Unforgiveable?
If we could only learn to forgive and forget--it is an old and worn-out appeal for understanding and acceptance that doubtless is running through many a mind today. I imagine it has been spoken, or wished, in places like Buffalo, Tulsa, Uvalde, Philadelphia or any of the 47 other places in America where violence has disturbed the peace and destroyed our sense of security in the past few weeks. And I expect it might be on the lips and hearts of those living under the terrors of war in Kyiv, Kharkiv, Mariupol and Kherson. Forgiving and forgetting are hopeful words and charitable sentiments to be sure. They are also as far-fetched as they are unrealistic. Forgiveness alone is a tall order. But forgetting? Let’s get real.
The former is an ideal held dear in almost every religion. Mending fences with our estranged brother, resolving differences with an antagonistic sister—who doesn’t find virtue in such conciliatory initiatives. And it has been shown to confer healing balm to both those who offer, and receive forgiveness. That is if they, or we, are in a position to forgive, and not everyone is. For the ability to forgive seems beyond the grasp of those who routinely offend, intimidate, and treat others with contempt or cruelty. They seem unable to either offer forgiveness or understand its dimensions.
No doubt many of us can be shamed into paying lip service to forgiveness when it is expedient or politic to do so. But these feigned gestures are, sooner or later, exposed in the revelation of their insincere posturing. Forgiveness rests solely in the hearts and minds of those who have, themselves, been offended, bullied, mistreated, slighted, or abused in any of the ways we humans know how to hurt and diminish one another. Forgiveness is a grace known only to those who have been wronged, for it is in their own humiliation that they grasp the power of their own innocence and goodness. Forgiveness is borne in empathy that most of us seem to possess, but only some of us seem willing or able to express.
Jesus must have had this in mind when he delivered his memorable pep talk to those denizens of the bottom rungs of social status and respect in his time. How else should we understand his intentions in telling them how blessed they were in their moments of chronic victimization? Giving center stage to the poor in spirit, those in mourning, those with an unquenchable appetite to do good; those picked on and persecuted for being good; those with pure hearts; those facilitators of peace--his beatitudes were not for the well off, the beautiful or powerful. Had Jesus been talking to them, his words would have shamed and embarrassed, so upside down was his valuation of who might possibly understand and be worthy of such blessedness.
Forgiveness is the rarest of qualities, a state of being which most of us experience far less than we advertise. What about forgetting? Now that’s another matter entirely, a virtual impossibility for those of us who live a level or two below the spheres frequented by angels. I suspect that, short of our succumbing to Alzheimer’s, or passing through the portals that lead to death, we will not forget much of anything that we find important. Now I should qualify this statement, for apparently there are at least four groups of people who know how to exercise the power of forgetfulness to great effect:
· People who weren’t paying attention in the first place, since you can’t forget what you never heard or learned: spouses, good friends and employees learn over time how a smile, blank stare and affirmative nod can disguise an otherwise deaf comprehension; and children at home or in school are masters at pretending to listen while remaining impervious to most anything said to them that sounds like advice, correction, or tonight’s homework assignment;
· Politicians, who are inclined to make pledges, promises and pronouncements when in a campaign or giving a press conference, only to later exhibit the mind-cleansing ability to advance contrary positions or feign amnesia about ever having uttered what they now have effectively forgotten;
· Loyal followers and sycophants of said politicians who typically share the remarkable ability to forget, ignore, deny and rationalize the deplorable claims and gaffs of their champions in affirming their allegiance to his or her current pose and platform;
· Those who enjoy making claims about what has or hasn’t occurred in a history they seem not to know very well, giving them the blissful assurances of those who seem to have been born yesterday.
Most of us, however, can’t forget so easily or conveniently. In fact, our inability to forget seems to increase in times of great trauma, suffering and death. That is now the burden of too many Americans who have lost family members in war. And it weighs heavily on those now bearing the unspeakable grief and anguish of the death of loved ones on our streets, in our stores, churches, synagogues, hospitals and schools. The comfort or bliss of forgetfulness will not soon visit 21 families in Texas, nor will forgiveness be easy for them to embrace once the pain and anger of tragedy’s wreckage sobers them to their new normal.
For the plain truth about the human existence we share is this:
Life is unforgiving most of the time…but God is forgiving all of the time.
For people of faith the God portion of this saying is easy to believe and accept. But the first part? Why would I dare put it that way? As much as I wish it weren’t so, life has taught me that it doesn’t look out for us, protect us, or shield us from harm. I sincerely believe this even while reading my Bible and offering my prayers to a God upon whom I lean on to care for me and those whom I love. But reality—not the version portrayed by Hollywood, or in video games or virtual reality devices—is always an impartial witness to the choices we make, whether they turn out favorably or as mistaken or foolhardy blunders.
Life is unforgiving: some may view words as a life-embittered descent into pessimism or cynicism. But I think not. I have been surprised by joy on too, too many occasions to discount all of the good that is there for any of us with eyes to see it and ears to hear it. As a result I prefer to characterize my outlook as skeptically optimistic, anticipating, longing for, hoping for good things to happen to me and to others. But I don’t take them for granted. Literary characters like Pangloss and Polyanna inspire optimism far more than they describe reality as I’ve experienced it first-hand, or understood it written in the chronicles of human history.
When it comes to what can happen in any given moment, Murphy’s Law is much more certain than wishin’ and hopin’, and singin’ and prayin’. Since my theology has no place for a gift-giving Santa Claus or puppet-manipulating Gepetto rescuing and steering us along life’s merry way, I try to read the workings of divinity in the reality of what happens to us, day in and day out. Life is often unpredictable, random, and, as it often turns out, painful and unfair. As Jesus once commented, “God makes his rain fall on the just and the unjust.” The divine permissiveness over nature is witnessed each day in floods, tornadoes, droughts, dust bowls and wild fires. Life is unforgiving most of the time. It is a truth that makes every one of us anxious when we go to see our doctor. It stalks every parent who tries to encase his or her child in the protective wrap of safety seats and helmets, or paces the floor when their adolescents venture out into the world of cars, sex, drugs and weapons. Guardian angels notwithstanding, we live each of our moments, walk each of our miles, and make each of our decisions as free beings, and in that freedom we can and often do fail, err in judgment, and suffer the consequences.
Where, then, does that leave us? Some of us are capable of forgiveness, and it is upon those folks that our best hopes may rest for a world in which compassion and redemption may be possible. But few of us, outside of the world of some politicians and short-sighted historians, can forget. Therein may fall some seeds of optimism for our future, that our collective memory of mistakes and missteps in the past and present will guard us against their repetition. Beyond that we must be patient in letting time, and its slow salving of memory’s deepest scars, give us the wisdom, and grace to both forget…and forgive.
