What is Forgiveness?
I’ve never counted, but I’d wager that after prayer and almsgiving, Christ talked about forgiveness more than anything else. He told us to forgive “seventy times seven times,” and, if necessary, seven times a day. In the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant, the Our Father,[1] and a few other places, Christ told us that we won’t be forgiven for our sins unless we forgive others.
Yet I’m not sure I know what forgiveness is. Consider the following scenarios:
Let’s say I have a friend. “Doug.” He and I get into a nasty fight. Later, we reconcile. I hang out with him, do good deeds for him, compliment him, defend his reputation, etc. But when I think back on that argument, I can relive it, seethe, and imagine all the hateful things I could have said to him. Have I forgiven him?
I confide in a friend, and he tells people what I said. Does forgiving him require me to confide in him again?
A student disrespects me, her teacher. After dishing out a punishment, our relationship goes back to normal. I harbor no resentment toward her. But when her name comes up in the faculty room, I tell other teachers that she’s disrespectful. Or maybe I say that she can be disrespectful. Either way, have I forgiven her?
A student disrespects me, but it’s not a one-time incident. Nearly every day, since the first week of September, this young talent has given me reason to dig my fingernails into my palms, question my career choice, and risk an overdose of St. John’s Wort. I’ve had enough, and I lay into him. Had this been his first offense, he would have earned no more than a mild rebuke. Have I forgiven his previous misbehavior?
The answers to those questions aren’t obvious, and since our salvation depends on us forgiving others, the stakes are high. I’m not aware of any guidance from the Magisterium or Catholic apologists, so here’s my unqualified attempt to answer those questions, to which I welcome disagreement, criticism, and correction.
Scenario 1: Doug and I are on good terms, but sometimes I recall and fume over a past disagreement.
I can see someone arguing that I’ve forgiven Doug. One could claim that when I relive the fight, the guy I’m imagining isn’t actually Doug; he’s an abstraction, a memory, a non-entity. I’m kind to flesh-and-blood Doug, so I’ve forgiven him, the real him.
I’m not persuaded. When I’m with Doug, I recognize that this is the person I argued with. If I let myself, I could get steamed up about our fight and vent my anger at him.
We talk about forgiveness in either-or terms: I’ve forgiven Doug or I haven’t. That can be confusing. If I am a good friend to Doug, but fly into orbit when I think of a past argument, I’ve partially forgiven him. But as Christians, we are not called to do things partially. We are called to be radical. That applies to forgiveness as much as it applies to service to the poor, reverence for the Eucharist, or any other aspect of our faith.[2]
It may be that we talk about forgiveness in either-or terms because that’s how Christ talked about it. On forgiveness, He never hedged His words or left room for lawyerly what-abouts. His command was always uninflected: forgive. The only more specific direction Christ offered was to forgive “from your heart.” I take that to mean that He wants us to expunge anything that pulls our hearts away from Him. Speaking from experience, the memory of old fights, along with leftover anger and wounded pride, pulls our hearts away. To forgive Doug, fully forgive him, I need to forget the past altogether.
Scenario 2: After my friend reveals my secret, do I need to confide in him in the future?
No, at least, not right away. As long as we’re tepid, and remember that people are complicated, character judgments are not wrong. Sometimes it’s wrong to avoid the—it would be irresponsible if I hosted a dinner party but, too scrupulous to make character judgments, I invited serial killers and arsonists. For the same reason, it’s acceptable to recognize that my friend is a blabbermouth and avoid confiding in him.
That said, after enough time has passed, I should offer him a chance at redemption. One of the great things about being human is that we can change. My friend might be gossipy, but with growth and grace, he can learn to tighten his lips.
The Catch-22 is that I can’t ascertain whether my friend is trustworthy—if other people confide in him and he maintains their secrets, I’ll never know. All I can do is give him a chance and confide in him again.
That’s risky, but we’re called to take risks. When we think about risking ourselves for the sake of charity, we usually imagine something more heroic—rescuing someone from a burning building, for example. It’s not as romantic to gamble with your reputation for the sake of restoring an old confidence. But discipleship wasn’t meant to be romantic, and small, unassuming acts of charity, especially risky ones, are grand in the eyes of God.
Scenario 3: The once-or-twice disrespectful student. Am I justified in warning other teachers that she can be disrespectful?
As long as it doesn’t degenerate into gossip and cattiness, teachers should talk about their students. Our job is to build virtue—to instill manners in rude kids, boldness in quiet kids, and industriousness in lazy kids. Teachers need to know their students’ strengths and weaknesses—we can’t help students grow unless we know how they need to grow—and sometimes other teachers have insights that can help us do that. In principle, there’s nothing wrong with alerting other teachers that a student struggles to be respectful.
The wording is important though. “She can be disrespectful” is different from “she is disrespectful.” The second judgment is based on a handful of moments, and skims over the 170-something days of the year when she wasn’t disrespectful. It’s too harsh, and harsh judgments point to a grudge. If I find myself saying “she is disrespectful,” that’s a sign that I haven’t forgiven fully, and that I still have work to do.
Scenario 4: The consistent behavior problem.[3] When I punish him, is it acceptable to be harsher with him than I would with a well-behaved student?
The answer is: Yes, but.
Punishment is an act of love. This used to be so widely understood that it wouldn’t be worth writing, but I’ve met a lot of parents[4] who don’t get this. Kids need to be reprimanded when they do wrong. Punishment teaches them to drop (or at least, temper) their bad habits, which gets them on the path to virtuous adulthood. A kid who misbehaves every day needs a harsher punishment, because previous attempts haven’t been enough to reform the student’s character.
It’s also not wrong to let anger drive the punishment. God gave us emotions to help us do His will, which is why, when the moment called for it, Jesus wept and raged. Punishing kids isn’t easy. It’s unpleasant in itself, can incur bad will from students, and usually entails extra work (parent emails, overseeing detentions, writing an “incident report,” etc.). Without anger, I might not summon the energy to give the needed punishment. Anger also clarifies the message. If I came across as stoic, the troublesome kid might not understand how bad his behavior is.
The hard part is letting go of the anger after the incident’s passed, and offering the student opportunities for redemption. That’s not easy, but it’s the example that Jesus gave us. Kids, more so than adults, “know not what they do.” If Christ extended mercy to His killers, how can I hold onto a grudge against a student? Or for that matter, anyone?
[1] Apparently “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those…” is a shaky translation. The original Greek implies a causal connection—God forgives us because we forgive others.
[2] Something to ponder: these other demands of our faith are more public, easier, and more pleasant (or maybe less unpleasant) than forgiving others.
[3] Unlike scenario 3, I think it’s fair to say “he is disrespectful” about an everyday offender. I wouldn’t be overlooking his good days and focusing on the bad; the bad outweighs the good. It’s fair to acknowledge that.
[4] Characteristically, they’re the parents of the kid in scenario 4.
Guest contributor Stan Blaihr, who describes himself as “a Catholic with a lot of opinions,” is a teacher in Baltimore. He runs his own Substack at https://contrariancatholic.substack.com/