Forgiving the (Not So) Dearly Departed

As I write these words I am listening to a “Night Sounds” radio broadcast titled, “Forgiving the Departed.” It occurs to me that it might just as well be called, “Forgiving the Not So Dearly Departed.”

As a pastoral counselor, I often tell people that “I’ve heard so many ‘strange and wonderful’ stories it would make your hair turn green, if I had any,” (hair).

And so many of the multiplied thousands of stories I’ve heard involved those who had already gone on to their reward, and who are beyond either asking for forgiveness, or hearing that ‘other’ three word sentence. (“I forgive you.”)

I recall one client in particular whose mother developed a chronic illness when “Susan” was 8 or 10, and as a result, her father, for all intents and purposes, made her his surrogate wife. Of course, Susan found a way out of that environment in her mid-teens, and managed to navigate life on her own.

A few years later, my client’s mother passed away, and her father lost his job. By this time Susan had her own apartment, and (amazingly) her dad asked if she could put him up ‘til he “got back on his feet.” And (amazingly) his daughter acquiesced to his request.

Sadly, Susan’s father resumed “where he left off,” and during one attempt to coerce, or force her to do something she didn’t want to do, a gun went off. And her father died. A police investigation cleared my client of all culpability, and characterized the death of the elderly man as self-defense.

A few times during my tenure as a pastoral counselor, I have encouraged a client to visit the gravesite of someone who has wronged him or her, but never made amends for their neglectful or purposeful act, and to utter a few words of forgiveness. If I have gotten to know the client well enough to presume upon our rapport, I will sometimes provide them a half-serious rejoinder.

“Now, the assignment is to forgive them. Don’t come back here and tell me you peed on their grave!”

Of course, I am always prone to remind my clients that as horrible and egregious as someone’s sins against you or me have been, they can never match up with mankind’s, nor our individual sins which separated us from God, and caused Jesus to come to earth, and die in our place.

But more practically, (at least to my client and their stake in the thing) is my admonition that “as long as you withhold forgiveness from the (not so) dearly departed, you keep yourself in bondage to someone who can no longer hurt you, (except as you invite them to.”)

I understand that sometimes people have to work through the bitterness which consumes their spirit, or psyche (or whatever term you care to use), before forgiveness is possible. And, as a result, I have sometimes given my clients a preliminary assignment.

“As often as the mistakes or sins of someone who is no longer here cause  bitterness to rankle your spirit , repeat these words aloud. ‘Bitterness, you’ve lived rent-free in my life for far too long! Now, get out!” (And rather than that initial “B” word in that first sentence, I have often encouraged people to substitute the name of the party who harmed them).

Un-forgiveness will keep us stuck for longer than we want to stay, and make us pay far more than we care to pay. It’s simply not worth it. We have our lives to live, people to impact, and goals to achieve. As long as we allow the rancor of un-forgiveness and bitterness to permeate our lives, we limit ourselves. He or she who wronged us are far beyond caring about the trouble they caused us, or the ongoing pain we continue to endure as a result of their malfeasance.

So often, forgiveness is an “on purpose” activity. It is not a dynamic based on feelings. If we wait ‘til we “feel like it” we may be 103, and the deed may remain undone.

Sometimes we have to begin with that three word sentence,

… and let the feelings catch up.

 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 5