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WHAT TO DO ABOUT LOVING HATRED #4
FORGIVENESS IN A BLOCK OF WOOD
It's hard to imagine this person being angry, or having
a temper tantrum, but President Jimmy Carter admits that he has often
struggled with feelings of ongoing resentment. Unfortunately, the person
he's occasionally had an extended "Cold War" with has been named
Rosalynn Carter.
Back in 1987, he and his wife decided to co-author a book, which they
entitled Everything to Gain. It was about the 1980 election loss to Ronald
Reagan, and their subsequent move back to Plains, Georgia. Unfortunately,
the main thing he and she both gained was some extra blood pressure from
disagreeing on how to write this stupid book. Ninety-seven percent of
the time they were in perfect agreement. But on the other three percent,
they almost were ready to come to blows. They didn't see eye to eye, and
no amount of discussion could resolve their disputes. Fortunately, the
Secret Service was there to keep them from killing each other, but this
was shaping up as a Carter catastrophe, the likes of which it was going
to take the United Nations to resolve.
Finally the editor stepped in and said, "Look. In the places where
you just can't agree, mark the paragraphs. We'll put it right in the book:
a ‘J' for yours, Mr. President, and for parts your wife wrote, we'll put
an ‘R' there in the margin."
And you know, that actually worked. It's the classic case of "agree
to disagree," and harmony prevailed. Still, President Carter admits
in his book, Living Faith, that there were, on a number of occasions,
long silent periods of resentment between them. Hurt feelings and sulking
and — dare we say it in regards to the 39th President of the United States
of America — pouting? After all, he and his wife are as human as the rest
of us.
And yet, this Christian man, who isn't just a world leader but also a
Sunday School teacher and born-again Baptist, realized that something
needed to change in his own heart. And here's his confession for the entire
world to read:
"Rosalynn and I are both strong willed,"
he writes, "and frequently have disagreements, some of them lasting
for several days. It is difficult for either of us to admit being at fault.
Recently, after a particular disturbing argument, I decided that we should
never let another day end with us angry with each other. I went to my
wood shop and cut out a thin sheet of walnut, a little smaller than a
bank check. I then carved on it: Each evening, forever, this is good for
an apology — or forgiveness — as you desire. Jimmy."
Isn't that a tremendous gift? Every evening, that little
piece of wood guarantees that harmony will prevail: either with an apology
or an offer of forgiveness. Whichever is needed. Carter adds this final
P.S.
"So far, I have been able to honor it each
time Rosalynn has presented it to me. And she has!"
Well, friend, there are a couple of points to notice
here. First of all, sometimes our anger can be wiped away by a simple
plan. A small irritant can be erased by just putting a fix in place. Those
initials by the prickly paragraphs — that took care of it. I remember
reading a despairing letter to a parenting specialist, where a mom was
beside herself over the fact that her little kid spilled the milk day
after day, meal after meal. This was a case of: "Got milk?"
"Nope, it's on the floor again." And the child guidance expert
countered with: "Why don't you just move that glass of milk farther
away from the edge of the table?" "Oh. Never thought of that."
Problem solved. And many of the things that cause our resentment are just
that easy.
But then Carter's second story takes us a bit deeper into spiritual realms.
Because this married couple did two things. First of all, they were willing
to discuss the dilemma. He acknowledged the pain these periods of emotional
separation were causing. He admitted the wrongness of sulking, of harbored
anger. So that's one key — being willing to talk about it. And then Jimmy
Carter simply rose above his feelings and his emotions. "Every night,"
he pledged, "I'm willing to confess if I've been wrong. I'm willing
to forgive if YOU'VE been wrong. But never again are we going to go to
bed mad." President and Mrs. Carter pledged that, according to their
faith, and because of their love, they simply WOULD forgive. Every place,
every time, under every conceivable and unforeseen circumstance. That
was part of being a married Christian couple. That was obedience . . .
and no matter how they FELT, or if they were still convinced of the rightness
of their cause, they WOULD obey Ephesians 4:26, the Bible verse about
not letting the sun go down while you're still mad.
Sometimes, if we're looking for just a straightforward PLAN to end anger,
it comes down to the most basic thing: an apology. In his wonderful baseball
book, Field of Hope, Brett Butler describes what it was like to play with
Andre Thornton, one of the great Christian ballplayers of all time. I
mean, Butler, also a Christian, considered Thornton to be a giant as a
man of God. Players would be sitting around with their beer cans and their
R-rated stories and their expletive-laced insults, and then Thornton would
walk into the room. And INSTANTLY, things would quiet down. Even the wildest-partying
guy knew that Thornton was a Christian gentleman. And he had the home
run muscle and RBI stats to back it all up.
In this little anecdote, though, Butler lost his cool once on the team
plane when he spilled a Coke all over himself. And Thornton, not in his
usual character, made the tiniest teasing remark. No big deal AT ALL.
And somehow, Brett Butler, Christian that he was, lost his cool, shouted
at Thornton to shut up, and added a couple of "blank blank blanks."
And the whole plane just cracked up. "Butler said a bad word! Butler
said a bad word!" Which, with Brett also trying to be a Christian,
was a big headline. Guys were high-fiving themselves with delight over
this very public sin.
Of course, Butler felt terrible about the whole thing. It ate at him all
that night. And the next day he was determined to tell Andre Thornton
how sorry he was. Lo and behold, though, before he could get a single
word out, Thornton came to HIM. "Brett, I'm sorry," he said.
And Butler couldn't believe it. "YOU'RE sorry? What are you talking
about? I'm the one who lost it!" "No," Thornton told him,
"If I hadn't provoked you, you wouldn't have said what you said.
It's all my fault."
And Brett Butler, thinking about it later, was just awestruck with this
man's humility. Now Butler knew HE was in the wrong. And yet, this other
ballplayer was taking the blame on himself, accepting it, seeking forgiveness
so that there wouldn't be even one shred of this kind of resentment which
can destroy a Christian's witness.
And you know, these two ballplayers might have just stumbled onto something
for all of us to think about regarding this issue of anger and resentment.
They moved beyond anger for one simple reason: their Christian faith required
it. In a sense, they didn't have any other option. Christians MUST forgive.
Christians MUST reconcile.
In his book, What's So Amazing About Grace?, Philip Yancey shares yet
another story along these lines. Here it is:
"Walter Wink tells of two peacemakers who
visited a group of Polish Christians ten years after the end of World
War II. ‘Would you be willing to meet with other Christians from West
Germany?' the peacemakers asked. ‘They want to ask forgiveness for what
Germany did to Poland during the war and to begin to build a new relationship.'
At first there was silence. Then one Pole spoke up. ‘What you are asking
is impossible! Each stone of Warsaw is soaked in Polish blood! We cannot
forgive!'"
We discussed this earlier in the series. Are some sins
just plain TOO big? Here's the rest of the story, though.
"Before the group parted, however, they
said the Lord's Prayer together. When they reached the words ‘forgive
us our sins as we forgive . . . ,' everyone stopped praying. Tension swelled
in the room. The Pole who had spoken so vehemently said, ‘I must say yes
to you. I could no more pray the Our Father, I could no longer call myself
a Christian, if I refuse to forgive. Humanly speaking, I cannot do it,
but God will give us His strength!'" Then Yancey adds: "Eighteen
months later the Polish and West German Christians met together in Vienna,
establishing friendships that continue to this day."
Well, friend, that's where the Christian faith takes
us. Oh, there are methods and systems; we might carve out our peace pledge
on a little piece of wood. Or just move the glass of milk. These days
you can e-mail an apology if you're not ready for a face-to-face. But
the person who puts his faith in God is armed with the knowledge that
everything God commands, He also provides for. Philippians 4:13:
"I can do ALL THINGS through Christ who
strengthens me."
Benedictine monks, Yancey writes, have this ritual
that helps them through the seeming impossibility of this. People with
issues to resolve and pent-up anger to release gather together to share
and pray. And then, even though it seems so hard, they all put their hands
into a large crystal bowl filled with water, still mentally holding onto
that grievance, that pain. And as they keep praying for the miracle of
grace, of forgiveness, they slowly and symbolically open up their hands.
And the hurt, all the built-up frustration, that long LIST they've carried
with them, is slowly let go. They release it into the water of grace.
"Imagine," Yancey writes, what impact
might it have if blacks and whites in South Africa — or in the United
States of America — plunged their hands repeatedly into a common bowl
of forgiveness?"
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