People hurt us. People’s words hurt us, and the things they do hurt us.
And we just can’t forget. We just *can’t* forget what they did to us, oh, that crime is just too big to even forgive.
But what ever happened to ‘forgiving those who trespass against us’? Does the Lord really expect us to show grace to those who do us harm?
There once was a woman who wondered the same
thing, after the time of war in Germany and that evil man who would
crush & torture God’s people. And this is her story …
“It was in a church in Munich that I saw him—a balding,
heavyset man in a gray overcoat, a brown felt hat clutched between his
hands. People were filing out of the basement room where I had just
spoken, moving along the rows of wooden chairs to the door at the rear.
It was 1947 and I had come from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives.
It was the truth they needed most to hear in
that bitter, bombed-out land, and I gave them my favorite mental
picture. Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollander’s mind, I
liked to think that that’s where forgiven sins were thrown. ‘When we confess our sins,’ I said, ‘God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever. …’
The solemn faces stared back at me, not quite daring to believe. There were never questions after a talk in Germany in 1947.
People stood up in silence, in silence collected their wraps, in silence left the room.
“And that’s when I saw him, working his way
forward against the others. One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown
hat; the next, a blue uniform and a visored cap with its skull and
crossbones. It came back with a rush: the huge room with its harsh
overhead lights; the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the center of
the floor; the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my
sister’s frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin.
Betsie, how thin you were!
“Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out:
‘A fine message, Fräulein! How good it is to know that, as you say, all
our sins are at the bottom of the sea!’
And I, who had spoken so glibly of
forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He
would not remember me, of course—how could he remember one prisoner
among those thousands of women?
But I remembered him and the leather crop
swinging from his belt. I was face-to-face with one of my captors and my
blood seemed to freeze.
“ ‘You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk,’ he was saying, ‘I was a guard there.’ No, he did not remember me.
‘But since that time,’ he went on, ‘I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Fräulein,’ again the hand came out—’will you forgive me?’
And I stood there—I whose sins had again and again to be forgiven—and
could not forgive. Betsie had died in that place—could he erase her slow
terrible death simply for the asking?
It could not have been many seconds that he
stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with
the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
For I had to do it—I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have injured us.
‘If you do not forgive men their trespasses,’ Jesus says, ‘neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.’
I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience.
Since the end of the war I had had a home in Holland for victims of
Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were
able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no
matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness
remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.
And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion—I knew that too.
Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart.
‘… Help!’ I prayed silently. ‘I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.’
And
so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out
to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started
in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And
then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears
to my eyes.
‘I forgive you, brother!’ I cried. ‘With all my heart!’
For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then…
But even so, I realized it was not my love. I
tried and did not have the power. It was the power of the Holy Spirit
as recorded in Romans 5:5… “because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given to us.” “
Corrie ten Boom wasn’t perfect. She was made of bones and flesh, and faced temptations just like you or I do. But she still learned that lost art of showing God’s unfailing grace to those who deserve it the least.
Just like we have hurt God, over and over again, He still loves us, He still shows us His mercy & grace. And, you know what? We don’t really deserve it either.
It’s a way to share the gospel, to witness, to those who don’t know Christ.
Just like the martyrs.
The martyrs never fought back
against their persecuters, but boasted in Jesus Christ alone and showed
off His grace, love, and forgiveness to those who hurt them.
And then great things happened. Things like
prison guards falling to their knees in prayer before the most High God,
and when kings and nobles and whole countries bowed their heads in
worship of the King of Kings.
Could there be a greater reward for giving grace?
“Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one.”
~ Colossians 4:6 NKJV
