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As
it is, I’ve had to scratch and bite for everything in
life. I’ve been used, abused, betrayed and taken advantage
of. None of this is my fault. These people are to blame. They’ve
never been fair– they’ve never cared for the likes
of someone like me. And so, I’m hanging here and will
die a pitiful, useless death. It’s not fair, damn it!
If you think you’re so powerful, get me out of this!”
The
other man quickly entered the conversation. He addressed his
remarks to the criminal who had just spoken. The Scripture
reports that he said, “Do you not fear God, since you are
under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been
condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds,
but this man has done nothing wrong.” But, what he was really
saying was this: “We’re standing in the short, thin
space between life and death. Between nothingness and eternity.
This is not the time for blaming or demanding. This is not the
time to proclaim lack of fairness, or to spit out anger and curses.
We are guilty. We are dying. But this One here with us, this King,
is without fault. This is the moment in which to recognize our
need of mercy.” Then humbly addressing the King of the Jews
he said,
Jesus,
remember me, when you come into your Kingdom.
Jesus, remember me, when you come into your Kingdom.
(Taize chant from The Taize Community)
Both
men were guilty. Both stood in the breach between life and death.
Both
had heard words of forgiveness that could and would
bridge the great chasm between the reality of life and the unknown
territory of death. The first criminal was obviously angry, bitter
and resentful. But the greatest tragedy was not his anger, bitterness
and resentment. The
greatest tragedy was that he had never known the freedom of forgiveness.
He had not experienced
the liberation
of letting go. He clutched and grasped at life and the pain
it had given him. And as he clutched he became enslaved, not by
the
unfairness of that life, but by his own unwillingness to forgive
others and himself. He had no hell to fear after death. He had
been in a living hell for years – choking on judgment and
gasping for the air that could give him life. If only, if only,
he would ‘let
go.’
The
other man too was guilty, but his guilt did not weigh him down.
He had
a simple and pure heart – a heart that had not
grown bitter and hard from the pain he had known in life. He held
no grudge and somehow he understood that there was more to his
future than being a victim of the ignominious suffering of crucifixion.
He could have been as angry, bitter and resentful as the other
criminal, because it is probable that his life had been just as
riddled with inequity. But
there was one thing that set him apart from the other criminal.
He did not hold himself or others in judgment.
And because of this, his soul could perceive purity and innocence.
And he saw the innocence of Jesus. And therefore, he pleaded
for mercy from that innocent King.
Jesus,
remember me, when you come into your Kingdom.
Jesus, remember me, when you come into your Kingdom.
Each
and every one of us has been a victim of the inequity of life.
We have
all suffered pain and betrayal. Perhaps we were passed
over for a job promotion, or were diagnosed with cancer. Perhaps
our marriage is not fulfilling, or we’ve lost our lover.
Perhaps our financial future is bleak, or our child has died, or
we’ve lost someone or something near and dear to us. Life
is not always kind and it is rarely fair.
It
is all too easy to call to mind how we’ve been hurt and
to feel anger at those who inflicted the hurt. It’s amazing
how quickly we can condemn ourselves and others with the thickest
and most unrelenting judgment. How often have we said the words, “I
may forgive, but I can’t forget.” I tell you
this – and
I want you to get this – those
very words are the beginning of a nasty process that makes the
heart grow as cold
and hard as
solid stone. If you say you forgive – then forgive.
If you are willing to forgive, but are unwilling to forget, you
have not
truly forgiven. Forgiveness is ‘letting
go’ - fully
letting go - completely letting go - totally letting
go. Holding nothing back. Just letting go.
“But,
I don’t want to forget,” you say. There
are two reasons why we don’t want to forget. First, we feel
deep down that if we remember what has been done to us we will
ensure that those who hurt us will know how deeply we’ve
been hurt. And somehow, this will be a way of ‘making them
pay’ for what they did. Second, we believe that if we remember
what has been done to us we will be putting a wall of protection
around ourselves that will insulate us from further hurt. Both
of these reasons are illusions. No payment for pain will be made
by our constantly remembering the misdeed in our mind and heart.
And remembering does not build a wall of protection. Remembering
only causes us to add a thick, crusty layer over a heart that could
know the freedom of flight if only it could fully forgive.
Take
for example, the experience of the early desert fathers. A brother
in Scetis
had committed a fault. A council was called
to which Abba Moses was invited, but he refused to go to it. Then
the priest sent someone to him saying, “Come, for everyone
is waiting for you.” So he got up and went. He took a leaking
jug and filled it with water and carried it with him. The others
came out to meet him and said, “What is this, Father?” the
old man said to them, “My sins run out behind me, and I do
not see them, and today I am coming to judge the errors of another?” When
they heard that, they said no more to the brother who had sinned.
Instead they forgave him.
What
do you suppose would happen if we boldly let go of all that others
have
done and all that life has done to us–and, all
that we have done to others and ourselves? We might shed all the
layers of anger, bitterness and resentment that cover and cloud
the beauty of our own soul. We might find that there is more to
life than the pain that we have inflicted on others or that has
been inflicted on us. We might see goodness growing and evil being
driven away. Most importantly, we might see our heart becoming
pure. And, Jesus said that when our heart becomes pure, we shall
see God. Imagine it. We might see God. With our own eyes, we might
see God. And in the space of a moment we would quietly sing,
Jesus,
remember me, when you come into your kingdom.
Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.
Copyright ©2004
Renée Miller
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