The Violence of Human Hearts (Forgiveness II)

Indeed, forgiveness is necessary because we do violence. The story of human history is essentially a story of violence. Many ancient cultures taught that God (or the gods) forged the world in violence or in war.[1] Immediately after the Fall of Man in Genesis 3, we have a story of murder, as Cain kills his brother Abel.[2] Of course, we see violence every time we turn on the news or, perhaps even closer to our home and within our own hearts. Still, we may not think of ourselves as violent people, and perhaps we do no physical violence. But violence takes many forms, and you don’t have to pick up arms to inflict it. 

When I was five years old, I had a birthday party at McDonald’s. My best friend, John, came late, just as I was opening my gifts. The first toy I opened was a M.A.S.K. car, the hot toy for five-year-old boys, and from the end of the room, John called out, “Brandon, what is it?” 

I heard him, but I pretended I didn’t. He cried out louder, “Brandon, let me see!” By then I knew that he knew I could hear him, but I still ignored him, despite the desperation in his voice, which revealed that I was hurting him. I felt a sick shiver of elation. There was something alluring, intoxicating, about holding sway over someone. About being able to inflict pain. About having power. It was nothing physical, but nevertheless, I did violence to my friend. 

I have done far worse. But there is something so pure and distilled about this memory in my mind, unclouded as it is by the justifications or covering-over that comes more skillfully with age. As a child, I could feel the undiluted desire for power which, no doubt, still lives in me. It was a barbaric impulse beyond words, which I felt as lust and energy. The longing to be the one overpowering and not the one overpowered. To be the one powerful enough to do violence, and never to receive it. 

We live in a violent world because humans seek power to feel safe and to get what they want, and sometimes getting power requires—or seems to require—violent means. This is the human pattern: we long for love, but we will settle for power. When the Scripture talks about sin, it is talking about this: the inevitable human tendency to focus on self and then to hurt others in our attempt to get what we want. It is something we are stuck in, something that we can’t fully find our way out of on our own. Indeed, we often don’t even know we are stuck. 

Jesus himself was crucified to satisfy the lust of those who wanted him out of the way so they could maintain power and control, although their notion of what was happening was entirely different. They framed their actions as defending the faith. (We should note how easy it is to justify, hide, and repackage our lust for power.) It is this same Jesus who, on the cross, beholding those who crucified him, said, “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.”[3]

Wait… what? 

First of all, why don’t they know what they are doing? It’s because violence is not rational, it’s emotional and primal. Our pursuit of power is so visceral, so interior to ourselves, that we are blind to it. We are always acting to meet some emotional need, much of the time before we even realize it’s there. My feelings have often been hurt by some unintentional comment my wife makes, which I misinterpret or make overly significant. My response—which happens before I even have any conscious idea what I’m doing—is often to lash out with a snarky retort or just cold silence. Anytime I feel threatened, I tend to respond immediately, before I’m aware of it, blind to the violence I’m doing. Jesus constantly warns us about this state of being caught by our own mechanisms of violence yet also blind to them.[4] Only when we see our chains can we hope to be free of them.[5] When Jesus heals us, so that we can see, he reveals all the ways in which we have done violence and in which we are currently doing violence, so that we can turn from darkness to light. 

Jesus himself demonstrates this turning into light. He forgives those crucifying him! How does he do it? How did Jesus, caught in the hurricane of violence, refuse to engage hatred or spite? How did he confront violence with forgiveness instead, destroying violence itself in the process?

To enter the story that Jesus writes, we first have to acknowledge our own relationship with violence. We have to acknowledge the violence that has been done to us, for many of us have been in the place of my friend John, standing in pain, unanswered and uncared-for. And we also have to acknowledge the violence that we have done, perhaps with willful intention, perhaps without meaning to do it at all. After all, even though I didn’t intend to hurt the woman I promised to love and marry before reneging, I did violence to her nonetheless. If we are to be free, we must account for and confess all this violence.

For all of these readings in one place, order my book 'Learning to Live and Love Like Jesus.'

[1] See, for example, the Enuma Elish, a creation myth from Babylon (7th century, BC).

[2] Genesis 4:1-24.

[3] Luke 23:24.

[4] Again, see Luke 23:24, and also the Gospel of John, where Jesus constantly speaks of blindness. E.g., John 3:19.

[5] Cf. John 9:41.