through a very biased lens that orients our opinions and perspectives around the nucleus of ourselves. It is impossible as human-beings to remove ourselves completely from the situations we are analyzing. Thus, there is no guarantee that our conclusions in measuring worthiness are, in fact, unbiased; it's possible that our offense stems from an unrelated insecurity that has been unexpectedly triggered.
Another issue in measuring others' worthiness is the issue of time: the human perspective is inherently restrained from understanding anything except the present and a portion of the past. When we attempt to assess the offender's merit, we can only speak about how we feel right now, relying on the past only as much as the past involved us. Thus, our assessment is very self-centered, neglecting to consider the offender's past or his own human experience. Additionally, we, as humans, lack the foresight to understand how situations will resolve in the future. We cannot see how barriers may, in fact, bring growth, or how an unexpected piece of information may reveal that the offender is not, in fact, the offender. The issues of time and emotion intersect since we ultimately utilize our perceptions of the present to manipulate our agenda for the trial.
On the other hand, God, our Holy Judge, is eternal. He does not operate within the structure of time, which means that He views every situation with the understanding of the offender's full history, as well as his motivations in sin. God knows the hurt of the sinner and understands what chains burden him and lead him to hurt others. Because God does not operate from an emotional position of offense, He sees the offender not according to his sin, but according to his inherent worth as Christ's creation-- God Himself chose to bring the offender into existence, knowing full well how he would hurt those around him.
Thus, to God the slanderer is known not as "gossip", but as "Child". The adulteress isn't known as "unfaithful", but as "My Beloved". How often do we believe that God calls us beloved, but that He calls the offender by the name of his offense?
I've found that even when I say that I believe God calls me "Lioness", I don't actually see myself that way. When I look into the mirror, I often first see "unfaithful", "bitter", and "self-focused". I had a dear friend on a trip to Asia that would often confess her sin to me, ending her statement with "But that's not who I am in Christ". That statement made such a deep impact on me. Even after all of the ways that I have hurt others and, more importantly, my Savior, He does not see me as an infidel. Rather, He sees me as His sweet bride, restored to holiness by the blood of a spotless Lamb that was shed on a cross.
I often wonder why God won't make me understand Jesus's message of radical grace. It really makes no sense from a human perspective: Why would you forgive someone who hurt you? But this struggle between what I expect God to say and what God actually says is perhaps the most beautiful aspect of our faith, for the story doesn't end like we think it does. In our storybook, the wretched offender, with his tucked-in elbows and his shameful tremble, is sentenced to a lifetime in prison. However, when the sinner cries on the prison floor in God's story, something completely unexpected occurs:
The door starts to rattle, shaking with the sound of the very footsteps that were heard processing into the courtroom. A great expectancy fills the room as the Most High Judge enters the prison, not to condemn the oppressed, but to free every sinner. Jesus Himself comes one-by-one to each prisoner, lifting every shamed-filled eye to meet His gaze of love.
"You are mine," He whispers. "I have placed my seal on your heart and have prepared a new life for you. Come away with me."
Dreamy... It sounds like a storybook ending, doesn't it? Thankfully, this is not a fairytale! Rather, this is the very message of Jesus Christ, our last saving grace; once more, this freedom is not the end of the story. The reason Jesus comes to free us from the prison is because He wants us as near to Himself as possible. Forgiveness is just the introduction to a very thick storybook. This Easter, let's arise from the prison. Instead of tying to drag those who hurt us down into this dingy place, why don't we step into freedom together? Mother and daughter, brother and sister, friend to friend. There is a blank page awaiting us.
I sometimes find myself wronged by others, placed in a position of seemingly undeserved pain because of the thoughtless actions of other people. This seems quite unfair. What did I do to deserve such heartache? Nothing, if you ask me. It must be my job to bring justice; I must be the judge. From my ledge of hurt, I can identify many weaknesses in the offender, concluding that he must deserve punishment for the way that he has treated me. Yet Jesus calls His followers to a radical lifestyle: release the offender, bless those who persecute you, and forgive as you want to be forgiven. His logic competes with my desire for cause and effect, unraveling my methods of measuring the offender's worthiness to be forgiven.
Jesus understands that the basis of forgiveness is not worthiness. In reality, how can a human even measure worthiness, or "deservance", as I like to call it? "Deservance" is completely subjective and abstract, differing according to the various criteria that each individual values. Unfortunately, what often happens in our quest to determine if someone is "worthy" of our forgiveness is that we measure how much they offended us or hurt our feelings. Surely hurt and degree of sin are correlated; the more hurt I feel, the worse the sin.
The problem is that we, as humans, rely on the very human characteristic of pain (i.e.- emotion) to judge what is ultimately an eternal issue (purity vs. sin). We are not equipped to make such decisions because we see every situation through a very biased lens that orients our opinions and perspectives around the nucleus of ourselves. It is impossible as human-beings to remove ourselves completely from the situations we are analyzing. Thus, there is no guarantee that our conclusions in measuring worthiness are, in fact, unbiased; it's possible that our offense stems from an unrelated insecurity that has been unexpectedly triggered.
Another issue in measuring others' worthiness is the issue of time: the human perspective is inherently restrained from understanding anything except the present and a portion of the past. When we attempt to assess the offender's merit, we can only speak about how we feel right now, relying on the past only as much as the past involved us. Thus, our assessment is very self-centered, neglecting to consider the offender's past or his own human experience. Additionally, we, as humans, lack the foresight to understand how situations will resolve in the future. We cannot see how barriers may, in fact, bring growth, or how an unexpected piece of information may reveal that the offender is not, in fact, the offender. The issues of time and emotion intersect since we ultimately utilize our perceptions of the present to manipulate our agenda for the trial.
On the other hand, God, our Holy Judge, is eternal. He does not operate within the structure of time, which means that He views every situation with the understanding of the offender's full history, as well as his motivations in sin. God knows the hurt of the sinner and understands what chains burden him and lead him to hurt others. Because God does not operate from an emotional position of offense, He sees the offender not according to his sin, but according to his inherent worth as Christ's creation-- God Himself chose to bring the offender into existence, knowing full well how he would hurt those around him.
Thus, to God the slanderer is known not as "gossip", but as "Child". The adulteress isn't known as "unfaithful", but as "My Beloved". How often do we believe that God calls us beloved, but that He calls the offender by the name of his offense?
I've found that even when I say that I believe God calls me "Lioness", I don't actually see myself that way. When I look into the mirror, I often first see "unfaithful", "bitter", and "self-focused". I had a dear friend on a trip to Asia that would often confess her sin to me, ending her statement with "But that's not who I am in Christ". That statement made such a deep impact on me. Even after all of the ways that I have hurt others and, more importantly, my Savior, He does not see me as an infidel. Rather, He sees me as His sweet bride, restored to holiness by the blood of a spotless Lamb that was shed on a cross.
I often wonder why God won't make me understand Jesus's message of radical grace. It really makes no sense from a human perspective: Why would you forgive someone who hurt you? But this struggle between what I expect God to say and what God actually says is perhaps the most beautiful aspect of our faith, for the story doesn't end like we think it does. In our storybook, the wretched offender, with his tucked-in elbows and his shameful tremble, is sentenced to a lifetime in prison. However, when the sinner cries on the prison floor in God's story, something completely unexpected occurs:
The door starts to rattle, shaking with the sound of the very footsteps that were heard processing into the courtroom. A great expectancy fills the room as the Most High Judge enters the prison, not to condemn the oppressed, but to free every sinner. Jesus Himself comes one-by-one to each prisoner, lifting every shamed-filled eye to meet His gaze of love.
"You are mine," He whispers. "I have placed my seal on your heart and have prepared a new life for you. Come away with me."
Dreamy... It sounds like a storybook ending, doesn't it? Thankfully, this is not a fairytale! Rather, this is the very message of Jesus Christ, our last saving grace; once more, this freedom is not the end of the story. The reason Jesus comes to free us from the prison is because He wants us as near to Himself as possible. Forgiveness is just the introduction to a very thick storybook. This Easter, let's arise from the prison. Instead of tying to drag those who hurt us down into this dingy place, why don't we step into freedom together? Mother and daughter, brother and sister, friend to friend. There is a blank page awaiting us.
Beautifully written, dear Amy, and you speak the truth. Even now more than ever we must rely on our ability to empathise, rather than sympathise, and understand the power of forgiveness in bringing us the little reconciliation and peace we can get in this world.
ReplyDeleteI look forward to having many more conversations like this with you soon,
best,
Alice