It has been my experience that one of the first questions that children often ask clergy
has to do with whether or not their favorite pet will go to heaven. Dogs, cats, guinea pigs, even gold fish become
the objects of our affection at an early age and if you love something…it seems reasonable to expect that God would
love it too.
I remember asking that same question at about the same age, and I also remember the answer I was given, which to
me was then, and continues to be now really bad theology! I was told that pets can't go to heaven because they
do not have a soul since they cannot distinguish between right and wrong. Of course you didn't question the authority
of church officials back then, but it seemed obvious to me, even at that early age, that the source of my information
had probably never owned a strong willed dog.
We had one at the time who knew he was not allowed in the living room, and definitely never allowed on the furniture.
He made it a point to live within those guidelines as long as we were home. However, the minute the car pulled
out of the driveway, Rex was watching out the picture window from the sofa and appeared to be very much at home
and comfortable doing it. He always managed to make it back to the kitchen before anyone came through the front
door, but he never really learned how to cover his tracks from where he had been.
I share all this with you because for me it points out the whole issue of culpability. That state of being responsible
for the things we do; of knowing right from wrong, but choosing to do the wrong anyway. I'm sure that theologians
from time immemorial have come up with all kinds of explanations for why we do that. There's the "born evil
to the core" theory, the "yielding to the temptation of the Devil" theory, and the "just don't
care one way or the other" theory. All of them however seem to agree that we knew better…that we had the opportunity
to resist, but that ultimately…we just didn't choose to be better.
That's what I find so amazing about the first word of Jesus from the cross. Here following a demonstration of supreme
cruelty and abuse, of arrogance and indifference, having been scourged to the point where the skin would have been
literally ripped from his back, spat on, struck in the face, a crown of thorns pushed down upon his brow, draped
in purple like a clown, forced to carry the heavy crossbeam through the narrow streets of Jerusalem, and no doubt
further abused by the crowds along the way,…then finally,…stripped, and nailed to a cross in a complete travesty
of justice…the very first words we hear Jesus say from the cross are: "Forgive them, for they know not what
they do."
In most cases, from a human point of view the option of forgiveness is generally based on true remorse. Someone
offends us deeply, betrays a confidence or covenant, crosses a proper boundary intentionally, and then wrecks havoc
on a previously stable life, but in the end recognizes the error of their ways and seeks some level of restitution
and absolvement.
Knowing that the perpetrator had an understanding of what they were doing at the time somehow makes us feel some
small sense of self-righteousness in terms of our having been wronged unjustly, and now vindicated, being placed
in the position, if we so choose, to dispense a kind of "grace." It elevates us, however victimized to
a position which stands above the wrongdoer. Christians I believe feel an added compunction to extend such forgiveness,
since we recognize that Christ has forgiven much in us and therefore we have an obligation to forgive one another.
We express that position every time we recite the Lord's Prayer…"forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those
who trespass against us."
But we do want them to know we have done so.
In those cases where it would appear the perpetrator had absolutely no understanding of the wrong they were committing,
forgiveness again from a human perspective, takes on entirely new dimensions. Courts dismiss horrible actions "by
reason of insanity," and though a punishment may still be levied upon the one who caused the pain…it is a
punishment none the less tempered with a kind of "mercy." History looks back on periods of time when
whole nations engaged in ignorant practices and persecutions, and tends to see our current positions as "enlightened,"
thus extending a degree of tolerance and compassion for the injustices of the past.
All such forgiveness is never really complete…for there are always those who will maintain some levels of doubt.
"Surely someone must have known better. Somewhere mid way through the actions there had to have been a tinge
of conscience…and if not,…should such monsters continue among us?" Yet here, with one of the most graphic
examples of human cruelty before us we hear the Son of God declaring our complete innocence on the basis of ignorance.
"They know not what they do."
If my child wishes not to hold my hand,…and wants instead to run out into the street without looking to see if
cars are coming, or is drawn to touch that bright orange burner on the stove,…could I as a loving parent "forgive"
such ignorance? Clearly as an adult I understand that my child lacks the experience and wisdom to know what potential
dangers such actions may invoke, and though I can foresee that such a lesson may ultimately be the very thing my
strong willed child will needs to learn…I also know that lesson could cost a life.
We counter those who say such things as "ignorance is bliss,"…with a hard learned wisdom that says "bliss
can kill"…and such actions cannot be undone.
No amount of compassion for "ignorance" can eradicate the pain of a parent whose child is gone because
of it. The "if only I had done this or that," the guilt and replaying of events will not completely take
away the sense of failure and personal responsibility…even when there was nothing more we could have done.
Perhaps only God has the ability to wipe a slate completely clean, to say for certain "you did not know…and
even when you thought you understood…you only saw a tiny part of the picture. Therefore…you are forgiven…you knew
not what you did.
But…then comes that voice from early childhood….but I have to know….otherwise I'm no different than my dog, my
guinea pig, my goldfish!
Humbling isn't it?
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