Last night, at our ‘H’ gathering, the topic of forgiveness crawled out of the corner and circled between our feet, nudging us, until she finally reclined right in the middle of our circle, refusing to be ignored. And I suppose that is exactly where she belongs. She must be addressed.
So. I’ll welcome her to the light and make her comfortable, hope and pray she stays.
First, this is what forgiveness is NOT.
(I am operating under the assumption that you have been wronged, seriously wronged. The Bible says, “IF someone has wronged you…” and “IF someone offends or sins against us…” They did, it’s real and it hurts. This is not personality quirks and preferences, these are wounds that leave scars.)
Forgiveness is NOT justifying what they did, it’s NOT saying it wasn’t so bad, it’s NOT saying they were right. Forgiveness is NOT reconciliation, NOT the same as restoring the relationship. Sometimes, people are toxic and dangerous and should not be given access to you, should not be given the chance to hurt you again. You are much, much more than someone’s carpet, that they will walk all over. You are worth much, much more than a punching bag. Forgiveness does NOT mean there are not consequences for their actions.
Here’s what forgiveness is –
It is you releasing them from the jail you put them in. You want them to be punished, want to be the one to punish them, want it to hurt them (at least as severely as they hurt you), and want them to see their error, make amends and change before your very eyes. Right?
Sadly, this is not our job (as much as I may wish it was was). We aren’t the Chief Justice of the rest of the world. Most of the time, they don’t recognize what they did, how big it was, how much it mattered, how much it hurt you, or in some disastrous circumstances, don’t care. People will do what people will do, and too often, that means hurting other people. The only good news about this is that, sometimes (I’m sure very rarely, almost never) you will be the one who needs forgiveness, whether you know it or not.
We have to open our hands and let them go. Why? Because Jesus says we do, and that’s enough.
And, because when we release them from that prison, it will mean that we are also released from that same jail that we’ve been guarding, in our heads, hearts, souls, making sure they stay locked up, making sure they lose, too. What we fail to realize is that we’re also in chains. How much time and energy do we spend thinking about what they did, twisting into bitter, burned, resentful pretzels of angry offense? When we let them go, we let ourselves go. We release ourselves of the responsibility for being the Police Of All Mankind. It’s heavy, and something we were never meant to carry. Imagine what you can do with all of that time and energy and stress – watch the sunset, read a book, take me to dinner, watch a great movie, go to the Bridge Sunday morning at 10:30;) You can do, literally, anything you want to do. You’ll be free!
One more thing.
When you release them, you are also releasing yourself from their control. I had issues with my dad for much of my life, issues I couldn’t forgive or move past. Several years after his death, I was able to lay that weight down and only then could I see that every decision, every step, every part of the man I was becoming was, largely, a result of him. I was angry, frustrated, constantly not feeling good enough. I made decisions based on doing the exact opposite of what he would do. Only when I could set that down and leave it behind, I was liberated to discover and step into who I really was. Only when the control I had forced upon him (that he unknowingly possessed) was stripped, could I find and become Chad. And being just Chad is the greatest.
I probably make this sound easy-peasy, but it’s not. We’re not in the business of pretending – This is very hard, and takes so long, full of missteps and backslides, but like most everything, it’s totally worth it when we can fly without the ropes we’ve tied around our own wings.
I’ll see you Sunday morning

HE IS RISEN!!

This is how The Bridge starts off a resurrection Sunday!

Click on the link for the notes:  Exposing the enemy

All of this this violence is overwhelming.
I stood in front of our community on Sunday morning, and had no words, no rage, no comfort, no inspiring call to action. My prayers are much the same, mostly silent, broken-hearted and weary from the pain.
Sure, we give our “thoughts and prayers,” but it’s perfectly clear that maybe they should include, at least a little, action. I’m pretty exhausted at hearing the ‘thoughts and prayers’ chorus, to tell you the truth. It seems exactly like when we pass each other at work and ask, “How are you,” and the reply is always, “fine,” when we don’t really care and they’re not really fine. They’re just words, polite and socially acceptable. Our ‘thoughts and prayers’ are letters and symbols we write on social media, because we live on social media and just have to comment, displaying our carefully crafted avatars.
I am a man who follows Jesus, so I believe whole-heartedly in the power of prayer to bring tremendous change. Also, I am a man who follows Jesus, so I believe whole-heartedly in the power of bringing a thirsty person a drink, in addition to praying they would not be so thirsty.
We had a flood, and were the recipients of so many thoughts and prayers and they were invaluable. We felt like we were not alone, held in so many loving arms, hopeful – and that was the most important thing to us, in that darkness: hope that the darkness would not be forever.
At the same time, a family was washing dirt from thousands of cds, wiping them clean, and putting them in sleeves for binders they bought. Others washed our filthy clothes, in hopes something would be salvageable. A co-worker’s thoughts and prayers led him to buy 2 giant bags of coats, shoes and toys for our 2 young boys who had lost everything. 20 people showed up on our lawn at lunchtime on a weekday to tear out carpet and throw useless furniture and the remains of our home into the front yard for the dump trucks to take. A family took us in and gave us their hearts and groceries, a place to sleep, a place at their table, and a place to heal. An entire town gathered for what was called a ‘swap’ to give appliances, books, shirts and pants to rebuild lives. (And now I’m reduced to a weeping mess, as I knew I would be, as I remember these and countless others who brought us a drink.)
So, the obvious answer to the question of ‘what’s more important, prayers or actions?’ is Yes.
And this leads to the other problem. In a culture that traffics in generalizations and sound bites, ambiguity is the great enemy. It’s tempting (and at least somewhat accurate) to say our guns are the evil devils that are the problem – policy must change. But to say it is the only problem, and a change in policy is THE solution, is disingenuous and clearly agenda-driven. This pandemic is a chimaera derived from so many different animals. Broken families, the hole where men/dads should be, de-sensitizing violent video games, lack of relationships, the human propensity for war/revenge, our collective idolization of the myth of redemptive violence, loneliness, talk radio, the fallacy of us & them – must I continue? It’s not one thing, it’s so, so many things.
There’s that moment in the tv show Hoarders, as they relay the history of the homeowner, where it got too big for them. There was no longer a place to start. The problem was so enormous, with every corner of the house being a new, insurmountable peak. A different life became impossible.
But it isn’t impossible. The show usually ends on a high note, with a place to sleep, eat, sit down. The show is, ultimately, hopeful.
As you can probably guess, I have lots of solutions, good ones, that would certainly work – they involve new laws, dinner tables, hand-holding, board games, actual conversation (with listening and everything), and many, many more. Really, though, all of my solutions circle back to Jesus, the Gospel, and the radical idea that we are loved, right here and now, as we are. Instead of living lives of lack, based entirely on the fear that we are not (strong, smart, right) enough, we could rest in the beauty of love and grace, knowing ourselves as the artwork we are, made in the image of the Artist.
But maybe you don’t want to do everything I say… right away. (You can call me if you do)
The point is, as much as it feels like there isn’t a way, like it’s impossible, the truth is that it isn’t. Ours is a hopeful story, where there is always another way, a way we can change this ugliness, this hate, this fear, this violence. We just have to start somewhere.