Free to Forgive

Bear with each other, and forgive each other. If someone does wrong to you, forgive that person because the Lord forgave you.

- Colossians 3:13

My wife and I had been talking late into the night. Our conversation turned to the grudges that mercilessly hound us when she observed, "the people we know with developmental disabilities don't seem to have that mechanism". Is there a grudge mechanism coiled in the human spirit that clings to the slightest offense, relentlessly turning it over in our minds, refusing to forgive and let go? If so, it begs the question why those with developmental disabilities are so free from the death-dealing machinery of resentment, so blessedly free to forgive.

I was reminded again today how people with developmental disabilities live in a spirit of forgiveness. I joined in today's Special Needs Sunday School Class at our church and our lesson today was on the very topic of forgiveness. The Sunday School teacher opened up our class with a simple enough question, "What is forgiveness?"

Everyone lowered their heads; averting eye contact; and sat in silence - whether in contemplative reflection or the fear of being called upon to answer, I couldn't be sure. The teacher turned to a man who I work with occasionally and who is possibly the most forgiving person I know on earth, and repeated the question. He replied thoughtfully, "Well, we need God to forgive us when we do wrong things." The teacher graciously elaborated, "Yes, that's true, but what does the word forgiveness mean?" Another student chimed in, "And we should forgive others too." The teacher was disheartened but even more determined now to elicit the correct answer, "That's true as well, but that still doesn't answer the question: what does the word forgiveness mean?" He looked puzzled by the dauntingly strange question, "Well...I don't know."

He's served as a faultless model of forgiveness for me, yet he couldn't define the word for her, and perhaps could not even find it in the dictionary if the teacher had asked. He doesn't have the explanatory powers to define the word - he's too generous a soul to know the word needed explanation in the first place. Forgiveness is an intuitive way of life for people with developmental disabilities, not a logic-chopping concept to break apart and analyze into its component pieces.

Then too, when we sharpen our critical claws and carve out a definition of forgiveness, we're not only clarifying who is forgiving, but, perhaps of decisive importance, who's unforgiving. It's for this very reason that my client couldn't define the word: He doesn't make those kind of in-group/out-group distinctions. For him the words of Jesus are a way of life; "(God) causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." (Matthew 5:44-46)   

It might be a well-worn cliche for me; but for them - rain or shine - every day really is a new day. They live life so much more straightforwardly than I do, with so much more freedom and light-heartedness. They hold onto their anger lightly in the spirit of Scripture, "In your anger do not sin: do not let the sun go down while you are still angry." (Ephesians 4:26) They wake up and start again, and give others a fresh start too. 

As one of my clients would ask rhetorically, "you know what? Tomorrow is a new day. I can hardly wait for tomorrow. It's a new day!" We can relax and be ourselves with them, and even laugh out loud at our human-all-too-human condition - a sign of grace - a reminder that no matter how bleak this day has been, tomorrow will start all over again with them. 

This week I worked with men with wide-ranging developmental disabilities who, at times, were agitated, yelled in frustration (sometimes at me!), and acted out aggressively; but they don't share my fault-finding capabilities, withdrawing into myself and recording others wrongs with calculating duty, even if the perceived "offenders" don't realize that I am mentally replaying their wrongdoing, while something in me slowly dies within.

It's been said that it takes two to make a prisoner: the imprisoned and the accuser. Though, as I think of it now, it often seems that there's only one trapped in the dark, cold prison of unforgiveness, as the offended holds on to their unrelenting anger, sometimes for years or even decades on end, while the offenders go on living their day-to-day lives blissfully unaware, released from the clammy grip of condemnation. 

Perhaps, that's why we are more cautiously guarded around "normal" people with well-developed grudge mechanisms, for fear of accusation and imprisonment, bearing the burdensome weight of another's resentment. We know all too well, even if unconsciously, that the slightest misstep could unbearably convict and judge us. 

In stark contrast, people with developmental disabilities have nothing to hide, everything is out on their tattered sleeve for all to see and be released with the winds of the Spirit. They tell it like it is, nothing more, nothing less. To be sure, they don't withhold any punches, but then again, their punch doesn't hold the same deep-seated sting either. 

Is it possible to live in the Spirit of Jesus while living in a world soaked with the blood of senseless violence: the willingness to turn the other cheek when someone strikes us (Matthew 5:39); to go as far as to love our enemies (let alone our loved ones) and pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44); to bless those who curse us (Luke 6:28)? 

People with developmental disabilities don't condescendingly preach at me with a critical eye and raised eyebrow, but their simple kindness and merciful presence has gentled me - without them even knowing it - and has made me see how wonderfully gracious God is to us and how that wonder-invoking kindness has set me free from binding bitterness; "or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance, and patience, not realizing that God's kindness leads you to repentance?" (Romans 2:4) 

According to Jesus, those who have been forgiven much love much, but those who have been forgiven little love little (Luke 7:47). Their uncommon grace has given me occasion for pause, in wonder of the far-reaching extent of the daily forgiveness I've undeservingly received. I'd like to think their freedom to forgive has made me a little more loving, and by God's grace, less of a judgmental grudge-bearer.