Monday, July 25, 2011

Forgiveness

And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.
                                                                                                      Matthew 6:12 

Sometimes you hear a thread of a family story that is so contrary to your version of the story that it makes you reexamine and ponder what you know and what you do not know to be true.

That is what happened to me last Friday. My thoughts and heart have been knotted ever since as I sort through the tangled, loose, or just plain snarled threads of a family story that has had far-reaching consequences even to this day.

A long time ago, decades ago when I was a small child, my grandfather committed a great wrong against me, not just once, but numerous times over several years.

When he died in the spring of my fourth grade year, I was relieved. No more hiding, no more dodging, no more trying to be invisible.

My grandfather's death had an immediately freeing effect on me, but what I did not know in my ten year old naivety was that the emotional consequences of what had happened would imprint me forever. In part, it made me who and what I am today. Some of that has been to my benefit: what happened infused me with determination and resilience to survive what otherwise would have destroyed me. Some of that was to my detriment and it took a long time with a wonderful  therapist to help reshape core coping mechanisms that had served the child well, but were disastrous for the adult.

But this post is not about what happened. This post is about the new line of the story that I heard for the first time last Friday and am weaving into the story I already know.

On Friday, I accompanied my aunt Ginger to the hospital while she underwent a medical procedure. While we waited in the prep area, she on the bed, I on the hard chair, we talked to pass the time and Ginger started sharing family stories.

I learned things about Grandma Skatzes (her mother) that I had not heard before: how she went to work in the kitchens of the women's dorm in this small town when my grandfather was ill and unable to work, how much she loved that job and how she hated to give it up when he was better and insisted she quit. I heard how during the Depression she was the one who went to the Relief Office to get food for the family, as my grandfather was too proud to ask for help despite the hunger at home.

And then Ginger told me a story I had not heard before, about my grandfather's final days. My grandfather had a heart attack and was hospitalized. Within a week or two, he would have a massive one that would kill him. That part of the story I knew. But what I didn't know is that for several days prior to his death, at my grandfather's request, a minister came daily to the hospital and met with him for lengthy talks.

Ginger, who knows my story, stopped in her narrative and said, "I wonder if he was feeling…guilty over…you know…and wanted to…well, maybe atone for what he did…well…you know…."

We changed the topic and the day went on. But I carried that new piece of information home with me and have turned it over innumerable times since then.

My grandfather met with a minister several times in the days leading up to his death.

I struggle with the notion of my grandfather seeking forgiveness in his dying days, if that is what he indeed did. I struggle with the image of my grandfather, facing death, finding solace with a minister.

I struggle big time with all this. Never mind that faith is meant to be a strength and comfort to people. Never mind that it is not my right to dictate how, when, or even whether a person repents of his wrongs. I struggle with the notion of my grandfather having that comfort at all. 

It is hard to forgive.

One of the many, many reasons I veered away from church as a young adult was my childhood church's interpretation of the duty and obligation of Christians to "forgive those who trespass against us." That message was hardened into a kind of co-dependency diatribe by our elderly minister and at least one Sunday School teacher whose class I attended for one or two miserable years. If we were incapable of forgiving someone who had wronged us, then we were at fault, we were to blame, and we were the ones in dire need of forgiveness. Never mind what the wrong was. The burden was all on me, the victim, to rise magnanimously above the wrong and forgive the wrongdoer. Anything less than that and I was probably heading to hell in a personalized hand basket.  

There was no discussion of the human and humane side of forgiveness: that forgiving lifts a burden from the victim's heart, that forgiveness allows the one who has been wronged to move on and put the wrong aside. If someone, anyone, had suggested that side to forgiveness, instead of threatening me with damnation if I could not grant absolute and total forgiveness, I might have listened.

But, as taught, this was a version of forgiveness that I could not swallow. It was not one I could find in the Bible. It was certainly not one I could live with as a tenet of faith. It left me outside in the cold, victimized in spirit, knowing in my heart there was no place for me inside that church. It is no coincidence that the religion that drew me in was Judaism, which places the emphasis on atonement by the person who has done the wrong, including, where possible, to the victim.

It is no wonder that I have been journeying spiritually for so long.

It was my wonderful therapist who finally explained forgiveness to me in a way I could understand and accept. He asked me how I felt about forgiveness, which caused me to nearly leap out of my seat. I explained the whole painful religious experience that left me feeling more victimized than before. He was quiet while I calmed down, and then he suggested equating forgiveness with forgiving a past due bill in a business. You stop sending the bill. You write it off. It doesn't undo what happened, it doesn't explain or excuse the act, but it allows you to put it away.

You just let it go.

I could accept that. I could mentally run the bill and stick it away in a folder marked "closed accounts." And that is what I did, until Ginger's story last Friday. 

Now the bill is in my hand again.

In writing this post, I read various translations of the Lord's Prayer, particularly the verse having to do with forgiving "those who trespass against us." I did not find any version of the prayer, including the King James version, that used the "trespass" language. I did find multiple versions that spoke of forgiving debts and forgiving debtors, in line with what my therapist discussed.

I can approach forgiveness on those terms. It's a debt. Not all debts are honored. Not all debts are paid.

Not all debts are collectible.

Did my grandfather seek forgiveness in his final days? I don't know. I'll never know. Am I better able to forgive his wrongs, knowing he might have been remorseful, that he might have repented? I don't know. I do know this: what happened is a long, overdue bill and there is no need for me to continue to send it. It will never be paid, but I can let it go.

The account is closed.

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10 comments:

Terri said...

Little bits of information like this often throw me into a tizzy too--not so much over the forgiveness issue, but as a fiction writer.

As I read this post, I found myself thinking about my father's last night. He was in his study and we had a baby monitor on in case any of us needed to come to his aid. For many hours, he conversed with some unseen person. Some of the subject matter was info I would have protected my mother from hearing and yet I had been aware of it previously. It confirmed my belief that we shall one day have to make an explanation of ourselves.

I have struggled with some versions of Christianity and am not currently a member of any church, though I continue to practice my faith in a way that it is true to me. I like this concept of forgiveness as a debt. There are things I've forgiven, but cannot forget.

Deidra said...

I remember - years ago - hearing someone say, "Forgive and forget," and thinking to myself, "Just like that?" It seemed bigger than that to me. Then, when I'd been married for seven years, I had to "come clean" with my husband and tell him the truth about myself. I knew it could be the end of our marriage. He had every right to walk out and no one would have questioned his decision. But what he did in those dark hours and in that dark place was put my bill in an envelope and mark it paid. He's never brought it out and waved it in my face, as he has every right to do. I don't know how he did it - does it. I don't know if I could have done it. But he would tell you it is supernatural, and it has nothing to do with forgetting.

I love the way you share your journey...

Jen said...

What a powerful story you have told. I cannot quite find the words in which to articulate how much the grace and honesty has touched me here.

Would you be willing to share this with Soli Deo Gloria?
http://findingheaventoday.blogspot.com/2011/07/so-full-soli-deo-gloria.html

Sharon said...

April,
My daughters are struggling with somewhat of the same thing..forgiving their father for deserting them and allowing his wife to emotionally abuse them for years.
We are of Catholic faith, and sometimes in the homilies they say to honor your mother and father no matter what...it drives them crazy.
Forgiveness is hard, and what you have experienced I would think is the unforgiveable. But I do believe that it is the victim who needs to forgive to free them of further pain. How hard that is. I can't even imagine.

Keep the faith, my dear friend. I do hope this account is definitely closed for you.

GLENDA CHILDERS said...

"The account is closed." WOW. Blessing on you sweet sister. As my daughters would say, "strong work."

I am sorry for the pain you experienced in your childhood.

Fondly,
Glenda

Kristin Bridgman said...

All I can say is Wow! You wrote this well! And I love the line, "the account is closed".
God bless you!

see you there! said...

You are a strong woman. I do hope putting "done" to this has helped you.

I did get one small smile out of the post. My GGM lived with us until I was in my mid teens and one of her favorite sayings was "he/she is going to hell in an handbasket". You reminded me of her in that small sentence.

Darla

Michelle DeRusha@Graceful said...

Oh wow, April -- thank you for trusting us with your story.It must be incredibly hard to write about this, but I hope you know that your words make a difference -- and perhaps will help someone else in a similar circumstance as well.

As for forgivenes...well, that's a whole lot to swallow. I personally believe you can forgive without having to forget. While I have been on the receiving end of that kind of forgetting forgiveness, and that grace just blows me away, at the same time I don't think Jesus necessarily requires that we forget. After all, these stories -- and the healing they inspire in ourselves and in others -- have power. These stories offer comfort and hope -- and that wouldn't be possible in simply forgetting and burying the past deep.

Jenny Woolf said...

I too believe in the ultimate healingness of forgiveness (from the victim's point of view), but I think it can be unsettling when something new comes along to disturb the hard won equilibrium. Your post is thought provoking.

Out My window said...

I am so sorry that you had to endure this as a child and that you also carried this pain into adulthood. i am glad you are letting go. Forgiveness is as much for you as it is for the person you are forgiving. Thank you for sharing. I am struggling to forgive but i think it will be a while.