Forgiveness Sunday #
For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. (Matthew 6:14-15)
Have you ever noticed how frequently the Holy Gospel speaks of the commandment of forgiveness? In the Lord’s Prayer, we ask that the Lord forgive us as we forgive our debtors. And the parable of the unmerciful servant affirms that only he who forgives shall receive forgiveness (Matthew 18:24 and onward). The commandment concerning prayer states that one must not bring a gift to the altar before first reconciling with one’s neighbor (Luke 11:25).
How many times must I forgive my brother?—asks the Apostle Peter—Is it not seven times?
“Not seven times, but seventy times seven,” replies the Lord (Matthew 18:21 and Luke 17:4).
The same commandment of forgiveness is repeated twice by the Apostle Paul (Ephesians 4:32, Colossians 3:13).
Why does Holy Scripture so insistently command forgiveness?
Because Christianity is all about forgiveness, and in forgiveness is expressed both the essence and the power of Christianity.
Where there is no forgiveness, there is no Christ. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” And who is pure in heart? He whose heart is free from enmity, hatred, and anger—that is, he who forgives. “God is love, and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God” (1 John 4:16).
Thus, where there is no love but enmity, there is no place for God. He departs from the soul darkened by hatred and anger and leaves it to the one whose kingdom is darkness. “He that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes” (1 John 2:11).
We have said that he who does not forgive his brother and does not reconcile with him, according to the Gospel, cannot even cross the threshold of the temple or offer a prayerful sacrifice to the Lord. But that is not all: if a man, harboring anger in his heart, stands in prayer, not only will his prayer be displeasing to God, having come from an impure heart, but he himself will be unable to offer a fervent and sincere prayer to the Lord. “The serpent of hatred, dwelling in the soul, undermines the roots of prayer,” depriving the soul of the strength to ascend to God.
A certain woman once complained to me that she did not know how to pray—her prayer felt cold and lifeless. She was very religious, loved Christ, loved church services, and loved the poor, yet I was surprised by her lack of the gift of prayer.
“Do you have an enemy whom you are unwilling to forgive?” I asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“Until you reconcile with him, your sources of prayer will remain dry.”
By an effort of will, this woman reconciled with her adversary, and the sweetness of prayer became known to her.
And what has been said about prayer, of course, applies to all manifestations of the soul’s life. The lives of the saints emphasize that a person who harbors unforgiveness in his soul cannot be a confessor of the Lord, will not stand firm in martyrdom, and is incapable of performing good deeds. And this is natural: the power of grace, which sustains a person in goodness, is withdrawn from such a soul, leaving it in its own weakness and impotence.
Enmity and hatred, as a kind of “poison of the soul,” corrupt the soul, extinguish the power of goodness within it, weaken it, and render it unfit for the Kingdom of God.
“He that hateth his brother is a murderer,” says the Apostle John (1 John 3:15). One might say that such a person is, at the same time, a murderer of his own soul. This is why the Lord Jesus and the Church—especially on this Forgiveness Sunday—so insistently call upon us to reconcile and forgive.
“Let not the sun go down upon your wrath,” says the Lord.
You may say, “But it is difficult to forgive an offender. Let him come to us and ask for forgiveness, then we will be ready to reconcile with him.”
No, not so. That is how the Gentiles act.
A Christian behaves differently. He either does not notice offenses or blames himself for everything. When the Blessed Kyros, of whom St. John Climacus speaks (Prologue, April 12), was insulted, reviled, and beaten, he only smiled gently. “They are testing me,” he said to St. John. “They are trying my patience, not seeking to harm me.” And he responded to insults with kindness.
Other holy ascetics, when offended, were troubled by their own conscience. “Why did I anger him?” they would ask themselves. “If he became angry, then clearly I must have offended him in some way, wounded him, or provoked his wrath. If not intentionally, then perhaps carelessly—I failed to treat him with enough sensitivity and love.” And so they did not merely “forgive” their offender but sincerely believed that they, not he, were at fault.
This is the true logic of a Christian. Suppose you have been wronged without any fault of your own. Even then, you should pity the offender all the more: clearly, he is deprived of God’s mercy, he is destroying himself through enmity, life and hardship have hardened his heart. You should pity him and, sacrificing your pride, hasten to bring peace to his embittered soul.
It is true—sometimes it is difficult to overcome feelings of offense and hostility. But if a Christian remembers that there is no forgiveness for him who does not forgive up to seventy times seven, he will find the strength to overcome this evil feeling.
Here is the lesson that an elder once gave to a certain brother. The brother told the elder that despite all his efforts, he could not forgive his enemy.
“Very well,” said the elder, “let us pray. Repeat after me: ‘Our Father, who art in heaven…’”
The brother repeated the prayer word for word.
“But do not forgive me my debts, as I do not forgive my debtor.”
“How can I pray like that, Abba?”
“But how else will you pray? Will you lie and ask for forgiveness for yourself while you refuse to forgive your debtors?”
The monk was enlightened.
Reflect on this story. You say you cannot forgive? But that means you are closing off the wellspring of God’s mercy for yourself, condemning yourself to ruin…
by Bishop Mikhail (Semyonov)