Sometimes the Catholic Church gets it right. In the Catholic lectionary for today, the tenth anniversary of the attacks of September 11th, 2001, the Old Testament and Gospel readings speak specifically to forgiveness. As Christians, we are called to forgive regardless of the transgression against us. So simple to say; so hard to do.
The events of September 11, 2001 need no explanation. On the anniversary of that awful day, the nation, and certainly a good portion of the world, recalls the events that took the lives of nearly 3000 people, directly affected those of thousands, and touched hundreds of millions more. It’s appropriate that today should be a time for remembrance and, for those within a faith tradition, prayer. [As I’ve written in another post, I hope, too, that today we take time to also remember those whose lives were affected by the events subsequent to 9-11.]
In our reflections over the loss & suffering that will forever be synonymous with 9-11, it is easy, and normal, to feel anger. There was and is no justification for murder; no amount of rationalization can wipe blood from a murderer’s hands. We feel anger precisely because of the wrong-ness of acts like this. While anger is understandable, our response to even righteous anger can become a trap. Our collective & individual wrath can lead us into errors as deep as the actions from which our outrage arises. And this is where forgiveness comes in.
I recall very well how quickly the shock and horror of September 11th turned first into anger and then to calls for vengeance. But I also recall many alternative voices that spoke to the need for, at the least, restraint. That these voices for collective self-control were drowned out by what became a shameful frenzy of blame and demands for paybacks in no way diminishes their wisdom. Indeed, the amount of pain, suffering, and death inflicted as a result of 9-11 proves that the path of violence can never surpass the power of forgiveness.
Of course, forgiveness is not simply a Christian virtue; it is part of all the great faith traditions. Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Ba’hai, Jain, Shinto–all have forgiveness at the center of belief. To be religious is to be called to forgiveness; to be spiritual is to live a life that embraces forgiveness. [Even those outside of a faith tradition or who cannot see the spiritual dimension of forgiveness have to acknowledge its practicality; forgiveness breaks the cycle of violence.]
Spirituality, whether within or outside of religion, requires work. Forgiveness as a spiritual virtue does not come easy, even for the spiritually-minded. It is all-too-human to want to limit our forgiveness to those whom we decide are worthy of it. Forgiveness & compassion go together, but what about people who inspire little or no compassion in us, such as the men who perpetrated the 9-11 attacks? To even mention the idea of forgiveness in this context is to invite the wrath of one’s fellow citizens.
The spiritual work of forgiveness is made all more problematic by our instant-gratification and violence-obsessed culture. We are conditioned to respond to emotion by acting upon it without reflection or restraint; and if that emotion is anger, then violence is at least a reasonable response. To respond to a horrific event like 9-11 by embracing the grief and sorrow in prayer or meditation, to contemplate such things within the space of one’s soul, is the antithesis of how society tells us we should respond. Yet, this is precisely what humans are called to do. Mahatma Gandhi reminded us that “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” If humanity is to ever rise above its baser instincts and desires, if it is ever to realize a peaceful and just world, it must embrace its higher, spiritual nature.
Spirituality requires work, and forgiveness does not come easy. Yet, as spiritual beings, and as religious individuals, we cannot not forgive. Speaking as a Christian and a Catholic, there is no alternative. Nowhere does Christ teach that we should forgive those who have harmed us, even our enemies, only up to a point. Forgiveness, to a Christian, must be unequivocal, unconditional, and complete.
In today’s Gospel lesson (Mt 18:21-35), Christ responds to Peter’s question on how much should one forgive by saying “seventy times seven.” He then illustrates this with the parable of a servant who, after being forgiven of his debt by the king, refuses to forgive his own debtor. God’s compassion calls us to compassion; His forgiveness of us calls us to forgive one another. This is the logical extension of what Christ tells us is the greatest commandant after loving God: loving one’s neighbor as one’s self (Mt 22:39). And lest we split hairs over who is one’s neighbor, we are told to “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Lk 6:27). By refusing to forgive, we reject Christ himself.
I could go on and write about the emotional, psychological, and social benefits of forgiveness, but this is not the place for that. Suffice to say that, as with anything, hard work pays off, and the hard work of forgiveness has both personal and collective benefits. My point is that the practical reasons flow from the spiritual act; forgiveness freely given is truly its own reward. Whatever we gain from forgiving our enemies, from forgiving those who cause us harm, we gain from right action. As Christians, as people of faith, as spiritual beings, we are called to righteousness. Amen.
