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The Strength to Forgive

THE STRENGTH TO FORGIVE
MIKE CUNNINGHAM
JANUARY 6, 2013
Grandpas_picture
I received the following email this past week from a person who has been reading
my sermons on my blog. “Hey, Pastor Mike. I’m trying very hard to forgive as the
Bible says, but it’s impossible. The truth is that I don’t want to forgive those men
for what they did to me years ago. But lately I’ve been thinking that maybe things
aren’t going the way I want them to in my life might be on account of all the anger,
bitterness and resentment and hatred I have bottled up inside of me because of
those six men. What do you think, Pastor Mike?” I told the person that I planned to
address that question in today’s message.

I’ll start off by sharing the following excerpts from another email which I received
a couple of years ago from a friend who wrote, “I THOUGHT it was you,
Mike. Maybe I read it somewhere. I was searching for answers at that point in
my life. Maybe I read it in some book. I asked God to make me willing….to be
willing to forgive. I knew I needed to. I thought I wanted to. I’d go through the
whole emotional exercise and pray and think I HAD forgiven but then the hate
would bubble up inside of me, days or weeks or months later. To me the hate
meant I had not really forgiven. So I followed the advice I thought YOU had given
me and I prayed, “Oh Lord, make me willing to be willing to forgive him because
I don’t feel like forgiving him, and right now I don’t want to”. “Please change my
heart and make me willing to forgive”.

“He never asked me to forgive him, he never acted sorry and it really burned me
up. So part of me was in a weird way enjoying the nasty feelings I had toward him
and I enjoyed hating him for a bit. I knew it was wrong in God’s eyes and I knew
I needed to get rid of those feelings, but I didn’t want to give it up. But I knew
it wasn’t a suggestion but a command and I knew I needed to obey. I wanted to
be obedient because I wanted to please Him. So those words “Make me willing
to be willing to forgive” helped me a lot. At least I knew I was being obedient in
knowing I needed to forgive and I also knew that if I prayed such a prayer because
it’s in accordance with the what Jesus taught (Mark 11:15; Luke 6:37; Matthew
6:14-15. that God would honor my prayer request and answer it because I was
asking Him to help me not to sin.

So I found myself willing to forgive one day and it was God who did it for me. I
was kind of surprised one day when I actually tried to think the old thoughts and
they were replaced with, “He’s just a flawed human being like I am”. And then I
thought to myself, If you’re a Christian, then you’re a follower of Christ and you
follow his teachings. All of them and not just some. You can’t call yourself a
Christian and choose not to forgive someone because God says, “Forgive or I will
not forgive you.”

“So as painful as it was, the Lord held me together and kept me going and growing
even though there were times when I could hardly get out of bed or could barely
walk. Looking back I know I was depressed. But He brought me through it and
he grew me stronger and wiser and closer to him because of all the tough things I
went through. He made me willing…to be willing to forgive the jerk. Just kidding
Mike! That was meant to make you smile.”

In “The Christian Atheist,” Craig Groeschel writes, “When my little sister, Lisa,
was born on my third birthday, my parents told me that she was my birthday
present from God. We’ve been inseparable ever since.” “I always believed I was
her protector. Like a mother lion protecting her cubs, I was the big brother looking
out for his little sis.” “You can imagine how I felt when I learned of the tragedy.
I found out that my little sister had been molested for years by a close family
friend. Max had been Lisa’s sixth-grade teacher. He taught me to play racquetball,
shopped at my dad’s retail store, and often cheered for my sister at her school drill-
team performances. At the time, this single man in his mid thirties seemed like
a nice person looking for friends. Our family readily accepted him, unaware that
behind the supportive teacher façade was a very sick man who repeatedly abused
numerous girls over many years.”

“To say that I wanted Max to die and burn in hell doesn’t even begin to convey
how much I wanted him to suffer.” Although the words rage, hate, and revenge
come to mind when I think about Max, the English language simply doesn’t have a
word for what I felt. We all know Christians are supposed to forgive.” “But forgive
a guy like Max? Forget about it.”

“After the raw shock of discovering Max’s abuse of my sister, one feeling festered
inside of me: bitterness.” “I felt justified in my bitter hatred, but the Bible clearly
illustrates the danger of this natural response.”

15 Look after each other so that not one of you will fail to find God’s best blessings.
Watch out that no bitterness takes root among you, for as it springs up it causes
deep trouble, hurting many in their spiritual lives. Hebrews 12:15 (TLB)

“The root of bitterness grows in the soil of hurt that has not been dealt with
properly. Unknown to me, a root of bitterness started to grow in my heart. Roots
absorb and store, and my heart absorbed and stored hurt, anger, hatred, and
thoughts of revenge. Love keeps no record of wrongs but bitterness keeps detailed
accounts. And that’s what I did. Over and over I played the story in my mind. Each
time I pictured Max, my hatred grew.”

“When the target of our bitterness suffers, we celebrate their misfortunes. After
all, they are getting what they deserve. When we found out that Max had been
diagnosed with muscular dystrophy, I naturally concluded God was giving him
his due. But when anyone celebrates another person’s being diagnosed with a
crippling disease, it’s time for a heart check. The longer I allowed the root of
bitterness to live, the harder it was to kill. The root bored deeper, and the poison
spread.” “In Luke 6:28 Jesus teaches us to “bless those who curse you, pray for
those who mistreat you.” I’m supposed to pray for those who mistreat you? Sure,
I’ll pray for Max. I’ll ask God to give him a case of eternal hemorrhoids.”

“Later I stumbled across another one of Jesus’ annoying commands.

have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44
But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, Matthew
5:43-44 (NIV)

43 “You “Knowing I couldn’t ignore this command any longer, I tried to pray for Max. “
“In sheer obedience to God, I simply prayed a grudging but obedient three-second
prayer: “God I pray you to work in his life.” “My prayers for others may or may
not change them. But my prayers always change me.” “How can a responsible
grown man knowingly and repeatedly lure young girls into sexual abuse? How can
he strip away their innocence? And how can I forgive that?”

13 Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against
one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. Colossians 3:13 (NIV)

4 Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. And lead
us not into temptation.'” Luke 11:4 (NIV)

“I was torn between wanting to obey God and wanting just as much to continue
hating. I wrestled mightily in prayer with these verses. Still swimming in a pool of
pain and bitterness, I decided it was time to try to forgive Max. Notice I used the
word “decided”. This was a decision based on my choice to obey Scripture, not a
decision on whether I felt like forgiving. Nothing in me felt like forgiving, but I
still made the choice to try.” “This predator never apologized. He never attempted
to right his wrongs. He never begged for our forgiveness.” “My heart was stone
hard. And only God could soften it to the point that I could even consider forgiving
this molester. Miraculously, that’s what God did.”

One Christmas, when I was visiting my parents, I decided to write Max a letter
expressing my forgiveness. The task wasn’t easy, but that’s often par for the
course. In the letter, I explained how much God had forgiven me. I told Max the
story of Jesus and His love for us. I explained that I had forgiven him and that
God could as well. I included a short prayer he might pray, asking Jesus to heal his
heart and forgive his sins. I didn’t realize that Max’s sickness had advanced. He
was losing the battle with muscular dystrophy. In fact, at the time he received the
letter, Max was under the care of a hospice nurse, waiting for inevitable death.

“Months after Max passed away, his [hospice] nurse sent us a letter asking if she
could talk to us. When we agreed, she told us about the last days of Max’s life,
believing we needed to know. The caregiver explained that Max’s eyesight had
deteriorated and that he had asked her to read him my note. Although she wasn’t
aware of what he had done (and I never told her), it was obvious to her that he had
done something grievously wrong. According to the nurse, he listened with tears
streaming down his face. He asked her to pray the prayer with him. She recalled
that his whole continence changed as he asked Christ to forgive him and make
him new. He died a few days later.” “We Christians”…”can find in God the sheer
strength to battle through the feelings of anger, hatred, and bitterness, and fight our
way back to the cross. That’s where Christ forgave us. And that’s where, by faith,
we can find the ability to forgive those who have wronged us.”

Imagine the following series of events recorded by PhilipYancey in his book,
“What’s so Amazing About Grace?” How would you feel and react if you were
involved?

“A young girl grows up on a cherry orchard just above Traverse City, Michigan.
Her parents, a bit old fashioned, tend to overreact to her nose ring, the music she
listens to, and the length of her skirts. They ground her a few times, and she
seethes inside. “I hate you!” she screams at her father when he knocks on the door
of her room after an argument, and that night she acts on a plan she has mentally
rehearsed scores of times. She runs away.

She has visited Detroit only once before, on a bus trip with her church youth group
to watch the Tigers play. Because newspapers in Traverse City report in lurid
detail the gangs, the drugs, and the violence in downtown Detroit, she concludes
that is probably the last place her parents will look for her. California, maybe, or
Florida, but not Detroit.

Her second day there she meets a man who drives the biggest car she’s ever seen.
He offers her a ride, buys her lunch, arranges for a place for her to stay. He gives
her some pills that make her feel better than she’s ever felt before. She was right all
along, she decides; her parents were keeping her from all the fun.

The good life continues for a month, two months, a year. The man with the big car-
she calls him Boss-teaches her a few things that men like. Since she’s underage,
men pay a premium for her. She lives in a penthouse, and orders room service
whenever she wants. Occasionally she thinks about the folks back home, but their
lives now seen so boring and provincial that she can hardly believe she grew up
there.

She has a brief scare when she sees her picture printed on the back of a milk carton
with the headline “Have you seen this child?” But by now she has blond hair, and
with all the makeup and body piercing jewelry she wears, nobody would mistake
her for a child. Besides, most of her friends are runaways, and nobody squeals in
Detroit.

After a year the first sallow signs of illness appear, and it amazes her how fast
the boss turns mean. “These days we can’t mess around,” he growls, and before
she knows it she’s out on the street without a penny to her name. She still turns
a couple of tricks a night, but they don’t pay much, and all the money goes to
support her habit. When winter blows in she finds herself sleeping on metal grates
outside the big department stores. “Sleeping” is the wrong word-a teenage girl at
night in downtown Detroit can never relax her guard. Dark bands circles her eyes.
Her cough worsens.

One night, as she lies awake listening for footsteps, all of a sudden everything
about her life looks different. She no longer feels like a woman of the world. She
feels like a little girl, lost in a cold and frightening city. She begins to whimper.
Her pockets are empty and she’s hungry. She needs a fix. She pulls her legs tight
underneath her and shivers under the newspapers she’s piled on top of her coat.
Something jolts a synapse of memory and a single image fills her mind: of May in
Traverse City, when a million cherry trees bloom at once, with her golden retriever
dashing through the rows and rows of blossomy trees in chase of a tennis ball.

God, why did I leave, she says to herself, and pain stabs at her heart. My dog back
home eats better than I do now. She’s sobbing, and she knows in a flash that more
than anything else she wants to go home.

Three straight phone calls, three straight connections with the answering machine.
She hangs up without leaving a message the first two times, but the third time
she says, “Dad, Mom, it’s me. I was wondering about maybe coming home. I’m
catching a bus up your way, and I’ll get there about midnight tomorrow. If you’re
not there, well, I guess I’ll just stay on the bus until it hits Canada.”

It takes about seven hours for a bus to make all the stops between Detroit and
Traverse City, and during that time she realizes the flaws in her plan. What if
her parents are out of town and miss the message? Shouldn’t she have waited
another day or so until she could talk to them? And even if they are home, they
probably wrote her off as dead long ago. She should have given them some time to
overcome the shock.

Her thoughts bounce back and forth between those worries and the speech she is
preparing for her father. “Dad, I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. It’s not your fault;
it’s all mine. Dad, can you forgive me?” She says the words over and over, her
throat tightening even as she rehearses them. She hasn’t apologized to anyone in
years.

The bus has been driving with lights on since Bay City. Tiny snowflakes hit
the pavement rubbed worn by thousands of tires, and the asphalt steams. She’s
forgotten how dark it gets at night out here. A deer darts across the road and the
bus swerves. Every so often, a billboard. A sign posting the mileage to Traverse
City. Oh, God.

When the bus finally rolls into the station, its air brakes hissing in protest, the
driver announces in a crackly voice over the microphone, “fifteen minutes, folks.
That’s all the time we have here.” Fifteen minutes to decide her life. She checks
herself in a compact mirror, smoothes her hair, and licks the lipstick off her teeth.
She looks at the tobacco stains on her fingertips, and wonders if her parents will
notice. If they’re there.

She walks into the terminal not knowing what to expect. Not one of the thousand
scenes that have played out in her mind prepare her for what she sees. There, in the
concrete-walls-and-plastic-chairs bus terminal in Traverse City, Michigan, stands
a group of forty brothers and sisters, and great-aunts and uncles and cousins and a
grandmother and great-grandmother to boot. They’re all wearing goofy party hats
and blowing noise-makers, and taped across the entire wall of the terminal is a
computer generated banner that reads “Welcome home!”

Out of the crowd of well-wishers breaks her Dad. She stares out through the tears
quivering in her eyes like hot mercury and begins the memorized speech, “Dad,
I’m sorry. I know I …”

He interrupts her, “Hush, child. We’ve got no time for that. No time for apologies.
You’ll be late for the party. A banquet’s waiting for you at home.”

I know it’s often difficult to forgive someone who has hurt us very much, but
it isn’t impossible. The choice is ours. God wants us to get rid of all our anger,
bitterness and resentment. God wants us to forgive and He will help us to
overcome the temptation to sin against Him by not forgiving. I know from personal
experience that He will make us willing to be willing. Believe me, God will see
to it that we will experience one painful experience after another until we become
willing to be willing to forgive.

Each of you folks who just heard this sermon as well as the ones who will read
it on my blog and have sent me emails about it being impossible to forgive some
people, is that it isn’t impossible. You must pray and pray and pray throughout
every single day, pleading with God to help you not to sin against Him and ask
Him to please give you “The Strength to Forgive.” And He will!

Lord, willing, next week ….

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