+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Some of you know that when I was in seminary I had the honor of serving as chauffeur and “body man” for Desmond Tutu. He had come to New York to give an address, receive an honorary degree, and have his name given to one of the buildings on campus, and it was my task (along with one of my classmates, who was far more physically imposing than I) to get him from engagement to engagement. This was a rather frustrating task, because people kept recognizing him, and he clearly wanted very much to hear each person out, give advice if asked, say a prayer. It was just the way he was, but with a tight schedule and a city with eight million potential distractions (I mean, human beings), I often had to be the bad guy, because the Archbishop was not going to be.
Because this aura surrounded a man whom many considered a hero and some a living saint, it is often forgotten now how controversial his work in the immediate post-Apartheid era was, when he chaired South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission—the work for which he earned his Nobel Peace Prize. And you might be surprised to learn with whom he became most unpopular if you’re not familiar with how it all went down. You see, it was a Truth and Reconciliation Commission, not a “Truth and Retaliation Commission”, and the goal was a clean start for a new, majoritarian democracy established on a principle much like Lincoln’s intention for Reconstruction in the American South—effected “with malice toward none, with charity for all.” So, the most frustrated with the process were not those white politicians and farmers who had to own their culpability publicly and contritely, but some in the black majority who wanted to “hang ’em high” and immediately seize their property.
Of course, history is complicated and the right method for establishing a more just society is a contentious and politically fraught issue. People of good will can have sincere disagreements on how to balance restorative and retributive justice—that is, how much should the legal system try to effect reconciliation and how much should it simply punish evildoers. I personally think that neither approach taken to its extreme is a terribly good idea, that there has to be some kind of balance for society to function, but I don’t intend to adjudicate that thorny issue in the next few minutes.
I will say that at least the attempt of effecting rapprochement before “throwing the book” at somebody—as Tutu’s Commission attempted to do—is more in keeping with how Jesus tells us to approach those who have wronged us than some alternatives may do. Note that the approach Jesus tells us to take in today’s Gospel is not without consequences for the absolutely impenitent; if the whole body of the church isn’t able to bring about reconciliation the offender is cast out “as a Gentile and a tax collector.” But before it gets to that point there are several attempts to find another way and to maintain fellowship.
This is a way in which we as Christians can, in our corporate and our personal lives, model something which is remarkably counter-cultural at present. We can act in such a way that the maintenance of relationships is held as a value in itself rather than the first reaction being to “bring the hammer down.” The cultural impulse right now, it seems to me, is inherently punitive and, speaking just for myself, I think it’s present on both extremes of the political spectrum. One side may wish to immediately lock up anybody who crossed the border illegally once and the other might wish to ensure that somebody who said something racist or sexist on the internet a decade or more ago should be forever banned from polite society no matter how contrite he is. I’m not trying to make a false equivalency here, but I do think these come from the same impulse. And that impulse is tribal—my side is right and the other side must be made to suffer. What if we first tried to gain a brother or a sister?
Jesus tells us that the first step is to go privately to one whom we believe wronged us, and this is a very tough thing in my experience. Perhaps the natural approach in some cases is to immediately elevate the matter to “the authorities”, whether that’s the priest, the boss, or the law, depending on the situation, and in cases where there is fear for one’s safety that is probably wise, but how often is that the case. For whatever reason, and despite having lived in big cities before moving here, Findlay is the first time I’ve been the victim of crime. It’s happened several times over the last decade, but always just petty theft or minor vandalism. Sometimes I’ve had no idea who the perpetrator was, but at other times I had a pretty good guess, and then I have struggled to take Jesus’ direction here. Sometimes I’ve succeeded and sometimes I’ve called the cops right quick. I’m still not sure I’ve always made the right decision there. Moral difficulty comes with the territory of trying to be a Christian, I think.
Less common in my case and perhaps yours, though, are these situations where there is a clear authority and the question is whether or not to appeal to them. More common are those where the choice us between approaching the one who wronged me with a desire for reconciliation, approaching them with a desire to tear them apart, or simply keeping it to myself, stewing about it, and becoming resentful. Sadly, I am probably most disposed to the last approach, and that can be deadly for one’s soul.
In these situations I find I must try to take a prayerful best guess: is a sincere desire for reconciliation and a charitable approach to the wrongdoer likely to be received for what it is, am I ready to own my own part in whatever has created enmity, and is the wrong significant enough that it must be addressed. If the answer is yes, then I try to explain calmly what I perceived to be my brother’s or sister’s fault privately in a way in which it can be heard. Rarely has this required elevation of the matter to two or three witnesses, and only twice in seventeen years of ordained ministry has it required “telling it to the church” (which, in my case means getting the bishop on the phone).
If, on the other hand, the answer to one of those previous questions is no, I have a choice. If I’m not ready to own my part in the relationship being broken, the choice is easy: I have to get there for the sake of my own soul. The other one’s easy, too: if it’s not significant enough to be a reason for demanding some satisfaction I’ can just let it go.
The tough one is when the wrong is big enough that one’s sense of justice is scandalized but there’s very little chance my interlocutor will ever recognize that he or she acted poorly, or at least not anytime soon. And here, I can only speak for myself and as someone who’s had to deal with things that are hurtful but not majorly criminal or very physically dangerous. I have determined just for myself (your mileage may vary), that I have to accept the reality, move on with my life, and try to be in relationship with that other person even in ways that may put me at risk of getting my feelings hurt again, assuming there is a reason that the relationship is a good in itself because that other is a family member or a colleague or a parishioner. Yeah, the boundaries will probably be a bit higher moving forward, but I’ve personally found calling it quits and breaking all ties permanently has a tendency to hurt me spiritually. Worst case scenario, my kindness can be like those burning coals from last week’s epistle. Best case scenario, I forget whatever mean, petulant thing was said or done, I’ve grown a bit more forgiving, and the bond of peace is maintained.
I say this approach is counter-cultural, because a lot of the advice you get these days is that if somebody doesn’t fully agree with you about something important about yourself or the world, even if that person is close family, your first recourse and almost your cultural or political obligation is to cut that person out of your life entirely. I don’t think this is a very Christian approach, quite honestly, and it’s not how the body of Christ should operate.
So let not the eye say to the hand “I have no need of you” nor the head to the feet. Sometimes my feet may be sore and bring about a generally sour disposition, but I do not then cut them off. I try to reconcile myself to the feet (perhaps by not wearing opera pumps). If we’re really called to suffer for the sake of others, we may need to be careful about putting a lot of conditions on that. At least I know that’s the case for me, who can easily justify the selfish avoidance of discomfort by calling them “boundaries.”
So I will leave you with a question to ponder. Who in your life do you need to approach one-on-one and engage in an act of mutual forgiveness? Perhaps such reconciliation is impossible; but maybe it is possible, it’s just uncomfortable. But this is how Christ calls us to be together, and through the discomfort we can find that love can cover a multitude of sins.
+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.