The Joy of Forgiveness

I recently received an email from a friend in which he verbally (or I suppose orthographically) wronged me. My first reaction was anger; I got mad. Then I got furious. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. 

I wrote an email to respond to him. My response was a delicate blend of inoffensive and biting at the same time—oh, it felt good to passive-aggressively put him in his place (what's more passive-aggressive than Internet retaliation?). Then as I was contemplating hitting the send button, a wave of Scriptures came to my mind.

…If you don't forgive your brother, neither will your Father in heaven forgive you…

…How many times should I forgive my brother? … Not seven, but seventy times seven…

…Like a lamb being led to the slaughter, he didn't say a word...

I remembered one of the natural by-products God's grace is meant to produce in me: that I might show grace to others. So I reluctantly prayed through gritted teeth, "Okay, fine. Lord, help me forgive him" and deleted the email; we worked it out peacefully once I was calm.

It was so difficult to pray that prayer that a question came to my mind: Why did God forgive me? What prompted God to do such a painfully unnatural thing?

The first answer that came to mind is because Jesus died to allow it; God shows me grace because when He looks at me, He sees the blood of Christ that covers me (2 Cor. 5.21)

Okay, fair enough. But then why did Christ decide to give me grace and die for me? The answer: To obey His Father, who willed that He do so (Is. 53.10, John 10.18).

Okay, fair enough. But why did the Father will that? The answer: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son" (John 3.16).

Okay, fair enough. But there's a deeper question, the question behind all my other questions: WHY DID GOD LOVE THE WORLD?

Clearly we are taught in the Bible that there is nothing naturally lovable in us; we are totally depraved (Jer. 17.9, Rom. 3.10-18). It also says that God didn't need us in order to be happy; He is and always has been completely self-sufficient (Acts 17.25).

So why would a just God choose to love and redeem disgusting, wrath-worthy sinners? It kills me to show mercy to someone who doesn't deserve it; what motivated God to do the same for me?

It's important to note that God delights in both justice and mercy (Jer. 9.24). This is why Paul said in Romans 9.19-23 that God predestined some to mercy and some to wrath—He is glorified by both. God is glorified by showing His mercy to sinners; He is also glorified by showing His power to judge. So both are—and should be—present.

But over and over, the Bible describes God in the following way: "The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness" (Ex. 34.6, see also Num. 14.18, Neh. 9.17, Ps. 86.15, Ps. 103.8, Ps. 145.8, Joel 2.13, Jonah 4.2, Nah. 1.3—nearly every passage contains an identical description).

So yes, there is wrath. Yes, there is anger. But that anger is restrained. It is slow, while His love is abounding, and His mercy and grace are woven into the very fabric of His character. That is, there is something inherently delightful to God in love, mercy and forgiveness. While it pleases God to show His power by pouring out just wrath on sinners, it pleases Him abundantly to show sinners sovereign love.

My initial reaction to my friend was not a result of my depraved heart—it was a just reaction that came out in me because I was made in the image of God. God feels indignation and anger over unjust acts, so it is right for me to feel the same way. As Paul said, "Be angry and do not sin" (Eph. 4.26); it is possible.

But my depravity came out in my reaction to Jesus's insistence that I forgive my friend. It showed that my twisted heart doesn't understand what is truly joy-producing. It showed that while God is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, I am rather quick to anger and lacking in love. That is, my anger wasn't wrong at first, but it quickly became disproportionate; it crossed the line into sin when it didn't give way to love.

The call of the church, the call of all Christians, is to "make disciples of all nations…teaching them to obey all that I have commanded you" (Matt. 28.19-20). What did Jesus teach? What was his message? That wrath is coming, but that grace is offered. That God is just, but that He desires to save. If my life only proclaims the former and not the latter, I am disobedient to my call and quenching the Spirit in me.

Christ As Husband, Husbands Like Christ

My wife and I have had a recurring argument all throughout our marriage, in which she (as I saw it) tells me what I'm doing wrong and asks me to change. Against which my individualistic self-esteem bucks like a bronco. You mean you don't love me unconditionally? You don't love me for who I am? Who are you to ask me to change? Somehow I doubt I'm the first husband to think this kind of thing.

The Bible tells husbands how to be husbands. They are to provide, protect, and care for their wives. How exactly that fleshes itself out may change from family to family—because not every woman is the same, not every wife will have the same needs. No matter the needs, the husband's job is to see that they are met in a biblical and loving way, "as Christ loved the church" (Ephesians 5.25). 

I made it my goal to work very hard to be for her the husband God was calling me to be, and I sincerely tried. And yet these arguments still kept happening—as I saw it, she still had the nerve, after all my work, to tell me I wasn't doing enough.

Working hard, in all the wrong places
I'll tell you what was happening. Imagine we're living on a farm in the middle of nowhere, and I get it it my mind to build Loanne the most beautiful farmhouse on the planet. I buy the most expensive building material, work like a dog for weeks, then go to her and, making a great spectacle of it all, I present the house to her. And find her dead. The beautiful house was all well and good, but what she really needed was for me to dig a well so she could have water.

Now of course that's an exaggeration, both of her dependence on me and of her lack of digging skills. But I often had an image in my mind of what it meant to provide, protect and care for Loanne, and I discovered that image was different from hers. I've realized that she wasn't being controlling or bossy or finicky—she was simply telling me what she needed and asking me to provide it, as a husband should. In fact, I had worked very hard and admirably...in all the wrong places. I had worked to provide nurturing and gentleness (because that's what I imagined a good husband should do) when she actually needed protection and reassurance in the form of more visible, sturdy responsibility. She needed a rock, and I was providing a pillow.

Christ as husband, husbands like Christ

What's the point of all this?  "Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her"  (Ephesians 5.25). How did Christ love us? By sacrificially becoming for us what we needed. We needed a Savior; we needed an expiatory sacrifice. So Christ became sin for us (which was certainly unnatural for Him) and allowed God's wrath to be poured out on Him instead of us. He made no claim on His individuality; although God, He didn't seek to assert His position as God, but "made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant" (Philippians 2.7).

Husbands, don't ever ask your wives to love you for who you are. Don't assume that your ideas of what you should be are right. Don't make claims on your individuality; don't assert your right to "be your own person". Be like Christ: find out what she needs and become that for her—and in so doing, give yourself up for her.

The battle cry of individuality is, "Be yourself." As godly husbands, we are not called to be ourselves. We are called to be like Christ. And so doing, love our wives.