There is malice. There is stupidity. Don't mix them up.
When David writes, "They repay me evil for good, and hatred for my friendship." (Ps. 109:5), it sounds familiar. Stories told and words misquoted. Merit ignored or squashed. Helpfulness spat upon. Plans ridiculed. We all maintain a catalog of offenses against us, indexed by time, person and subject matter. The worst ones are those calculated deliberately to hurt.
Once a restaurant featured their special of the day on a large sign outside-a mouthwatering entree at an attractive price. How sad was the face of the waiter who came to tell me that there was a mistake and the special was not available
Likewise, how humbling to find that among my cataloged entries of offenses, there was no malice at all, merely ignorance? I had been holding on to my anger, nursing it along, the pages of that catalog entry dog-eared from my repeated recollections. Only to find that there was no ill-will, just ill-conceived, or ignorant or, at worst, thoughtless. How much time and energy was wasted.
Worse, I know that I have often been misunderstood because I am dumb or tactless or blind. I also know how difficult it has been to convince the other person (or people) of my sheer stupidity. I get it. It is energizing about holding on to that anger and that sense that they were wrong and I was right. Giving that up leaves my pain, in some sense, unaccounted for.
But because I am so prone to it myself, I came up with this phrase to reinforce a best practice in my life: Apologize often; forgive freely.
I recognize that I make mistakes--foolish, unintentional, hurtful mistakes-all the time. Or I suspect that I do, but am not sure. So I'd better just apologize often and up front to defuse hurt feelings. Preemptive apologizing.
I also realize that others do the same to me. Rather than speculate on their motives. Rather than presume malice. So I will forgive freely. In Jesus' bookkeeping terms:
The word "afraid" struck me. Yes, I had become afraid. Unwilling. Stubborn. Needing to go back to Jesus and tell him I'd been hoarding his forgiveness and not extending it to others. Afraid to give up feeling wronged, so that I could feel I was right.
The word "profess" challenged me to say the words. "It is forgiven." Not just rid from my heart, but making it all the way to my lips. "It is finished."
How about you? Are you tightfisted with your apologies or your forgiveness? Me, too. But let us apologize often today, and forgive freely today. As Jesus prayed:
[1] Alexander McCall Smith, Precious and Grace
I also realize that others do the same to me. Rather than speculate on their motives. Rather than presume malice. So I will forgive freely. In Jesus' bookkeeping terms:
I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times. - Matthew 18:22However, this week, I realized that my habit was fraying. Situations were left with forgiveness unspoken and apologies unoffered. I didn't realize it until I was reading a bishop's sermon in the detective novel, Precious and Grace, where he says: "My brothers and sisters: do not be afraid to profess forgiveness."[1]
The word "afraid" struck me. Yes, I had become afraid. Unwilling. Stubborn. Needing to go back to Jesus and tell him I'd been hoarding his forgiveness and not extending it to others. Afraid to give up feeling wronged, so that I could feel I was right.
The word "profess" challenged me to say the words. "It is forgiven." Not just rid from my heart, but making it all the way to my lips. "It is finished."
How about you? Are you tightfisted with your apologies or your forgiveness? Me, too. But let us apologize often today, and forgive freely today. As Jesus prayed:
Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. - Luke 11:4
[1] Alexander McCall Smith, Precious and Grace
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