Then Peter came to Jesus and said, “Lord, how many times may my brother sin against me and I forgive him, up to seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I tell you, not seven times but seventy times seven! (Matthew 18)
With the tenth anniversary of 9/11 almost upon memories from that day and other terrorist attacks such as the the 7/7/2005 London bombings, and the Bali bombings of2002 and 2005. These memories then mingle with images of casualties of war and famine, people who have faced natural and human-made disasters, and slowly but surely a question rises to our lips...
Why?
Why we want to know, we demand to know, why do these things happen? Even in our soberest moments when we know deep down that the scores of people who have died are not the pure innocents we often declare them to be, we still want to know why they died in such a violent way- and rightly so!
If we then allow the question to percolate a while in our hearts and minds we might begin to ask why the perpetrators have acted in the way that they have, and ultimatelywhy God allowed such things to happen.
If we are then brave enough to hold our questions rather than to close them down we may begin to discover in our own lives smaller echoes of the injustices that we are protesting so loudly against...
Then we begin to hear other voices, voices from the disasters; some speak vengeance, others speak grief, some disbelief, and a few tug at and challenge our hearts by whispering possibilities of forgiveness, and even acting out forgiveness in concrete ways.
Anne Gallagher is a nurse who works in Northern Ireland; Anne founded Seeds of Hope, an organisation that facilitates story telling, based on The Troubles, through music, art, drama, writing and sport. This has lead to similar work being carried out in prisons, schools and communities in Sweden, Belgium and the USA. She says:
Forgiveness isn’t something that’s talked about with reconciliation, but it’s needed to bring closure to the pain and suffering experienced in Northern Ireland. You can’t contemplate hope unless you address despair. To heal the wounds of Northern Ireland I believe you have to see humanity in the face of the enemy. But forgiveness is a journey. Today you can forgive and tomorrow you can feel pain all over again. I’m not a religious person, but for me forgiveness is about grace. To be able to forgive someone who has hurt you is a moment of grace. My mother is my driving force. She has such a respect for every single soul – even for the policemen and soldiers who raided our house and caused her so much pain.
She goes on to tell how the simple act of hearing another's story, seeing a fellow human being in anothers face makes forgiveness and healing easier, but forgiveness is a choice, and it is not easy.
Following the July bombings in 2005 Rev Julie Nicholson courageously made this statement as reported here by the Independent:
"It's very difficult to stand behind an altar and lead people in words of peace and reconciliation and forgiveness when I feel very far from that myself." So said the Rev Julie Nicholson, announcing her intention to resign her role as vicar of St Aidan's church in Bristol. What has estranged her from one of the most fundamental tenets of her Christian faith is the killing of her daughter, Jenny. The 24-year-old, a gifted musician, died in one of the four terrorist bomb explosions in London on 7 July last year."
I applaud Julie's honesty and openess regarding her struggle, she voiced what many dare not voice, and that is not words of vengeance, but the depths to which you must reach in order to truly find forgiveness within yourself. She had not lost faith, nor dod she say she would never forgive, simply that right now it was a struggle for her, and that for integrities sake should could not and would not lead people in words of peace and reconciliation when she was struggling with it so deeply herself.
The same article points to what it describes as one of Northern Ireland's most celebrated acts of forgiveness:
"... that of Gordon Wilson, who was standing at the war memorial inEnniskillen for the annual Remembrance Day service in 1987 when an IRA bomb exploded. Eleven people were killed, including Mr Wilson's daughter, Marie. The world was touched when, in a voice cracking with grief, he told of how he clutched her hand as they lay beneath the rubble and then said: "I have lost my daughter and we shall miss her, but I bear no ill will. I bear no grudge. Dirty sort of talk is not going to bring her back to life. She was a great wee lassie. She loved her profession. She was a pet. She's dead."
Forgiveness did not diminish his grief, it magnified it. The moment became a turning point in Ulster's history, as the Sinn Féin president, Gerry Adams, was forced to declare that another such atrocity would utterly undermine the Republican cause."
Another article reminds us that although forgiveness is wonderful and liberating and redemptive, it has almost become the standard these days. We used to hear about the power of forgiveness from the pulpit; now we get it as another word for moving on, the constant refrain of daytime talk shows and self-help books.
That Julie Nicholson struggled with it so much is hugely encouraging to me, that she continues to do so even more so. Last year she published a book; A Song for Jenny. Catherine Deveny writing for the Scotsman interviewed her:
"Nicholson had said that the world couldn't function without forgiveness. Relationships couldn't function. Communities. But the word was used to cover everything from playground squabbles to genocide. "There are so many layers of meaning." Perhaps the important meaning is simply the absence of hatred. That is Nicholson's great achievement. Maybe asking more is inappropriate. "I really think," she says, "that it is not a mother's place to forgive the killer of her child."
This simple statement challenges me, and through it I grasp a deeper truth, that only God can do that, and I have to ask a question: if I place myself into God's hands then can he forgive through us when we cannot. Is surrender enough.
I ask because these layers of forgiveness effect all of us, and all of us in different ways, and it is something that we both stand in need of and need to practice. Often not only is the other involved in the picture but as we delve deeper we find that we need to practice forgiveness towards ourselves and also towards God, and we need God to help us to forgive...
And God knows this! The passage I quoted at the beginning is illustrated by a parable in which the extravagant forgiveness of God is shown in the king who forgives his servant a huge debt. The servant however does not understand or receive the depth of the forgiveness he is offered and is therefore unable to forgive others. Although this is not explicit in the text I believe it runs beneath it and through it. We are able to forgive seventy times seven- in other words our forgiveness should have no limits just as God does not limit his forgiveness and love towards us...
Yes it is difficult, and it will probably mean taking a long look in the mirror and beginning with ourselves, and even with God. Yes even with God, bringing out all of our unspoken whys and daring to be honest about the raw places they expose within our souls. When I was speaking to a Women's Fellowship group this afternoon I told them about my well worn Bible, not so much because it is well read but because it has been hurled across a car park. I threw it (not something I am proud of) when I reached the end of my tether while Chris was in intensive care, yet more bad news brought a pile of frustrations and questions tumbling out of me. The throw was my shout... WHY is this happening. Learning to forgive God for what I (you can argue the rights and wrongs of that if you like) the circumstances that surrounded me enabled me to forgive myself, and dare I suggest that forgiving ourselves often leads on to forgiving others because we have taken down the barricades that surround our hearts...
Forgiveness is not easy, nor is it cheap, but it is essential, for us to receive it and to offer it in return...
