Skip to main content

Apology and Forgiveness

The trouble with being involved with people is that sooner or later there is an interaction in which somebody or other gets hurt. It happens in the church all the time, not so much because people are inherently wicked but because people are inherently people. So, it's quite a good idea to develop a strategy whereby the hurts can be healed, the differences which caused the hurts resolved, and people can go about the business God has given them to do, ie having challenges and difficulties in order to learn and thus grow from them. A strategy which people often adopt when they are hurt is to insist that the other person apologise. Sometimes this strategy is refined by having some sanction held over the other: some favour or other that won't be granted until the apology is given or some reward offered when it is. Of course when the apology is offered, it is often scrutinised, weighed, declared not to be a real apology and refused.

Don't get me wrong here. Apologies can sometimes be important. They are, when they are freely given and generously received, healing. When a hurt has been great and deep and public they can be very significant instruments of restoration. It's the strategy of insisting on an apology as a precondition of resolving a conflict that I am referring to here, and it is this strategy that doesn't work very often. In fact, I can't remember a single time when it has worked, but I'm sure there must be some time somewhere in the world where it has, or it wouldn't be so popular.

The reasons why it doesn't work are these:

1. An apology extracted under duress - physical or monetary or emotional - isn't an apology. It's something else, for example a political gesture or an invitation to harbour sullen resentment for years to come, but not the show of heartfelt contrition that apology seekers are looking for.
2. When I demand an apology I am, in effect, refusing to move on in my own adjustment to the hurt until YOU have done something. I am, in other words, surrendering my autonomy to you. And if you don't care or don't know what you have done or if you happen to see things a bit differently than me, and therefore have no inclination to behave as I want you to, then I am, at this point, stuffed.
3. No matter how many times I make self righteous statements to the contrary, my demand for an apology is usually not so much about the relationship as my concern for vindication and for my version of events to be seen as the "correct" one. In other words the demand for an apology is often self-ish. It therefore hinders rather than fosters a true relationship built on mutual knowledge, respect and understanding.

There is not a single time in the Gospels where Jesus demands an apology. There is not a single time when he recommends demanding an apology as a way of sorting out troubles. Jesus has another strategy, the exact polar opposite of apology mining, and that is the offering of forgiveness. He tells others to do this. He does it himself. Even when his best mate runs away. Even when some woman has been dragged embarrassed out of the wrong bed. Even when a bunch of drunken hoons in uniform have stripped him naked before his mother and his friends and are punching lumps of iron through his wrists and feet. He tells people to forgive and forgive and to keep on forgiving even when they loose count of the times when the other guy has yet again screwed up.
The offering of forgiveness works because

1. It respects the integrity of the one I am in conflict with and encourages me to listen to them and enter true relationship with them.
2. It places me in charge of my own emotions and gives me full control over my reaction to the events which have so hurt me (and in any event, it is my reaction to it, rather than the event itself which is most important)
3. My offering of forgiveness can allow the other to see me in a new way and thus invite them into change and growth, especially in their relationship to me, but in other ways as well.
4. And finally, and most importantly my forgiveness can only happen when I realise that I too am fallible and broken and prone to hurting others; and that I am, myself, forgiven: constantly, deeply, unconditionally, totally.

And because I stand before God ONLY because I am forgiven, what possible reason could I have for withholding forgiveness from others?


Comments

I love it when people think carefully about things that we do automatically, things which often make no sense and are often counter-productive. Thank you for this.
Kate said…
Thank you for this post, also. There was someone I had to forgive, and I didn't even realise it. It feels much better now.
Elaine Dent said…
This the one of the clearest delineations of the differences between apology and forgiveness that I've read. Thank you.
Anonymous said…
Hmmm. Great words and clear thinking indeed. But do they have ears to hear? Lord, what fools these mortals be!
(But I'm saving this post for my own reference for years to come though - and please remind me if I ever appear to have forgotten it.) J
Kelvin,

I featured this post today at http://highcallingblogs.com/9550/around-the-network-3/
Anonymous said…
Kelvin - thanks for the reminder. At my 60th birthday you wrote "May the next 10 years be as good as the last 10". The main reason for the last 10 [13 really] being good was that at 47 I learnt to forgive and the power that has to change my life in the first positive way I had ever experienced. Forgiveness may have changed those I interact with but the greatest change was and is in me and life became worth living and worth celebrating, and God could finally begin to influence and use the gifts he has given me in abundance. Thank you for a timely reminder that I need to forgive not just once but always.

Popular posts from this blog

Ko Tangata Tiriti Ahau

    The Christmas before last our kids gave us Ancestry.com kits. You know the deal: you spit into a test tube, send it over to Ireland, and in a month or so you get a wadge of paper in the mail telling you who you are. I've never, previously, been interested in all that stuff. I knew my forbears came to Aotearoa in the 1850's from Britain but I didn't know from where, exactly. Clemency's results, as it turns out, were pretty interesting. She was born in England, but has ancestors from various European places, and some who are Ngāti Raukawa, so she can whakapapa back to a little marae called Kikopiri, near Ōtaki. And me? It turns out I'm more British than most British people. Apart from a smattering of Norse  - probably the result of some Viking raid in the dim distant past - all my tūpuna seem to have come from a little group of villages in Nottinghamshire.  Now I've been to the UK a few times, and I quite like it, but it's not home: my heart and soul belon...

Kindle

 Living as I do in a place where most books have to come a long way in an aeroplane, reading is an expensive addiction, and of course there is always the problem of shelf space. I have about 50 metres of shelving in my new study, but it is already full and there is not a lot of wall space left; and although it is great insulation, what is eventually going to happen to all that paper? I doubt my kids will want to fill their homes with old theological works, so most of my library is eventually going to end up as egg cartons. Ebooks are one solution to book cost and storage issues so I have been  using them for a while now, but their big problem has been finding suitable hardware to read them on.  I first read them on the tiny screens of Ipaqs and they were quite satisfactory but the wretchedness of Microsoft Reader and its somewhat arbitrary copyright protection system killed the experience entirely. On Palm devices they were OK except the plethora of competing and incomp...

En Hakkore

In the hills up behind Ranfurly there used to be a town, Hamilton, which at one stage was home to 5,000 people. All that remains of it now is a graveyard, fenced off and baking in the lonely brown hills. Near it, in the 1930s a large Sanitorium was built for the treatment of tuberculosis and other respiratory ailments. It was a substantial complex of buildings with wards, a nurses hostel, impressive houses for the manager and superintendent and all the utility buildings needed for such a large operation. The treatment offered consisted of isolation, views and weather. Patients were exposed to the air, the tons of it which whistled past, often at great speed, the warmth of the sun and the cold. They were housed in small cubicles opening onto huge glassed verandas where they cooked in the summer and froze in the winter and often, what with the wholesome food and the exercise, got better. When advances in antibiotics rendered the Sanitorium obsolete it was turned into a Borstal and...

The Traitor

A couple of people have questioned me privately about the Leonard Cohen song The Traitor , and about Cohen's comments on the song, "[The Traitor is about] the feeling we have of betraying some mission we were mandated to fulfill and being unable to fulfill it; then coming to understand that the real mandate was not to fulfill it; and the real courage is to stand guiltless in the predicament in which you find yourself". What on earth does he mean, and why am I so excited about it? For the latter, check with my psychiatrist. For the former, my take on the song is this: The Traitor is another of those instances, as in The Partisan , where Leonard Cohen uses a military metaphor to speak of life in general and human love in particular. Many of us hold high ideals: some great quest or other that we pursue. These are often laudable things: finding true love, finding the absolute love of God, becoming enlightened, spreading the Gospel, writing the great novel or some such ...

Camino, by David Whyte

This poem captures it perfectly Camino. The way forward, the way between things, the way already walked before you, the path disappearing and re-appearing even as the ground gave way beneath you, the grief apparent only in the moment of forgetting, then the river, the mountain, the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting you over the rain filled pass when your legs had given up, and after, it would be dusk and the half-lit villages in evening light; other people's homes glimpsed through lighted windows and inside, other people's lives; your own home you had left crowding your memory as you looked to see a child playing or a mother moving from one side of a room to another, your eyes wet with the keen cold wind of Navarre. But your loss brought you here to walk under one name and one name only, and to find the guise under which all loss can live; remember you were given that name every day along the way, remember you were greeted as such, and you neede...