On Forgiveness and Atonement

You can find a very good series of posts on the Resurrection over at Heart, Mind, Soul and Strength. Anne is a careful thinker and a devoted follower of Christ, and I believe her posts deserve wide readership, which is why I have linked to her blog on my sidebar; and you'll notice this is a rare exception to my rule about non-Orthodox links!

One post, though, startles me; it's this one, on atonement and forgiveness. It's in response to a critique of Christianity; and its premise is that atonement involves our guilt being vicariously punished in Christ. That's not terribly surprising, given that the author is Lutheran. But I'd still like to take a look at the reasoning offered for such an assertion, and to suggest that the attack upon Christianity could be better rebutted.

Anne writes:

When we look at our own guilt for various things we have done, we know that our simple regret – as genuine and miserable as it may be – neither works to destroy the evil that is in us nor satisfies those we have wronged.

True, regret is ineffectual. Repentance, on the other hand, making a U-turn toward God, does work to destroy the evil in us.  (And it isn't miserable!  It's bittersweet.) 

As for satisfying those who were wronged, God does ultimately satisfy them, just not by punishing us. (Chastisement for our correction, yes; punishment in the sense of retribution, no.)  Punishing does nothing to restore to those who were wronged anything that had been unjustly taken from them. It merely gratifies their lust for revenge, which is hardly a Christian attitude. God, though, ultimately does restore to everyone whatever is good for him, and many times over.

While on the surface the idea seems attractive that God might forgive us without any punishment, if that had been the case then we would have concluded that wrongdoing was not really that serious.

If God only “forgave” with punishment, then there would actually be no forgiveness. It would mean He collects the full price, which is the exact opposite of forgiving the debt. It would mean He merely lets us off the hook.  This is not the same as forgiving and because of the terrible terms, is no longer beautiful, either, as forgiveness is so very beautiful.

As for our regarding sin as not really that serious, there’s no way!  Regardless of which atonement theory we espouse, we cannot look at Christ on the Cross and imagine this is insignificant, or is a way of dealing with some trivial matter.

And we would have concluded that wrongdoing was not very serious based on what (in that case) would have been fact – that God simply shrugged and forgave.

????

It certainly would not have been fact. God never simply shrugged when He forgave. His forgiveness took the form of dying to destroy death! And all that’s just the icing on the cake, the cake being the whole long saga of salvation history beginning in Genesis.

And the story doesn’t end with His forgiveness, either. Instead of just shrugging as if nothing had happened, God makes like the father of the Prodigal. He robes us with new clothing, puts a ring on our finger, arranges a feast. That is, He restores us, transfigures us, deifies us.

That said, it isn’t as though the forgiveness itself were at all difficult for God. He didn’t have to wrestle with Himself over it or struggle inwardly or anything. The forgiveness itself was the very, very easy part; putting it into concrete effect was the amazing feat.

But if God was willing to redeem anyone, no matter how serious the offense, then how would could we keep any idea of justice, that [some]thing had genuinely been wrong?

Well, we couldn’t; and that's a wonderful thing. We could not, I mean, retain any idea of that kind of “justice.” We would have to change our too-human idea of what justice is. We would have to learn that Divine Justice is orders of magnitude greater.  (And we would still clearly - perhaps more clearly - understand how wrong were our deeds.)

If God chose to merely overlook a sin, no matter how serious, then what about the harm that had been done and the vileness of some of the actions that were forgiven?

The supposition here seems to be that to forgive outright, without punishment, is merely to overlook. Not so. Far from overlooking sin, God spends all of human history working to defeat it, that epic war reaching its climax upon the Cross and its promised consummation at the end of time.

As for the harm done, punishment-based “justice” does nothing whatsoever to undo the harm. You can put to death the murderer, but that will not bring my loved one back to life or back to me. You can put the child molester to death, but the child can never be un-raped.  The aggrieved will still grieve.

Divine Justice, on the other hand, actually rights wrongs, undoes the harm, wipes away every tear, corrects and heals everything, making it all as God originally intended it to be. That’s what justice really means: to put things right.  That's the just thing to do.  (And as our mothers did tell us, didn't they, two wrongs don't make a right.)

As for the vileness of the wrongdoing, that very vileness displays the love of God all the more greatly when the sinner is transfigured in Christ into a tear-drenched saint, spending his time loving and praying and doing as much good as he can – when Saul of Tarsus becomes St. Paul, for example.

So we begin to look at justice rather than merely overlooking the wrong. What is the worst punishment that justice can ask?

Rather, what is the best outcome justice can seek? Correction of the wrong, healing of the harm, transformation of the sinner, hatred overcome by Love, fear vanquished by faith, despair by hope, darkness by Light, death swallowed up in immortality, disobedience replaced by loving obedience...

Jesus’ punishment – the extreme punishment of death, reserved for the worst of crimes – is sufficient to satisfy justice for the most serious of offenses.

In fact, even fallen human justice is not at all satisfied by an innocent man dying while the guilty go free. (How would a victim’s family feel, or the community feel, if a serial killer were let off the hook and some innocent volunteer were executed instead? Some justice!  No, we all know this will not do; that's why even devout believers in penal atonement do not seek to imitate the Lord by going before a judge and asking to be allowed to take the sentence in lieu of the convicted person.  They all know this will never satisfy justice.)  Nor is justice satisfied when a debt is owed by paying the creditor with money taken from his own account. Or by God the Father requiring to be repaid but God the Son not requiring it. Doesn’t justice require the Son to collect the debt we owe Him, as much as it had required the same of the Father?

In this way our atonement has left no doubt that the wrongs being atoned are not a slight matter but are in fact dreadful.

This is evident in any case when we behold the Cross and see what the Savior had to endure in the course of conquering death and defeating satan.

In this way our fear is quieted as to whether our particular sin is beyond the price that was paid.

Our fear is more than quieted when we truly repent (which, let's bear in mind, doesn't mean simply to regret, or even to ask God's forgiveness, but to change course). Then and only then our fear is quenched, expunged, wiped out, by peace, by the instant, tender communion with the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, the Spirit of Truth.  As we repent, and to the same extent we repent, we become aware of God's fathomless, unconditional, infinite, astonishing forgiveness, compassion and kindness, Who, like the householder in Matthew 20, does not give to each of us what we deserve, but finds it perfectly just to be better to the laborers than He was required to be; Who, like the king in the parable of the Unjust Servant, simply cancels our debt; Who instead of prosecuting, blotted out the indictment against us and "took it out of the way, nailing it to His cross."  (Colossians 2:14)

How to Begin Forgiving

I once asked somebody who had been very grievously wronged how she had managed to forgive the wrongdoer. Her reply, which startled me at the time, was, "I'm not sure I fully have."

I have since learned what that means, and have found the remark very comforting. The point was and is to be always trying, always willing, always struggling to forgive.

Fr. Stephen today blesses us with practical guidance in the matter of forgiveness, in his powerful post, "Forgiveness, the Hardest Love of All". Fr. Stephen helps us begin.

Pollyanna Doesn't Get It

That high-pitched "kew, kew, kew!" I hear outside is a cry I always momentarily mistake for a gull. We do have gulls here; they come up from the coast via the James River. But the reaction of the other animals always reminds me, after a second or two, it's no gull screaming; it's a hawk. My outside squirrels have dived into their nest bag, and even the flying squirrels, in the sun room, are restless in their nest, making scrunching noises as if burrowing deeper down for safety. The smaller birds are hiding in the bushes. The crows are gathered together in two big trees, screaming back at the hawk, who, however, is not intimidated. I've decided not to watch how it ends, and instead to share something I've just learned about forgiveness.

Forgiveness entails putting away resentment. Carry resentment around with you and it will poison you -- and drive away the Holy Spirit as quickly as anything else. (Okay, so technically, He never departs from us, but we exclude Him from our awareness, cut our relationship with Him.) Fr. Stephen has two excellent articles on anger that are relevant here; one is called, "Understanding Anger," refuting the concept of "righteous indignation," and the other is a link to Met. Jonah's wonderful, wonderful sermon on resentment. I hope you'll take the time to read them both. That would be time very well spent.

But what about the opposite problem? It's one I never thought of before. What I mean is, there are some hurts we sustain, about which we can never say, and should not say, it doesn't matter. Some things do matter, and will continue to matter. To take a public example, the attacks on September 11, 2001 do still matter and always shall and always ought to. It would be very wrong, downright immoral, ever to say they didn't. Or, to take an all-too-common hypothetical example, a spouse's infidelity. Even if he or she repents and the married couple is reconciled, it will always matter.

So, since we are commanded to forgive, since resentment swiftly kills us, yet since there are some things about which we never can and never should say, "It's okay," what is supposed to be the condition of our hearts relative to these? A sweet, sunny insouciance seems just wrong. And it is. And the heart knows it. So what should be our attitude?

"Sorrow," said one wiser than I, "especially on account of the condition of the other person's soul. Not that we can know that, but we worry some when we see such indicators."

"So why haven't I felt any sorrow lately?"

"Because you haven't been willing to."

"That's true. I'm so tired of hurting so much..."

"But you have to."

"Why?"

"Because burying it isn't normal and right and isn't safe. But carry this cross together with Christ; that's the key."

So it is. Because all of us know, or most of us anyway, that when we do that, the sorrow is transfigured. It becomes another form of communion with Him, and so becomes a light and even sweet burden. Carry your cross together with Christ, and you will never grow tired of it.


* * *

I don't hear any more birds now. I don't know who won.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: No, I have never been the victim of marital infidelity. It's just an example.

Another Mistake About Forgiveness

Once when several of us in my family were touring an art gallery, peering through one artist's studio window at some of the most grotesque "art" we had ever seen, my brother-in-law remarked, "There's someone whose mind I don't think I'd care to get to know very well at all." I've always remembered that. There are some people it is best to avoid. (See Proverbs 24:1, Romans 16:17, 1 Corinthians 5:11, I Corinthians 15;33, 2 Timothy 3:5) Jesus loved Pilate as much as ever He loved St. John, but the relationship was very different.

Forgiveness does not always mean seeking to restore a relationship to what it was before. You have to love as much as you did before. No, you have to love much, much better than you did before. But that does not necessarily mean being as close as you were before. Sometimes that not only cannot be done, but should not. There are times when it is far healthier for all concerned to love from some greater or lesser distance.

Anger Kills

You have heard that it was said to those of old, 'You shall not murder, and whoever murders will be in danger of the judgment.' But I say to you that whoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment. And whoever says to his brother, 'Raca!' shall be in danger of the council. But whoever says, 'You fool!' shall be in danger of hell fire. (Matthew 5:21-22)

Once, there was a man I just couldn’t stand. Couldn’t avoid him, either, as he was the pastor of the Episcopal parish I attended. I think I was quite angry at him, although I cannot now remember why. I always did, however, take care to be cordial to him, never to speak behind his back, never to betray any of my bitter feelings.

In due course, we somehow managed to become good friends, enough so that one day I confessed to him my former feelings.

“You almost killed me!” was his response.

I was floored. “WHAT?” I thought I had never let on a single thing.

“Oh, yes, you almost killed me!”

Anger directed at persons and murder really are the same thing, even if they do have two ways of existing, inner and outer.

And the saddest thing is that the person anger kills the most quickly, most surely, is the holder of it, not the one at whom he aims his wrath. The true target, the devil’s target, is the angry one.

It is essential and urgent for our own survival as authentic human beings to wage all-out war against our angers and resentments. It is all-important to stop nursing them, to stop even thinking about them, to starve them of attention, to cry out to God to heal us of this lethal condition. Yes, lethal. Jesus’ own teaching.

Anger or resentment excludes us from blessedness; in heaven, there is no room for any hint of either.

More on "Forgiveness"

I'm beginning to think the word, "forgiveness" ought almost to be jettisoned in Western Culture, as carrying too much false and misleading baggage.

There are some things about which you just never can, or ever should, say, "It's okay," or "That's alright," or "It doesn't matter." Every sin, great or small, matters and continues to matter until God shall heal it on the Last Day. The Elder Joseph used to say forgiveness is instant, but the canon (penance) is for life. "My sin is before me always," as King David wrote. You get over the guilt in a moment, but the harm lingers on a very long time, and the sorrow all our lives. Thinking otherwise is part of what makes forgiving others so next-to-impossible for us. We think forgiveness means we are supposed to forget all these abiding realities, overlook what neither can nor should be overlooked.

Instead of "forgiving" others, we in the West probably ought to speak instead of the need to continue loving others no matter what, unconditionally. For Christians, there's never any excuse for unkindness.

On Forgiveness (Note to Self)

Albert Einstein, upon hearing that one of his scientific colleagues (I forget which one) was very modest about his achievements, quipped that the man had nothing to be modest about.

As modesty without having anything to be modest about is fatuous, as to stop complaining when you have nothing to complain about is no virtue, so it is with forgiveness. We should be modest. We should stop complaining. We are commanded to forgive. Yet the underlying reality is, WHO AM I to think anybody else needs forgiveness from me? What entitled me to judge or condemn that person in the first place? It’s continuous, unconditional love that is required; for me to “forgive” anyone is sheer presumptuousness.

This is much clearer, of course, as applied to the other person. If someone has mistreated you far worse than you think you have mistreated him and he says to you, “I forgive you,” you stare at him in mild disbelief and wonder, “Who are you to forgive me?”

Far harder to see that the same applies in reverse; in fact, applies in reverse only.