"And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."
-- The Lord's Prayer
Sometimes I leave an onion out on the counter too long and it gets a mold spot on it. The rest of the onion is still good, so I start peeling away the skins and the layers to get rid of the spot. Some of the spots come off with the first layer of onion skin, but the larger ones go down deeper, and I find myself peeling off layer after layer of the dry, papery skins. If it's an especially bad spot, I'll have to remove a couple layers of the actual onion too.
I think forgiving others can be like peeling that onion. Sometimes the offense is a little one, and you can simply remove the spot and forgive. Other times, the wound from the offense goes deeper. You make the commitment to forgive. You say, "I've forgiven them, I'm moving on with my life." Yet you keep finding different parts of yourself, different layers, that have been affected. Every time you do, you have to make the choice to forgive them all over again. It isn't just a one time thing, but a continuing process.
(I want to be clear here-- I'm talking about working through the effects of an offense that's already been committed in the past, not a situation where the offense is ongoing. In that case, forgiveness looks different and involves drawing some self-protective boundaries. I'm talking about a situation where the offense is in the past. The relationship has been healed or redefined, the person has moved 'out of range', the drunk guy who wrecked your car is in jail...you get the idea.)
This is work, and it can last a very long time. Sometimes you even think you're finished with it. You'll let go, and won't think about it for days. Then another aspect of your life suddenly reminds you of it, you realize it's been affected by it, and you have to let go again. You have to forgive again. It's not a moral failing to be unable to forgive in one shot-- it's the nature of forgiveness itself.
I've experienced this with recovering from the effects of an instance of clerical abuse. What I experienced is far, FAR more mild than what many people with similar wounds have experienced. I feel almost as if this should be a 'one onion skin' offense, something I ought to be able to forgive and not give another thought. Yet I think about the offense almost every day. I'm reminded of it in interactions with my husband, and my children, and my parish priest. Reminders of a trust that was betrayed and broken and twisted.
Again and again and again, I'm called to forgive. (May God have mercy on me, often I stew and dwell on it instead. I'm a work in progress, pray for me).
I've heard the practical life of Christianity referred to as a series of 'little deaths' to yourself. Little deaths of pride, of convenience, of comfort. When one has to forgive a big offense, one that reaches deep into the 'layers' of who you are, the process of forgiveness becomes one of those constant 'little deaths'. Just as we have to choose to die to ourselves to be humble, or be considerate of others, or to persevere over and over again, we have to die to ourselves over and over again to forgive.
But we are promised that if we die with Christ, we will also rise with Him, in deaths both large and small.
I'll keep waiting for Easter.
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