The thread of conversations I have had over the last few days have been anything but coincidence. For those of you who do not know, forgiveness is something that I find easy to preach and incredibly hard to practice. Especially in regards to one individual. For the last few years, I have had it all wrong.
It all started when I was listening to a sermon on forgiveness a few days ago, and there was one simple phrase that has stuck with me. "Who do you think you are?" I found that a strange phrase to include in a sermon about forgiveness, but the more I thought about it, the more I heard its truth. If I honestly believe that "It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me," (Gal 2:20) then forgiveness is not mine to give. Because Christ already forgave. He hung on the cross for my enemies and myself alike. God declared that enough. He said it Himself: "It is finished." There is no more that needs to be done. The debt has been paid, the crimson stain washed clean. If I believe this for myself, I believe this for my enemy too.
I've understood that for a while. But on the car ride home last night, my friend posed a very simple question about what God was doing in my life these days, and something finally clicked. I understood that God forgave, but I wasn't ready to forgive yet. I sat back and nursed my wounds, waiting for God to take the anger and pain away so that I could forgive my enemy the way Christ did. But I finally get it. If I love Christ, then I believe that we are one. If I believe that we are one, then I have already forgiven as Christ has already forgiven. How can I say that I'm not ready to forgive yet? Who do I think I am, to demand a higher payment than God? Am I greater than God, that I can declare the death of Jesus as insufficient? The anger and pain that I have from that sin is nothing compared to how God feels about it, and he still declared it finished. Who do I think I am?
And then my sweet friend Kaley shared her heart today about the loss of a friend, and what it means to live for the moment. She spoke with such conviction about not taking life for granted, about living as citizens of heaven and remembering that life is fleeting. Tomorrow is not a given. We were at a work meeting, and we had all brought an item that we felt represented a strength of ours. My strength was compassion. I held my necklace, with its heart, cross and beads resting in my palm, and felt my heart grow heavy. Have I really been living with compassion? What if I woke up tomorrow, and my enemy was gone? Could I honestly stand before God and say that I did everything I could to show Christ's love to them? No. I couldn't.
Because I've been selfish. I've assumed that I could sit around and wait for it to be easy to forgive, to wait for pain and anger to disappear before I chose to love again. I assumed that there would always be tomorrow. My enemy hurt me, so I turned my back on them. I gave up on them. I have kept them at arm's length, for fear of being hurt again, waiting until it is convenient for me to pursue them again. But tomorrow is not a given. How am I loving others as Christ loves me, if I love only when it is easy, if I give up on those who hurt me? I have the answer. I have salvation. I know what they have been so desperately searching for, and I have been denying them their chance to find life because I found it too painful to pursue relationship with them.
Who do I think I am?
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