March 25, 2014
Dear St. Paul’s Family,
What are the three hardest words to say?
Last Friday, the British news agency The Guardian published a guest column by Archbishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa, in which he addressed that very question. He began by sharing vivid childhood memories of his father’s physical abuse of his mother: “I can still recall the smell of alcohol, see the fear in my mother's eyes and feel the hopeless despair that comes when we see people we love hurting each other in incomprehensible ways. I would not wish that experience on anyone, especially not a child.” [1]
As a result, Tutu has spent his life learning how to forgive his now-deceased father of those atrocities, and bluntly acknowledges the difficulty in doing so. “When I recall this story, I realize how difficult the process of forgiving truly is. Intellectually, I know my father caused pain because he himself was in pain. Spiritually, I know my faith tells me my father deserves to be forgiven as God forgives us all. But it is still difficult. The traumas we have witnessed or experienced live on in our memories. Even years later they can cause us fresh pain each time we recall them.”
In our series on the life of Joseph, we turn this Sunday to the most remarkable aspect of his story: Joseph’s choice to forgive his brothers for their betrayal. Now roughly the age of 30, Joseph had spent many years trying to move past that childhood trauma. But the sting of those memories likely lingered just beneath the surface of his every day life, despite his newly found prestige as second in command in Egypt. Seeing his brothers enter the royal palace that day had to be the equivalent of tearing a bandage off an old wound, and we would not only expect him, but allow him, to exact retribution on his brothers.
Why in the world would he even think about forgiving them?
Desmond Tutu provided an answer straight out of his own story: Why would I do such a thing? I know it is the only way to heal the pain in my boyhood heart. Forgiveness is not dependent on the actions of others. Yes, it is certainly easier to offer forgiveness when the perpetrator expresses remorse and offers some sort of reparation or restitution. Then, you can feel as if you have been paid back in some way. You can say: "I am willing to forgive you for stealing my pen, and after you give me my pen back, I shall forgive you." This is the most familiar pattern of forgiveness. We don't forgive to help the other person. We don't forgive for others. We forgive for ourselves. Forgiveness, in other words, is the best form of self-interest.
I love that last line. Forgiveness is not mamby-pamby acquiescence. It is not the wimpy way out. It certainly does not advise that the victim continue to suffer abuse. Instead, it is a bold proclamation to the perpetrator that their attempts of dehumanization have failed, and it is a refusal to participate in the self-perpetuating cycle of revenge that destroys relationships and human worth. Forgiveness declares an end to mutual destruction, and begins a path toward healing. In short, “forgiveness is the best form of self-interest.”
My pastoral care professor in seminary once told me that the old adage “forgive and forget” is a misnomer. Try as we might, we won’t ever forget the harms done to us, simply because we can’t. Our brains work too well at storing and retrieving memories that we will never be able to reformat our minds and pretend the past never happened. Instead, my professor once suggested that we forgive and “decentralize.” In other words, forgiveness means that we work on our own healing so that the painful memories that once centrally defined our lives become pushed to the fringe. They will always be in your memory, but they need not exert the same level of influence on you. And as those memories become more decentralized to your existence, you can find a way through the pain and live a restored life.
Maybe that’s what happened to Joseph in the nearly twenty years since he was thrown in that pit by his brothers. Maybe he learned to forgive his brothers, not by pretending it never happened or allowing himself to be victimized, but by replacing the vividness of that pain with a new source of strength: his own conviction that he was a beloved, protected, and nurtured child of God. That alone could explain how he could stand before his brothers and say, remarkably, “You intended to cause me harm, but God used it for good.”
So, those three words that are the most difficult to say, according to Tutu? They are words that seek and offer forgiveness:
There are times when all of us have been thoughtless, selfish or cruel. But no act is unforgivable; no person is beyond redemption. Yet, it is not easy to admit one's wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness. "I am sorry" are perhaps the three hardest words to say. We can come up with all manner of justifications to excuse what we have done. When we are willing to let down our defenses and look honestly at our actions, we find there is a great freedom in asking for forgiveness and great strength in admitting the wrong. It is how we free ourselves from our past errors. It is how we are able to move forward into our future, unfettered by the mistakes we have made.
If you ever need a vivid example of what forgiveness looks like, then Lent points us to the cross. There you’ll find the greatest model for forgiveness humanity has ever received. And thank God for it. Because it is in God’s forgiveness of us that we discover true freedom, and true healing.
Grace and Peace,
Magrey
The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA 51012
Ph: 712-225-3955
Email: mdevega@sp-umc.org
NEW CARILLON DEDICATED THIS SUNDAY
We are pleased to unveil the newly installed carillon at the church this Sunday, which replaces the one damaged by our recent fire. Join us this Sunday as we dedicate it and hear it played in the sanctuary.
