Timothy Keller on Forgiveness

I've been reading through Timothy Keller's book The Reason for God , and this morning I came across one of the best descriptions of forgiveness that I have ever heard. I have no additional commentary as I don't think anything else needs to be said. In my opinion, this passage is perfect, which is why I wanted to share it with you.  

 

I'm not sharing this as someone who is good at this. Rather, I'm sharing it as someone who needs to learn from it. I hope you gain as much from this passage as I have. 

 

 

Most of the wrongs done to us cannot be assessed in purely economic terms. Someone may have robbed you of some happiness, reputation, opportunity, or certain aspects of your freedom. No price tag can be put on such things, yet we still have a sense of violated justice that does not go away when the other person says, “I’m really sorry.” When we are seriously wronged we have an indelible sense that the perpetrators have incurred a debt that must be dealt with. Once you have been wronged and you realize there is a just debt that can’t simply be dismissed— there are only two things to do.

The first option is to seek ways to make the perpetrators suffer for what they have done. You can withhold relationship and actively initiate or passively wish for some kind of pain in their lives commensurate to what you experienced. There are many ways to do this. You can viciously confront them, saying things that hurt. You can go around to others to tarnish their reputation. If the perpetrators suffer, you may begin to feel a certain satisfaction, feeling that they are now paying off their debt.

There are some serious problems with this option, however. You may become harder and colder, more self-pitying, and therefore more self-absorbed. If the wrongdoer was a person of wealth or authority you may instinctively dislike and resist that sort of person for the rest of your life. If it was a person of the opposite sex or another race you might become permanently cynical and prejudiced against whole classes of people. In addition, the perpetrator and his friends and family often feel they have the right to respond to your payback in kind. Cycles of reaction and retaliation can go on for years. Evil has been done to you— yes. But when you try to get payment through revenge the evil does not disappear. Instead it spreads, and it spreads most tragically of all into you and your own character.

There is another option, however. You can forgive. Forgiveness means refusing to make them pay for what they did. However, to refrain from lashing out at someone when you want to do so with all your being is agony. It is a form of suffering. You not only suffer the original loss of happiness, reputation, and opportunity, but now you forgo the consolation of inflicting the same on them. You are absorbing the debt, taking the cost of it completely on yourself instead of taking it out of the other person. It hurts terribly. Many people would say it feels like a kind of death.

Yes, but it is a death that leads to resurrection instead of the lifelong living death of bitterness and cynicism. As a pastor I have counseled many people about forgiveness, and I have found that if they do this— if they simply refuse to take vengeance on the wrongdoer in action and even in their inner fantasies— the anger slowly begins to subside. You are not giving it any fuel and so the resentment burns lower and lower. C. S. Lewis wrote in one of his Letters to Malcolm that “last week, while at prayer, I suddenly discovered— or felt as if I did— that I had really forgiven someone I had been trying to forgive for over thirty years. Trying, and praying that I might.” 1 I remember once counseling a sixteen-year-old girl about the anger she felt toward her father. We weren’t getting anywhere until I said to her, “Your father has defeated you, as long as you hate him. You will stay trapped in your anger unless you forgive him thoroughly from the heart and begin to love him.” Something thawed in her when she realized that. She went through the suffering of costly forgiveness, which at first always feels far worse than bitterness, into eventual freedom. Forgiveness must be granted before it can be felt, but it does come eventually. It leads to a new peace, a resurrection. It is the only way to stop the spread of the evil.

When I counsel forgiveness to people who have been harmed, they often ask about the wrongdoers, “Shouldn’t they be held accountable?” I usually respond, “Yes, but only if you forgive them.” There are many good reasons that we should want to confront wrongdoers. Wrongdoers have inflicted damage and, as in the example of the gate I presented earlier, it costs something to fix the damage. We should confront wrongdoers— to wake them up to their real character, to move them to repair their relationships, or to at least constrain them and protect others from being harmed by them in the future. Notice, however, that all those reasons for confrontation are reasons of love. The best way to love them and the other potential victims around them is to confront them in the hope that they will repent, change, and make things right.

The desire for vengeance, however, is motivated not by goodwill but by ill will. You may say, “I just want to hold them accountable,” but your real motivation may be simply to see them hurt. If you are not confronting them for their sake or for society’s sake but for your own sake, just for payback, the chance of the wrongdoer ever coming to repentance is virtually nil. In such a case you, the confronter, will overreach, seeking not justice but revenge, not their change but their pain. Your demands will be excessive and your attitude abusive. He or she will rightly see the confrontation as intended simply to cause hurt. A cycle of retaliation will begin.

Only if you first seek inner forgiveness will your confrontation be temperate, wise, and gracious. Only when you have lost the need to see the other person hurt will you have any chance of actually bringing about change, reconciliation, and healing. You have to submit to the costly suffering and death of forgiveness if there is going to be any resurrection.
— Keller, Timothy. The Reason for God (pp. 185-188).

The Ballad of Lamech - Thoughts on Genesis 4:23-24

M.C. Hammer was pretty full of himself back when he was famous. Not only did he believe himself to be too legit (assuming that "legit" was something to be aspired to) to quit, he also famously believed that there was some elusive "this" that he uniquely possessed that you (the collective "you," that is) absolutely could not touch. In fact, take a look at a portion of the lyrics from M.C. Hammer's aforementioned breakout single, "U Can't Touch This"-

It feels good, when you know you're down
A super dope homeboy from the Oak town
And I'm known as such
And this is a beat, uh, you can't touch

In the song, he goes on to infer that his music is so good that it can make people sweat, presumably from dancing so much. Yes, M.C. Hammer was quite the boastful songwriter indeed.

I'm not trying to be unfair to M.C. Hammer. He's not the only musician who has made his bones by writing songs about how great he is. In fact, one of the oldest poems in the Hebrew Bible (the Old Testament) is written and performed by a guy who simply can't get over himself.

Lamech, the great-great-great grandson of Cain (the guy who killed his brother, Abel), is the first person in the Old Testament to stumble upon the idea of polygamy. The writer of the book of Genesis makes note of this, introducing us to Lamech by explaining, "Lamech married two women, one named Adah and the other Zillah" (Gen. 4:19). Like I said, this is the first time one guy allowed himself two wives, so I suppose we can assume that Lamech loved the ladies.

However, what ends up being noteworthy about Lamech is not the fact that he seems to have invented polygamy. No, what is interesting is the method by which he shows off to his little harem. After a sentence or two establishing Lamech's place in the world, the narrator turns it over to the man himself for a little bit of poetry. I'll let Lamech take it from here-

Lamech said to his wives,
“Adah and Zillah, listen to me;
wives of Lamech, hear my words.
I have killed a man for wounding me,
a young man for injuring me.
If Cain is avenged seven times,
then Lamech seventy-seven times”
 (Genesis 4:23-24)

Lamech was the original M.C. Hammer. He killed a guy for "wounding" him, and we really don't even know what that means. Did this young guy punch Lamech in the face (because somebody needed to)? Did the young guy steal something from Lamech? Did he insult Lamech in some way, perhaps by defeating him in a dance-off? Nobody knows. All we know is that some young punk "wounded" Lamech, and Lamech took the guy out. And now, he's singing a song to his women, talking about how great he is.

(Please don't misunderstand my comparison to M.C. Hammer. I am not insinuating that Hammer ever killed anyone. I am simply pointing out that he -- like Lamech -- enjoyed singing songs about his own self-described greatness.)

There are a couple of things that are noteworthy about this story. First, Lamech is a blood relative of Cain, who famously was the first murderer in Scripture. Cain's murder victim was not some nameless young man; it was his brother, Abel. After Cain kills Abel, God confronts Cain, saying to him, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground" (Genesis 4:10). In other words, "This person you have killed was just that -- a person. You not only have ended his life, but you have ended all of the lives that might have come after him ("blood cries out")." So, the Lamech narrative reminds us that things are not getting better; in fact, they are getting worse. Not only is Lamech's murder victim unnamed, Lamech is proud of what he has done. At least Cain attempts to hide the fact that he has committed murder (Genesis 4:9). Not only does Lamech not feel shame, he writes a song about it.

The second thing that is noteworthy about this story is this: Whatever the young man had done to wound Lamech, the response was disproportionate.

This is the problem with revenge; it often goes far beyond the original crime. In the book of Exodus, the people of Israel famously are told, "eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot" (Exodus 21:24). At face value, this is often take to mean, "If someone does something to you, it is your obligation to take revenge against them." At first glance, it seems a bit brutal.

However, the real meaning of "eye for eye" is not to give people a license to take revenge. In contrast, it was meant to restrict personal vengeance. Before this commandment was given, people felt justified in taking whatever revenge they wanted to take. If someone punched you in the face, you could burn his house down. If someone stole something from you, you could murder his whole family. If someone "wounded" you, you could kill that person and write a song about it. "Eye for an eye" pulls back the reigns and says, "Do not get carried away in your pursuit of justice."

Jesus takes it to the next level. When Jesus' student, Peter, asks how seriously he needs to take this whole "forgiveness" business, the exchange goes like this:

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?” 

Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times" (Matthew 18:21-22).

I realize Jesus is using Peter's words to respond, but isn't the language interesting? Remember what Lamech said about his own brand of vengeance? "If Cain is avenged seven times, then Lamech seventy-seven times." Jesus uses Lamech's exact words and reverses the outcome. In one sentence, Jesus puts the story of Lamech right in its place. Even by Old Testament standards, Lamech's act was disproportionate. For Jesus, though, Lamech's ethics were completely upside down.

So, the story of Lamech is about a guy who believes that violence not only is a solution to his problems but that violence makes him sexier to his women. Lamech believes that violence is redemptive and good.

By contrast, Jesus seems to believe that violence gets us nowhere and that forgiveness is the truest act of redemption. For Jesus, violence only destroys. And when we do commit violence -- or exist within a system of violence -- the appropriate response is not to strut and tout our violence as admirable. Rather, the violence around us should be lamented. When blood is spilled, it cries out from the ground. Every act of violence is tragic, and it should be treated as such.

Or, as French theologian and poet Francois Fenelon once said, "All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers."

When our enemies die in war, we should mourn their spilt blood.

When evil men are killed, that is not a time for rejoicing. It is a time for somber reflection and mourning over a life wasted.

When blood is spilled--even if we feel that it was "just"--it is a tragedy.

If we are to sing songs about bloodshed, may they be songs of sorrow rather than songs of celebration.

Have you ever been on the receiving end of a disproportionate response? Why do we, as a people, believe that violence can be redemptive?