the fight to forgive

Sometimes forgiveness can be a real fight. It is especially hard when the person who has wounded me either doesn’t recognize what they have done, or sees no need to seek forgiveness for it. But, even when the offender does ask for forgiveness, at times I find that it is not easy to genuinely grant it. Why is this? If a person has wronged me and then they look to make it right, why wouldn’t I simply be glad for the opportunity to forgive and move on?

One reason is that, deep down inside, as much as I may want to be restored to right relationship with the person who has hurt me, I also want justice. If I am honest, I must admit that part of the struggle to forgive is that it seems to circumvent the process of payback. You hurt me, and therefore, I want to hurt you back. I want you to feel the pain that I have felt. I want you to recognize how wrong you were in doing what you did or in saying what you said. I want the freedom to use words as my weapons of punishment, with the hope that the verbal lashing I give you will somehow satisfy my craving for justice.

It is amazing how many times I have found myself sliding into “payback”mode even after I have already said to a person, “I forgive you.” Sometimes within the same sentence I can do so. “I forgive you, even if I still have no idea how a nice person like you could have ever said something like that.” Such a sentence would suggest that I have lost the fight to forgive. I may have spoken the words, but I have come nowhere near embracing an attitude of forgiveness. I still want the debt to be repaid.

The rub with forgiveness is that, in order to truly forgive, I have to be willing to absorb in myself the pain of the offense. I must be willing to drop whatever right I feel that I have to repayment or revenge. I must accept the fact that I will never make this person understand what they really did to me, how deeply they hurt me, or how much they disappointed me. When portrayed in this way, forgiveness seems completely illogical; it seems to border on masochism. Why must I suffer while the “criminal” goes free? What pleasure is there for me in that? What benefit is there for me in that?

If it weren’t for the cross of Christ, I would be left with no basis for believing that there was any benefit or pleasure at all to be derived from forgiveness. But Jesus’ death teaches me something extraordinary. Hebrews 12 says that it was “for the joy set before him” that Jesus endured the cross. The cross is the ultimate example of someone absorbing within himself the crimes of another. The debt we owe the Lord could never be repaid, and he knew it. So, he extended forgiveness by way of the cross. This would seem like utter folly if the Bible didn’t clearly make an essential point: that it was this very act of absorbing the offense of his enemy that resulted in his victory, his glory, and his joy. And, I must add, it resulted in my (the offender's) deliverance and spiritual freedom.

Now, as a follower of Christ and child of God, I am invited to follow him as he leads me into victory, glory and joy. As it turns out, one of the great potential barriers to me in walking this path is the barrier of unforgiveness. I am occasionally faced with a difficult question: will I absorb the sin of another against me, fighting (if necessary) to arrive at a place of genuine forgiveness that seeks no repayment for the wrong committed? Or, will I reject the model of Christ, looking instead to the model of the world which suggests that I am better off getting my revenge (whether subtle or overt) whenever and however I can?

As hard as it may be for me to put into practice at times like now when I am faced with my own unwillingness to forgive someone who has wronged me, I am convinced that Jesus is right. I am convinced that his way is the best. I am convinced that my victory, glory and joy are rooted not in exacting repayment for debts, but in forgiving them. I am convinced that my decision to forgive has the potential to bring deliverance and spiritual freedom to my offender.

Lord, give me grace that I might fight the fight of forgiveness. Help me to put into action that which I have become convinced of in my heart. When the moment of decision comes, when I finally stand face to face with the one who hurt me, and the wrong is addressed (if ever that moment does come), empower me to extend grace and forgiveness and nothing more. And help me to do this regardless of how satisfied or unsatisfied I am with the offender’s words and attitude toward me. May my choice to forgive open the door for their delivrance and spiritual freedom. I pray this in the name of my Forgiver, Amen.

pigs and pearls

Pigs are creatures that eat trash and wallow in mud.

Pearls are precious treasures waiting to be discovered by those who search eagerly for them.

When Jesus instructs me in Matthew 7 not to “give dogs what is holy” and not to “throw pearls before pigs,” what is he talking about?

Let me give a little context for this question. Since I have arrived in France, I have had numerous opportunities to engage with people in discussions about spiritual matters. In a few cases, I have made direct reference to Christ and to our need for the grace of God that comes through Him. In many cases, I never even got that far. In no case yet have I actually talked through the profound significance of the cross of Christ, or the eternal implications of His death and resurrection for sinners like you and me.

At times I feel guilty about this. Am I ashamed of the cross? Am I afraid to present the gospel in its entirety? Am I worried about what people will think of me?

Today I was walking and praying to the Lord, and I asked Him about this. “Lord, I have asked you to give me boldness to proclaim the gospel, and to give me the words to say each time I interact with someone who does not yet know you. Why don’t I ever get to the cross? What’s going on?”

I kept walking and I waited for a response to this question. Very soon after I posed the question, this image of pigs and pearls came to mind. What use does a pig have for a pearl? He can’t eat it; and if he does, it will probably make him sick to his stomach.

Then a contrasting image came to mind. I pictured a sheep wandering around in a desolate valley, with nothing to eat. I imagined someone approaching the sheep, pointing to a rocky path leading up the side of a mountain, his lips whispering some message of hope. Soon, the person turned and began walking; and the sheep followed behind. I knew where they were going. They were going to find the green pasture.

No pig in his right mind will follow a stranger up a rocky mountainside in order to find some grass to eat. But a hungry sheep will. The sheep may not be too bright. But one thing the sheep does well is to follow the one who knows where to find the good grass.

It is interesting that this instruction about pigs and pearls comes on the heels of an exhortation to avoid judgment. Jesus rebukes the person who would look to pull the speck out of his brother’s eye before dealing with the log in his own. Sometimes, I think evangelism can go this way. I approach someone with the certainty that I have the message that they need to hear. Unfortunately, I may not recognize that I’ve got logs in my eyes that keep me from seeing this person clearly. The log of my own limited experience. The log of my own narrow worldview. The log of words and images that may mean one thing to me and something entirely different to them. And with these logs in my eyes, I can’t possibly help this person with their speck, whatever that may be.

And this is a major problem: I don’t know what the speck is. I don’t know why they don’t believe in the Lord. I don’t know what experiences they have had with faith and religion. I know little or nothing about their journey, their loves and passions, their successes and victories, their wounds, their failures, their dashed hopes and dreams. To give them my explanation of the gospel in such a state of blindness would be like throwing pearls to pigs.

But Jesus is in the business of transforming spiritual pigs, who eat trash and wallow in mud, into spiritual sheep who hungrily search for green pastures and still waters. How He does this is a mystery to me. It is a work that the greatest evangelists, most eloquent preachers, and wisest theologians on the planet are incapable of accomplishing.

So what does that mean for my day to day interactions with men and women who don’t know the Lord? It means that I take time to hear before I speak. It means that I ask the Spirit of God for discernment regarding a person’s readiness for the pearls of the gospel, the profound truths of the cross and the death and resurrection of Christ. It means that I guard those pearls until the Lord begins His transforming work of grace in their heart.

It means dropping tempting nuggets of truth into the pens of apparent spiritual pigs. It means testing the waters by making mention of the green pastures that are found in Christ, talking openly about the evidences of His grace and the effects of His power, looking for a sheepish spark of hunger in the eyes.

It means that much of the work of evangelism includes searching for lost sheep (men and women whose hearts have been quickened and made hungry by the grace of God), placing myself in contexts where I might encounter them, and readying myself to lead them to green pastures.

Does this mean that I never talk about the cross or the essential message of the gospel? Not at all. But it does mean that sometimes, when filled with the Spirit and with boldness to proclaim the good news, I may find myself unable to express that which I most want to say. For some reason, the Lord may not let me go there. And so I keep looking for opportunities, as I wait and I pray with expectation for that moment when pearls may be placed in the palm of a companion who has finally started searching for them.

this evil day

Several weeks before the New Year, I started asking the Lord for a passage of Scripture to pray over myself in the coming year. In 2007, the verse was James 1: 19, “Know this my brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.” And over the course of the year, I saw the Lord targeting issues of anger in my life, as well as shedding light on my tendency to talk too much and to listen too little.

So once again, I asked the Lord to give me a glimpse of the refining work He wanted to do in me so that I could pray along with Him. Almost immediately a passage came to mind, and it stayed on my mind right up through the New Year. It is Ephesians 5:15-16, “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” The key phrase that rings in my head almost daily is, “making the best use of the time . . . making the best use of the time.”

One thing that strikes me about this text is that it does not say, “making the best use of MY time.” I have been sobered over the past few weeks at how selfishly I handle THE time that has been given to me, as if it was MY time. The Lord has been gently reminding me that THE time belongs to Him; and that has implications for the way I go about the day, and the week, and the year.

I’m reminded of a passage earlier in Ephesians that says, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” If I view THE time through the lens of lowliness, I realize that even before I was born, my Lord knew what He wanted to accomplish in and through me today. The day is not a blank slate waiting to be written on. The question is never, “What should I do today?” Rather, the day is a beautiful piece of poetry already composed for me by the Lover of my soul. The question is always, “What joyous work are you doing today, my Lord, that you invite me to join you in?”

As compelling as that image may be, I see two hindrances when it comes to putting it into practice. One is that I’m not sure I’m convinced that the Lord has specific works that He invites me to join Him in today. The second is that, even if He did, I’m not sure that He will show me what they are.

In light of this, I often find it easier to throw myself into the day, engaging in all kinds of activities in the hope that something will bear some fruit; that something will benefit the kingdom of God. But I’m caught up short when I read verse 17 of Ephesians 5, which says, “Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.”

Ah. What a fool I can be, running around like a bunch of squirrels in December (see previous blog entry if that image makes no sense to you). Again, what a fool I can be! Thinking that I am making the best use of the time, I actually waste all kinds of time and energy giving myself to activities and endeavors that may have no connection whatsoever to the will of God for me today. “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise . . . understand what the Lord’s will is.” But how do I do that?!?!

James chapter 1 is written to people who find themselves lost in the midst of trials. Chances are good that they have no idea what to do or where to turn. Why is this happening? Where is God in this? James encourages them to ask the Lord for wisdom: “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given to him.”

Although I am not fully convinced of it yet, I am starting to believe that the Lord invites me daily to come to Him for wisdom in making the best use of the time. I’m starting to believe that it is impossible for me to make the best use of the time unless I wait daily on the Lord for wisdom.

And, I’m starting to believe that it is a sign of true humility for me, not to simply dive into my day with no idea of where I’m going or what I’m doing; but rather, to quietly come before my Lord and ask Him to shine His light into the darkness of this evil day. Without the light of His wisdom guiding my steps, I will most certainly be swallowed by the evil day rather than walk victoriously through it.

the oak and the squirrel

This morning I was thinking about a big oak tree that grew in the back yard of our old house in Michigan City, Indiana. Every Fall, this tree showered our yard, our neighbor’s yard, and the alley next to our house with acorns. A sizeable community of squirrels were the beneficiaries of this abundant harvest each year.

Today, I imagined that oak tree when she was just a young sapling. Not too many branches; not too many leaves; no acorns. I could hear the squirrels badgering her as they raced to and fro around her undeveloped trunk, preparing frantically for the long winter: “Don’t just stand there . . . do something! Winter is coming. You’re going to starve. You’ll never get anywhere like that. What are you waiting for?”

And then my mind shifts to another scene from the book of 2 Chronicles. A large army is bearing down on the small nation of Judah. King Jehoshaphat knows that the situation is hopeless. He calls the people of Judah together to seek the Lord, praying this prayer: “We are powerless against this great horde that is coming against us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.” Then, the text says that all of Judah just stood there before the Lord with their little ones, their wives, and their children. They just stood there. I can hear the grumbling from the “squirrels” in the ranks: “Don’t just stand there . . . do something! The enemy is coming. We’re going to die. We’ll never win like this. What are we waiting for?”

But as they just stand there, waiting, the Lord sends His word through a prophet: “Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed at this great horde, for the battle is not yours but God’s. You will not need to fight in this battle. Stand firm, hold your position, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf.”

This statement is a bright yellow flashing arrow pointing me toward the gospel. It is, I think, the most essential message of the Bible: the battle belongs to the Lord. And yet, for some reason, it is the most difficult concept for me to truly grasp and apply.

Most of the time I find myself running around like a squirrel, looking for an acorn, carrying it to some hidden spot, stashing it there, and then racing off to start all over again. Motion . . . constant motion and activity. And all this while the oak just stands there . . . and grows bigger and stronger. Each year she spreads her branches wider, casting her harvest of acorns across an ever expanding territory. Who does the squirrel nourish? Himself and maybe his offspring. Who does the oak nourish? Countless numbers of creatures big and small; by just standing there.

As I enter 2008, I am praying Psalm 1 for myself: that, delighting in God’s word (His inspired, life-giving word that is revealed and applied in me by His indwelling Holy Spirit), I would be like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season.

Deliver me from the “squirrel-race,” gracious Father. Teach me that my work is to wait upon you, like an oak planted by a stream. Give me patience to stand firm and hold my position on the ground where you have planted me. Strengthen me to resist those voices that would rebuke me, mock me, ridicule me, threaten me, insult me into thinking that the battle is really mine; that it is up to me to produce the fruit; that it is up to me to change my own or someone else’s circumstances; that it is up to me to generate the plan; that it is up to me to supply the results. Convince me, merciful Father, that the battle is Yours. Teach me to let you fight for me. Teach me to wait for the fruit that you will surely bring forth in its season. Amen.