Everyday Forgiveness
In these strange days of seclusion, with many businesses shut down and extra time suddenly on our hands, a friend of ours has been texting and talking to Phil about the only crisis that matters to him right now— his failing marriage.
His crisis has been happening much longer than the coronavirus. Before any of us added social distancing to our lexicon, the distance between husband and wife has gone from a few inches, to miles and miles of separation.
There’s been no abuse, no unfaithfulness or involvement with pornography or addiction. No money troubles, nor outside influences. And yet I see Satan’s wiles all over this tragic story. Our enemy has, after all, strategies that work. He’s taught his minions how and who to target at just the right time to get what they want: misery.
This morning, as I held this struggling couple before the only One who can heal the rift, I stumbled upon a story Jesus told. It’s not about marriage. Not even about how to be happy. Really, the story is about our greatest, most effective, mightiest and most underused weapon: forgiveness.
You can read the story for yourself in Matthew, chapter 18v23-35.
““The lessons of forgiveness in heaven’s kingdom realm can be illustrated like this: There once was a king who had servants who had borrowed money from the royal treasury. He decided to settle accounts with each of them. As he began the process, it came to his attention that one of his servants owed him one billion dollars. So he summoned the servant before him and said to him, ‘Pay me what you owe me.’ When his servant was unable to repay his debt, the king ordered that he be sold as a slave along with his wife and children and every possession they owned as payment toward his debt. The servant threw himself facedown at his master’s feet and begged for mercy. ‘Please be patient with me. Just give me more time and I will repay you all that I owe.’ Upon hearing his pleas, the king had compassion on his servant, and released him, and forgave his entire debt.
No sooner had the servant left when he met one of his fellow servants, who owed him twenty thousand dollars. He seized him by the throat and began to choke him, saying, ‘You’d better pay me right now everything you owe me!’ His fellow servant threw himself facedown at his feet and begged, ‘Please be patient with me. If you’ll just give me time, I will repay you all that is owed.’ But the one who had his debt forgiven stubbornly refused to forgive what was owed him. He had his fellow servant thrown into prison and demanded he remain there until he repaid the debt in full.
When his associates saw what was going on, they were outraged and went to the king and told him the whole story. The king said to him, ‘You scoundrel! Is this the way you respond to my mercy? Because you begged me, I forgave you the massive debt that you owed me. Why didn’t you show the same mercy to your fellow servant that I showed to you?’ In a fury of anger, the king turned him over to the prison guards to be tortured until all his debt was repaid. In this same way, my heavenly Father will deal with any of you if you do not release forgiveness from your heart toward your fellow believer.”
Let me tell you what caught my heart early this morning.
I’ve read this story many times. I’ve taught several hundred women from this text at a retreat. I’ve written about it, studied it, looked up words in the original. I believe the truths in this text. But something new sprang up off the page right into my soul today. Something so convicting and yet incredibly compelling, even… comforting.
We’re at the point in the story when the King, who’d forgiven the billion-dollar debt his servant owed him, confronts the servant for being unwilling to forgive the “fellow servant” who owed him a debt of far less value.
By this time in Jesus’ story, it’s clear that God is the King and I’m the billion-dollar debtor. It’s also clear that anyone and everyone who has ever hurt or offended or wronged me in any way falls into the category of “fellow servant”.
And it’s as if Jesus looks right at me when He asks:
““Is this the way you respond to my mercy?
Why didn’t you show the same mercy to your fellow servant that I showed to you?””
All of a sudden I get it— why bitterness and resentment and a refusal to forgive thoroughly and completely— destroy everything good and beautiful in our lives. I grasp how serious my stuffing of anger at the little indignities and petty injustices that make up ordinary relationships really is. Why, when I snap back at Phil and justify it with a huff of self-righteousness, I lock myself out of peace. In fact, going back to Jesus’ story, in some intangibly mystical way, I get turned over to a troop of prison guards, who lead me into torture!
Not being the torture-loving type, these words get my attention.
Two things stand out:
1. Every-day forgiveness is essential to a long-lasting, happy marriage. Essential for our love to thrive instead of stagnate. Essential for our marriages to flourish instead of flounder. There is no allowance for unforgiveness, for hidden resentment, for passive aggressive jabs.
If I want a love that lasts a lifetime I need to forgive my husband every time he offends me, every time I wish and he won’t, every time my feelings get hurt.
2. Unforgiveness pushes me out of the presence of God. When I refuse to show the same mercy to my fellow servant, that He shows me every single day, I immediately bring myself under the influence of unmerciful torturers. That nasty self-critic, the hidden shame, feelings of worthlessness, burning anger, anxiety, restlessness, dissatisfaction. Most likely, when I’m struggling to experience the presence of God, it’s because I’ve pushed Him away by disdaining mercy.
The marriage of our friend may not survive at this point. I mourn— as I sense God is mourning— for another family wrecked by the wiles of an enemy who’s been sharpening arrows of unforgiveness for too long. Ugly, soul-wounding damage will reverberate with unseen repercussions for generations.
For today, for all the every-day annoyances and petty nonsense we are tempted to bicker about, may we be givers of mercy instead of slaves to unforgiveness.
From my heart,
Di