The Hard Work of Forgiveness

I don’t listen to a ton of music, but every once in a while, I come across an album that just captures me. I almost get obsessed with it. I’ll put it on repeat and listen to it so many times that I memorize every word, every instrumental break, and every transition on the record. I saturate my mind with it until I finally, eventually, maybe get it out of my system.

I recently experienced this phenomenon with an album called Solar by Christian hip hop artist nobigdyl. His music is catchy and fun for the most part, but there’s a depth to everything he does that draws me in. The track that has particularly stuck with me is one towards the end of the album called “Close.” It’s a very personal song in which the artist openly confesses his sin and the pain that it’s caused. Upon listening, I was struck by its honesty and vulnerability. So I put it on loop and really let it sink in.

nobigdyl. directs the first verse towards his wife. He confesses that he’s been keeping secrets from her, going so far as to say that he put his vows to the side. His sin has led him to the brink of suicide. In his despair, he tells his wife that she would be better off without him, that she should leave him and move on.

And then we get a beautiful image. His wife grabs him by the face. He can feel her wedding band pushing into his jaw. She tells him she isn’t going anywhere, no matter what he’s done. Then, looking into each other’s eyes, they have this conversation:

I said, “Baby girl, you don’t have to take this.”
She said, “Boy, you’re gonna have to face it.”

When I heard that line, I was blown away and a little confused. The verse seems like it’s moving towards forgiveness, and then it suddenly ends with the victim telling the perpetrator that he’s going to have to deal with what he’s done.

It happens in the second verse, too. There, the artist is talking to God about his struggles and his feelings of inadequacy. He feels completely lost, and he knows it’s all his fault. Suddenly, he feels the Spirit of God speaking to him, assuring him that all the bad things he’s done are already forgiven by Christ’s work on the cross. Then they have this exchange:

I said, “Lord, I cannot repay this.”
He said, “Boy, you’re gonna have to face it.”

I forgive you for what you’ve done; you’re going to have to face it. These statements may strike you as contradictory at first. They certainly did me. That’s part of the reason I listened to the song so many times. And the more I listened and reflected on it, the more it made sense.

We often think of forgiveness as letting people off the hook. Letting things go. Forgetting that the offense ever happened. We think that once someone says, “I forgive you,” that’s the end of it. What’s done is done, and there’s never any need to address it again. I’m not so sure.

This viewpoint portrays forgiveness as the end of a journey. Something bad has happened, it’s been worked through, and now it’s time to forgive and forget. Maybe that works for some people. But in my experience (and, if I’m not mistaken, the experience of this artist), forgiveness is much less the end of a process than it is the beginning of one.

Forgiving someone doesn’t happen once they’ve made things right. After all, if things have already been made aright, what is there to forgive? Grace isn’t meant to be withheld until it’s earned; otherwise, it’s no grace at all. Really, it’s meant to be the first step of many.

When we choose to forgive someone, we aren’t saying that what they did is OK. We aren’t saying that we’ve healed from the effects of their actions. We aren’t saying that every part of the relationship has been restored. Instead, we’re saying, “I’m not giving up on you because of this. Together, we’re going to do the hard work of fixing the damage that you’ve done. I’m here.”

Ultimately, forgiveness is costly. It costs both the person forgiving and the person being forgiven. Rather than ignore what happened or just give up altogether, both parties are choosing to face the reality of their situation and deal with it head-on. To confront the underlying issues at play, fix the problems rather than the symptoms, and heal the hurt through time and togetherness. It’s probably the most painful way forward, but it’s also the one that leads to reconciliation. As the chorus of the song says,

I wanna hold you close.
I’ll never let you go.
Come let me in your arms.
I wanna hold you close.

Forgiveness costs a lot. But it’s worth every bit, because it’s the only way to truly find healing and wholeness in this life. Whether it means fixing mistakes that we’ve made or offering grace to a loved one who’s wronged us, may we each choose to do the hard work of forgiveness, today and every day.

Why I’m Doing This

Every once in a while, I like to check in on what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. I want my time and priorities to reflect what I believe and value, so it’s important for me to evaluate from time to time. I do this with my work, my relationships, my hobbies, and more. It helps me stay focused. And I think that now is as good a time as any to apply this practice to my blog.

This site has taken many forms since its creation. As I’ve grown as a person, the blog has evolved in turn. Its format, topics, and schedule have varied drastically over the years, and I think it’s gotten to a point where I have a pretty good idea of what it is (at least for now). At this point in my amateur blogging career, I’m trying to do three main things with my writing.

I write to share what I’m learning.

First of all, I just want to share with others the things I’ve learned and still am learning on my own journey. I’m a fairly introspective person, so putting my thoughts and reflections into a written form is helpful for me. And through sharing online, I’ve learned that my writing can be helpful for others as well. I’m really grateful for the opportunity to take what I’ve learned and offer it to you, and I don’t take it lightly.

They say it’s best to learn from the experiences of others so that you don’t have to go through them all yourself. I’ve had my fair share of both success and failure, so I hope that others can learn from my stories as I share them. If my writing can help one person learn something they wouldn’t have otherwise, that alone is worth it to me.

I write to encourage others to think theologically.

There are a lot of ways of looking at different situations. Some people are optimists, while others are pessimists. Some are practical, others idealistic. Sometimes, a topic needs to considered from a bird’s-eye view, while other times, a more zoomed-in, nuanced approach is necessary. I think all of these approaches have their merits, but none of them have any value if they don’t take into account the ethical, moral, and theological issues at the root of every situation.

Here, I’m speaking specifically to those who, like me, claim to follow Jesus Christ. To my readers who don’t, I hope you find my writings on theology to be valuable, but I understand if they don’t always connect with you. Much of my writing now is inside communication from one Christian to many others, and all I’m trying to do is ask the simple question, “What does God think of this?” It’s not always an easy question to answer, but we’re called to wrestle with it day in and day out. I’m here to do the hard work, and I’m here to remind the church to do so as well.

I write to share compassion and call others to do the same.

I’m convinced that what the world needs right now is more compassion. If we each took the time to consider life from other peoples’ perspectives rather than getting so caught up in our own experiences and opinions, we’d each have a much more wholistic and beneficial outlook. The value of taking into account the experience of another cannot be understated. It literally has the power to change the world.

So I challenge myself to practice compassion in everything I do. From daily encounters at work to major news stories and everything in-between, I do everything I can to see things from the perspectives of others, and it’s made a huge difference in how I live my life. That’s why I talk about it so much here. Not only do I need to remind myself constantly of my commitment to practicing compassion towards, but I also want everyone else to know the fulfillment that comes from it, too. There’s nothing like it. I hope that through my writing, I can continue to share more and more compassion and see the effect that it has on me, on you, and on the world at large.

We’re all works-in-progress. I don’t claim to have life figured out any more than anyone else. But here I am, a work-in-progress, sharing my journey with my fellow works-in-progress in hopes that we can learn from each other, challenge each other, and together create a better, more compassionate world.

That’s my goal with this blog. I’m proud of what it’s become, and I appreciate you for coming along on the journey with me. Whether you agree or disagree on an issue, whether you love a particular post or hate it, whether my articles make you think or just make you think I’m weird, I’m glad you’re here. I’m going to keep working towards these goals with my writing, and I hope you’ll continue to join me here week after week. I’m not going anywhere; I know why I’m here. So let’s do this.

Our God Majestic

I spent last week at a church camp in Orange Beach, AL, with my church’s youth group, and we had a great time. The worship leader was a musician named Stephen Miller. He and his band performed a lot of the typical worship songs, ones that most people there would instantly know and be able to sing along to. But my favorite songs were his originals, the ones we had to learn throughout the week. One in particular, called Our God Majestic, really spoke to me, so I thought I’d share it with you.

Hope is not always an easy thing to hold on to. We each constantly face the temptation to fall into the trap of discouragement. And I’ve been keenly aware of that struggle lately. My heart is heavy, the world seems like a pretty dark place, and I honestly don’t know that it’s going to get better anytime soon.

That’s why I’m so thankful for this song and the encouragement that it’s been to me. The lyrics, especially the first verse and chorus, have reminded me of truths that I really needed to hear, and I’ve been singing the lyrics over and over and over.

Every nation, every throne upon your shoulder.
Every government will bow to your command.
Even as the hearts of men are growing colder,
Your promise will stand.
Your promise will stand.

No matter how evil the powers that be in this world might become, God is still in control. They are still subject to him. He has chosen to allow evil and brokenness to have their reign for a time, but they are not the final word or authority. God is, and everything that takes place is doing so within the context of his divine plan. The powers that be in this world are only temporary; their reign will end.

After all, believers are not truly citizens of any earthly nation, and we don’t truly serve any earthly ruler. We belong to the kingdom of God, which is a different kind of kingdom with a different kind of king. It doesn’t rely on violence, hatred, or control to exercise its power. Rather, it is based on love, peace, and freedom. No matter what the nations of the earth may do, I know that I belong to a greater kingdom that is coming, and when it does, all will be set right.

It feels like the hearts of many are becoming cold. Like humankind is becoming callous to the atrocities taking place in our world. Like desensitization has completely set in and we just don’t care anymore. Like we’ve lost our collect sense of morality and compassion. But I can rest in the fact that God’s kingdom will always stand, and there will always be those who stay true to it and its principles. I can’t change others on my own, but I can be an agent of change in the world by seeking to make his kingdom a reality in my life. And if I put my effort towards this goal, then my work won’t be fruitless.

We take heart, for the Lord is here.
Our God majestic is greater than our fears.
There’s nothing broken that he can’t heal.
Our God majestic will wipe away our tears.
You’ll wipe away our tears.

God’s presence offers us a comfort unlike any other. We never have to be discouraged or afraid because no matter where we go or what situation we find ourselves in, he is always with us. And if he is with us, then he will take care of us. There is nothing more fulfilling or assuring than doing life with him.

He can’t protect us from every bad thing that happens. There are natural consequences of the world’s brokenness that simply cannot be avoided. And there are other evils that could be avoided but aren’t. Regardless, God can’t shield us from every pain, but he can heal us from every pain. He can heal me of the hurt I’m feeling. He can heal my loved ones of everything they’re going through. And he can heal every person who is oppressed, abused, neglected, and cast aside of the trauma and heartache forced upon them. My heart breaks for them, and even though there’s very little I can do for them, I can rest in knowing that God is with them, ready and willing to heal them of even the most tragic of pain.

And in the end, that’s exactly what he’ll do. He has an ultimate plan for the world, and that plan will come to fruition. When it does, all of the pain and suffering that we endure will be forgotten in light of him, his presence, and his healing. In the end, God will set all things right and make all things new. He’s able to do so, and he will in his time.

So if you’re like me and struggling with feelings of discouragement or hopelessness, I hope you’ll give the song a listen. It’s packed full of truths that we all need to hear from time to time. Maybe it’ll be an encouragement to you. It certainly has been to me. Thanks to Stephen Miller for writing and performing such a wonderful song. If you get a chance to listen to it, I’d love to hear what you think!

That’s all from me this week. Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you next Tuesday.

Immigrants Are People

We each have our political opinions about immigration and the issues surrounding it. I do, and I know you do, too. There are times and places to share those views. But that’s not what this post is about.

As I’ve said many times before, I’m not so much concerned with politics as I am with theology and rhetoric. People’s hearts are a lot more important to me than their votes, though I imagine impacting the former will have an effect on the latter. And I am sincerely concerned about the conversation surrounding immigration as of late, especially among my fellow people of faith.

Our words reflect our worldviews. Whether in person or online, what we say is an expression of what we believe. The things we say matter. They affect other people, and they represent who we are to the world. And unfortunately, much of what I’ve heard and read about immigrants, their children, and the policies surrounding them reflect beliefs that are discompassionate at best and downright hateful at worst.

That’s not who we are. At least, I hope it’s not. If we claim to believe in grace, kindness, and compassion—and especially if we claim to worship a God who is love—then our words should reflect the grace, kindness, love, and compassion that we believe in. And that includes the words we use to talk to and about immigrants.

There have been a lot of labels thrown around to describe this group of people lately, many of them egregious. The worst of them, though, have been the ones that seek to strip immigrants of their personhood. They’ve been called animals. An infestation. Criminals. Aliens. The most common de-humanizing term I’ve seen thrown around is “illegals,” a shorthand for “illegal immigrants” that just happens to leave out the part that indicates their personhood.

This is not the way compassionate people talk about other people. And this is just one of the many ways that the conversation around immigration has been infected with hate. It should not be so.

A while back, I wrote an article called People are People. This has become a sort of mantra for me, and it inspires a great deal of what I write on this blog. It may seem redundant to be writing this post, especially since I literally included the line, “Immigrants—legal or otherwise—are people,” in that post. But I am aware of my own temptation to forget and neglect the truth that people are people, and from what I’ve observed in even the most compassionate people, we could all use a reminder. Especially when it comes to people and groups we don’t like or perceive as a threat, we need a reminder from time to time that even they are people.

I don’t have a hidden agenda with this article. My entire point this week is this: Immigrants are people. We should recognize them and treat them as such. That’s all I’m here to say.

Treating someone as a person means recognizing their value. Every person is just as much a person—and therefore just as important—as you and me. We’re all created in the image of God, and we all matter. No one’s needs are more important than any other’s. It doesn’t matter where someone is from; immigrants matter. They matter just as much as anyone else, including US citizens. End of story.

Personhood also includes a narrative. Every immigrant who comes to the border has a story. They have a history, sometimes a tragic and dangerous one, that has led them to where they are. They have a family, often a family who is journeying along with them. They have a rich inner life of thoughts, emotions, and dreams just like anyone else. Every person, including every immigrant, has a story.

Being a person isn’t all good stuff, though. Every person has flaws, too, because no one is perfect. We shouldn’t overlook the fact that people make mistakes, nor should we have unrealistic expectations that any person or group be perfect. Immigrants are imperfect people just like the rest of us; let’s not ignore that or be surprised by it.

These are just a few of the things that come along with recognizing the personhood of another. Of the course, there are many more. But ultimately, acknowledging the fact that someone else is a person—if we’re truly doing so—elicits compassion in each of us. When we’re at our best, when we’re being who we’re meant to be, when we’re taking the time to recognize other people as people, we have compassion for others. We have compassion for all. We have compassion for immigrants.

I don’t have all the answers for the issues facing our world. No one does. But I know that the solution starts with recognizing people as people and showing them the compassion they deserve as such. May we never allow politics, prejudice, pride, or any other vice to keep us from doing so. I have in the past, and that’s why I need these reminders. If you find yourself in that place right now, it is my hope that these words will spur to renew your commitment to compassion, too.

Immigrants are people; let’s treat them like it. Thanks for reading.

Is It Biblical to Enforce the Law?

I don’t usually write blog posts that are tightly bound to current events. Rather, I try to create articles that speak to what’s happening in the headlines but will still stand on their own in the future, offering principles that can be applied to new issues as they come up. But in this case, I feel led to address a current event using the platform I’ve been given. So if this article seems dated in the future, I apologize, but this is the issue for people of faith in my country right now, and I feel that it would be wrong not to say something.

It’s recently come to the light that the U.S. border patrol has been practicing a policy of separating families at the border. Specifically, officers are taking children away from their parents who are found without proper documentation or come seeking asylum from their home countries. Rather than letting these undocumented families wait together for an immigration trial, officers are arresting the parents and sending their children off to DHS. All of this is part of an attempt by the current administration to deter people from trying to immigrate to the U.S., basically by saying, “If you come here, we’re going to treat you like a criminal and take your kids away. So stay out.”

As one might imagine, this has created a great deal of backlash both in the United States and around the world. Citizens and politicians alike have spoken out against this policy. The United Nations drafted a letter calling for this practice to cease immediately. U.S. Senators are trying to pass legislation that would put an end to it. Even the president himself has said he is against separating families at the border.. Opposition to this practice seems universal.

Which is why the world was floored by a couple of statements made by prominent political figures last week. In a speech Thursday, Attorney General Jeff Sessions defended the separation of families at the border, citing Paul’s command in Romans 13 for Christians to follow the law. And later in the day, Press Secretary Sarah Sanders aligned herself with Sessions’s comments, claiming, “It is very biblical to enforce the law.”

These comments were extremely troubling, especially for Christians. The policy of separating children from their parents is evil on its own, but trying to defend that policy using the sacred text of our faith only makes matters worse. By making these statements, Sessions and Sanders were trying to legitimize a horrible policy implemented by the administration they work for, but in reality, they simply brought more criticism upon themselves and misrepresented the Christian faith.

Since then, countless Christian voices have come out of the woodwork denouncing the words of these two individuals and stating in no uncertain terms that separating children from their parents goes against the teachings of the Bible. I’d like to add my voice into the mix, and I’d like to do so by calling into question Sanders’s statement. Is it actually biblical to enforce the law?

Let’s start where Sessions started: Romans 13. It is true that in this chapter, the apostle Paul tells Christians that they should obey the law and submit to governmental authorities. Here’s Romans 13.1-4a, the first bit of that chapter:

Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have een instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists authority resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Do you wish to have no fear of the authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive its approval; for it is God’s servant for your good.

According to Paul, Christians should submit to governmental authorities because they have been instituted by God to ensure that people do good. While one might take the first sentence out of context and conclude that Christians are supposed to submit to authorities no matter what they do, that’s not the case if you read on. We are to submit to authorities insofar as they promote good (that is, the will of God). This is the gigantic, gaping hole in the Sessions/Sanders argument: The policy they’re defending is not good. In fact, it’s downright demonic.

Throughout history, the people of God have always recognized that the powers that be in the world are in some way instituted by God. They are a necessary means of organizing and protecting large groups of people. At their best, they can promote community, offer support to those in need, and lead us to accomplish things collectively that we couldn’t do on our own. But we have also always recognized that there is a higher law than that of man, and that is God’s law.

This recognition has been with us from the very beginning. When the family of Jacob, the ancestor of the nation of Israel, moved to Egypt, they had their first real experience of being subject to a human government. The relationship was strained to say the least. When Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites, forced inhumane demands on them, and killed their baby boys, did God tell them to submit themselves to the king’s authority? Of course not. He sent his servant Moses to stand up to Pharaoh and say, “Let my people go.” God freed them from an oppressive ruler who had strayed from his law by oppressing people made in his image.

Things didn’t get much better when God’s people started ruling themselves. When the nation of Israel asked him to give them a king, he obliged and appointed King Saul, but he did so reluctantly. And it wasn’t long before this new government diverged from God’s law. By the end of his reign, Saul had become violent, power-hungry, and consumed with rage. He disobeyed God by trying to take over the priesthood and use the nation’s religion for his own gain. And when that didn’t work, he turned to witchcraft. God didn’t tell the people to follow this ruler as he spiraled into desperation and ruin; God replaced him with someone else.

On and on the story goes, the story of God’s people resisting the rule of those who do not follow his laws. The prophets who called out the kings of Israel and Judah for their idol worship and accumulation of wealth. (Many of them were killed for speaking God’s truth to power, by the way.) The young queen who risked her life to stop a government official from committing genocide. The exiles who refused to bow to a foreign king’s idol. (He tried to kill them, too.) Over and over again, God’s people remained faithful to him by opposing rulers who set themselves against him.

And then there’s Jesus, who provoked both the Jewish rulers and the Roman rulers to the point that they executed him as a criminal. Christians are quick to point out the truth that Jesus never committed any sin, but have we stopped to consider that he must have done something to get himself arrested and sentenced to death? The truth is that Jesus broke a lot of laws: over-legalistic religious laws concerning sabbath, laws concerning interactions with other people groups and those with diseases, the Roman law that said no one but Caesar could claim to be a king, and more. (It was probably that last one that got him crucified.) Jesus didn’t break laws arbitrarily, but anytime the law of human beings conflicted with God’s law, he made it clear which side he was on. And he was right in doing so.

The early Christians did the same. Peter and John were arrested for spreading the gospel and commanded not to speak the name of Jesus, but they ignored the rulers’ orders. Stephen, one of the original deacons of the church, was arrested and stoned as a result of his work for Christ. Paul himself, the apostle who wrote Romans 13, was arrested and later executed for sharing the good news of Jesus. Do these sound like people who blindly submitted to governmental authority to you?

Throughout the church’s history, Christians have engaged in civil disobedience to defy and protest unjust laws. From ancient Roman Christians who were executed by the state for refusing to worship the emperor all the way down to Dr. King’s marches for racial justice (and all of the false arrests that were made as a result) and even today in countries across the world where evangelism is outlawed, when governments oppose God’s word, Christians resist. Because we know that when we’re forced to choose between following human laws and following God’s laws, we’ll follow God’s laws every single time.

So no, it isn’t always biblical to enforce the law. In fact, if the law goes against the will of God as communicated in his word, it is decidedly unbiblical to enforce the law. In cases like this, it is actually biblical to break the law, change the law, and, if necessary, replace the people who created the law rather than to follow it. There is no biblical justification for enforcing, following, or supporting evil laws.

Yes, Christians are called to obey the law of the land in most cases, as Romans 13 demonstrates. Most laws in this country , like those protecting the right to life and property, are good. But we are also called to fight against evil in this world, including evil laws from the governments we’re typically meant to submit to. After all, as Ephesians 6.12 reminds us,

Our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places (emphasis mine).

You know who wrote that? Paul, the same guy who wrote Romans 13. His outlook might have been a little bit different in this passage, though, considering the fact that he was in a Roman prison awaiting trial when he wrote it. That tension you feel between Paul in Romans 13 and Paul in Ephesians 6 is the tension we as Christians are each called to live into every day as we seek to follow God’s will in this world.

In the case of separating families at the border, it’s pretty clear that this policy goes against everything we know about God from the Bible. From his concern for the foreigner, the poor, and the oppressed to the importance he places on the family unit to his great commandment to love others as ourselves, the Bible is chock full of passages and principles that clearly condemn this practice. Our government, the officers who enforce this policy, and all who defend it ought to be ashamed of themselves for their role in destroying the lives of these families. They are not on the side of God.

It is my hope and prayer that this policy be reversed immediately and the damage repaired as much as possible. (Some of it can never be undone.) And I believe that this practice will soon end. But our struggle is just beginning. This is not the only case where the law of the land is opposed to the law of God. And these cases aren’t simply legal matters or political matters; they’re matters of right and wrong, good and evil. It’s clear which side God is on, and it’s our responsibility to ensure that we’re always on his side, no matter what human-made entity that may put us in opposition with.

The consequences of opposing human authorities may be dire, but the consequences of opposing God are much more so. I’ve already decided which side I’m on. Have you?