I HAD JUST RECEIVED a scathing letter from a couple unhappy about a situation in the youth department. Their response was carnal; they certainly didn’t understand the whole situation. I hadn’t yet been able to meet with them.
When I stepped up to preach that Sunday morning, I felt ungracious and carried a grudge. During my introduction, I made some ad-lib quips that gave everyone a chuckle—everyone except the couple who had sent the letter. While the congregation held their sides in laughter, this couple sat stoically, second row, center section, arms folded, eyes staring through me.
By the time I finished the sermon (with no more humor), I felt physically sick and spiritually wasted. My unforgiveness was quickly growing into bitterness and resentment—the twin temptations of church conflict. Most pastors have preached that temptation isn’t sin but that giving in to the temptation is. Yet, at least for me, it’s a temptation hard to resist. The issue of forgiveness is a character issue, and my tendency not to forgive when I’ve been wronged has forced me to think clearly about the steps I need to take to restore my relationship with God and the offender.
Recognize my weak spots
Most people tend to be sensitive where they’ve been battered numerous times. The criticism leveled at me by the family angry about the youth ministry event was only one in a series of skirmishes with them. Their attitude, devoid of grace, was the final straw for me. I felt they had no interest in giving anyone the benefit of the doubt.
Perhaps because some of my worst conflicts in ministry have involved people who I felt lacked grace and understanding, I tend to react with anger in such situations. I’m quickly set off by people who excel in fault-finding.
As I’ve learned to recognize my weak spots, I’ve found I am better able to control my responses. My challenge is to receive from the Holy Spirit grace and forgiveness for these saints rather than fight back in anger, unforgiveness, and bitterness.
Resist my first impulse
When I read of a person who conceals a gun in his coat pocket to get even with a boss who treated him wrongly, or someone who bombs a building full of innocent citizens, I often think, How could someone do such a thing? Normal people just don’t react like that.
But I’ve had all kinds of evil thoughts about settling the score with people who I felt had wronged me. Perhaps that’s the next move toward forgiveness—recognizing that, if given the right circumstances, I could exact a vicious retribution. In fact, if I don’t forgive someone, I can begin to fantasize about ways to get even.
After a devastating disagreement with a church family who had opposed me on nearly every issue and subject, I thought, If God isn’t going to bring swift judgment, I could offer some assistance.
I thought about alerting the IRS to their tax improprieties I happened to know about. Or I could become a nocturnal nuisance by driving by their house with my radio blaring, horn honking, and high-beams shining in their windows.
When I shared these dastardly secret thoughts with a friend, he looked at me in astonishment. “Could you really do those things to them?”
I said, “Sure, just like anyone could who yields to the temptation to get revenge instead of tackling the challenge of forgiveness.”
I am reminded of the observation James Broderick made of Pope Paul IV: “He never forgot such offenses, which was one of his fundamental weaknesses. He might bury the hatchet for a time, but he gave the impression of always carefully marking the spot.”
I avoid that only by curtailing any fantasies of revenge.
Admit my guilt
In Deuteronomy 32:35, God instructed the people through Moses: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.”
My obsessing about revenge is an attempt to participate in God’s judgment. That only aggravates the conflict, exacerbates the memory of it, and causes more pain. It’s like having one of the guilty parties in a contractual dispute participate in the trial and sentencing of the other party. Justice cannot be served by one guilty party judging the other.
The fact that I am also often guilty, that I haven’t been perfectly righteous in my actions, can be hard to accept. In many instances, there are two guilty parties in conflict. Therefore, I cannot have any part in repaying the wrong. I wonder how many reconciliation opportunities have broken down because both parties came together prepared to forgive but were unprepared to be forgiven. John Oglethorpe, a friend of John Wesley, allegedly told Wesley, “I never forgive.”
Mr. Wesley wisely replied, “Then, sir, I hope that you never sin.”
Avoid pulpit revenge
I have found that delaying forgiveness can lead me to abuse the public ministry of preaching. I once used a critical letter I received to illustrate how wrong it is to criticize someone when you don’t know all the facts. During the sermon I read a portion of the letter, which made accusations and drew conclusions based on misinformation. Then I set the record straight for the congregation by describing the facts of the situation. Of course, the facts demonstrated how my critics had jumped to the wrong conclusion and had been at fault in their criticism.
The congregation seemed to sympathize with me and saw my accuser as a careless and negative antagonist. I had illustrated a biblical point and silenced my opponent at the same time.
The next week I received a second letter from this man stating that he and his family were leaving the church and asking me not to call or contact them. While I had carefully protected their identity in the sermon illustration, they knew to whom I was referring. I had left them no way out but to leave.
No matter how wronged I may have felt, and no matter how strong the temptation, the public forum was and is not the place to confront a critic. It gives me a lopsided advantage that too often results in a biased presentation of my side of the story without an opportunity for a fair rebuttal.
I’ve discovered the best way to defend against this temptation is to offer forgiveness privately.
Forgive one at a time
I wish I could say I’ve found the formula for forgiveness that works the first time, every time. I haven’t. Forgiveness isn’t something I can do once, then it’s all over. The length of the forgiveness process is usually proportionate to the severity of the pain. Forgiveness is more like writing a book than writing a letter. When I write a letter, I put my thoughts on paper, sign it, seal the envelope, and send it. Writing a book involves what seems an endless cycle of writing and rewriting.
I can usually handle minor conflicts quickly, in the spirit of 1 Peter 4:8: “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” But when the offense is severe, the process of forgiveness can be equally severe. Following the most difficult experience I’ve had in ministry—being terminated—I learned more about the process of forgiveness than I wanted to know. The entire process took close to two years. It seemed like my forgiveness was complete within a few months after I left that ministry. I brought the incident to the Lord in prayer and told him I wanted to forgive those whom I felt were responsible. I even listed them by name. Forgiveness seemed to release me.
But a couple of weeks later, I ran into one of the opposition leaders at a local restaurant. After my friend and I finished our breakfast, we stopped by this person’s table for a brief but cordial chat. As we left the restaurant, my friend remarked, “Boy, you sure seemed at ease talking with Steve. I guess you’ve been able to put all of that stuff from the church behind you.”
I mumbled, “Yeah, that’s old business now; it’s time to move ahead.” But for the rest of the day, every time I had an idle minute, Steve’s name, face, and actions came rushing to the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t get rid of my thoughts. That old resentment seemed as real and powerful as ever—a shocking blow to my spiritual equilibrium.
I thought I had forgiven those in that debacle. Why was I reacting like this?
“Lord, isn’t it enough to put that whole mess in a package, tie it up tightly, and then write ‘forgiven’ across it?”
Evidently not. I still had to forgive each of the eight individuals in the conflict. While thinking I could forgive in one composite act, I discovered I would have to forgive one by one.
The process lasted many more months. Each time I fantasized about one person, I identified clearly what I was feeling toward the specific person God brought to mind. Sometimes that took a few days to think through thoroughly. But finally I was able to write down my feelings as well as identify the reasons behind them. I discovered that the simple act of praying for someone, even when it felt hollow and rehearsed, had a way of opening my heart toward that person.
God was creative in showing me the next person I needed to forgive. I was in the supermarket looking for toothpaste and shaving cream, when out of the corner of my eye I saw another couple who had contributed to my termination. My reaction was to hide among the vegetable displays. Too late. I heard that familiar drawl, “Well, hi there, Gary.” After several short sentences, we parted.
I knew immediately the next person whom I needed to forgive.
Speak about the person to others
One technique that helped me forgive was to speak about the person who had wronged me in conversations with others.
I remember talking about one antagonist to a friend who knew him; that way, I put myself in a position that forced me to speak kindly of him. But I discovered that whether or not the person I conversed with knew the person I needed to forgive was irrelevant. By speaking positively about someone, I felt pushed toward reconciliation; the positive words forming on my lips began to work on the feelings in my heart. The ease of those words also became a gauge of my forgiveness—the easier they flowed, the further along I discovered I was in the forgiveness process.
Take them to the Lord in prayer
A final step that helped me to forgive was to gather my thoughts and feelings and take them to the Lord. Sometimes I would write them on paper and read them to God in prayer. Other times I recited them to God directly from my thoughts. Reciting negative thoughts and feelings to the Lord allowed me to ask God to forgive me for my sin. I was then able, with his help, to move forward to offer forgiveness to others.
This protracted experience of forgiveness taught me how much God’s forgiveness of me enables my forgiveness of others.
There’s a story about a traveler making his way with a guide through the jungles of Burma. They came to a wide but shallow river and waded through it to the other side. When the traveler came out of the river, numerous leeches had attached to his torso and legs. His first instinct was to grab them and pull them off.
This guide stopped him, warning that pulling the leeches off would only leave tiny pieces of them under the skin. Eventually, infection would set in.
The best way to rid the body of the leeches, the guide advised, was to bathe in a warm balsam bath for several minutes. This would soak the leeches, and soon they would release their hold on the man’s body.
When I’ve been significantly injured by another person, I cannot simply yank the injury from my soul and expect that all bitterness, malice, and emotion will be gone. Resentment still hides under the surface. The only way to become truly free of the offense and to forgive others is to bathe in the soothing bath of God’s forgiveness of me. When I finally fathom the extent of God’s love in Jesus Christ, forgiveness of others is a natural outflow.
Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston
