Catholic News Service
There is a little ritual I try to follow each time I think I can’t forgive someone for having offended me.
I simply find a mirror, take a good look and, sure enough, all the skin on my nose is still there.
An oversimplification? Of course. Like everyone else, I have incurred some serious wrongs that cause far more damage emotionally than physically, wounds that won’t show up on my nose or any other body part my mirror can find.
But my mirror ritual gives me time to stop, cool down and consider what has been done, how I am reacting and what needs to happen now.
Usually what needs to happen is for me to forgive the offender, a spiritual act of mercy. This I am always willing to do, for I don’t like carrying around hurt feelings. I want to be “right with the world” and vice versa.
But I also know forgiveness is not as simple as telling the offender, “I forgive you, let’s move on.” I find that those who have offended me don’t always know they’ve offended me or they don’t think they have or they don’t care if they have.
As I understand it, the offender has to acknowledge the actions and seek forgiveness in order for forgiveness to mean something.
It is so much easier to move on when there is an honest, sincere and, hopefully, God-centered dialogue between offender and offended that enables each party to see past the offending action and into the heart of the other, to see the essential God-given goodness that is part of each of us.
That last part, I very much believe, is what Jesus was thinking when he hung on the cross and asked his Father to forgive those who had put him there, the greatest act of forgiveness in our church’s history (Luke 23:34).
But how many who heard Jesus’ words actually sought forgiveness?
We are told that many went home “beating their breasts,” suggesting that they knew they’d messed up big time. We know that the centurion glorified God and declared, “This man was innocent beyond doubt” (Luke 23:47).
Two other participants in the Passion story, in my mind, offer compelling food for thought when it comes to forgiveness.
Every Good Friday we hear that Pontius Pilate, who, the Gospel accounts of the Passion tell us, seemed to try every way he could to avoid executing Jesus, placed the inscription “Jesus the Nazorean, the King of the Jews,” on the cross. When the chief priests objected, Pilate answered, “What I have written, I have written” (John 19:19-22).
I’ve always wondered: Given all that preceded this, was Pilate, in his own, admittedly clumsy way, seeking forgiveness? Was placing this inscription his act of contrition?
Or was it just a way to annoy his pesky subjects, because he didn’t really care what happened one way or the other? Why didn’t he just say, “Stop!” if it bothered him so much?
I don’t know the final answer, but I do know I’ve sometimes done hurtful things under duress, things to appease others, things where I didn’t foresee the consequences (or maybe I did, but did them anyway).
Things for which I need forgiveness.
It occurs to me that when I do my mirror ritual, I not only see all the skin on my nose, I see that I am not hanging on a cross. More important, I remember that I’ve done my share of offending others.
That’s when I think about someone else from the Passion story: the fellow hanging beside Jesus who asked him to “remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42). His act of contrition, Jesus assured him, would bring him to paradise.
Seek, Jesus tells us, and you will find (Matthew 7:7). If Jesus offers merciful forgiveness for those who desire it, how can we offer less?
Nelson is former editor of The Tidings, newspaper of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles
