Winter 1979
"First Forgive"
(Mark 11:25)
We were over the Jordan — or was it just the Red Sea? The cult was gone. The campus was ours — at least, that is, in name! Stretching before us, however, were five years of mortgage payments — $175,000 due every three months — followed by a balloon payment of many millions. After our financial struggles of the previous year, I dreaded even these smaller payments. But God had so obviously led thus far, He would have to see us through.
Up until then we could have backed out without much financial loss. After completing our down payment, however, we were legally and financially committed. To pull back then would mean we would lose most of the $1.5 million we had already paid. We were, therefore, very much like the Children of Israel on the other side of the Red Sea: there was no way to go but forward.
In the two years we had reluctantly shared the campus with the cult, we had been very aware that we were involved in spiritual warfare — from without. Once they were gone, however, and we could see the way forward, Satan attacked in new but equally vicious ways. This time it was from within.
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Almost before we were aware of what was going on, the harmony and peace of our little team was destroyed, and we almost went under as an organization.
Basically, it had to do with who was really in charge. Typically, when a new organization starts, those who follow are excited and challenged by the vision of the leader. But the very characteristics which make him a leader, especially his willingness to risk, often make those in authority under (or over) him nervous. Before long, convinced that he is making a terrible mistake about something, they may begin to pull back, make demands and eventually pit themselves in direct opposition to him. Sometimes without even realizing it, their actions jeopardize the very vision which attracted them in the first place.
As in every time of trouble, the Bible was a tremendous comfort to us in this time of stress. We appreciated especially the great detail to which it goes when discussing situations similar to ours. Over and over Ralph read the struggles Paul had with some of the leaders in the churches to which he wrote. It was obvious that Paul was very pained and embarrassed to have to defend his God-given authority over them, but he felt that the future of the church depended upon his doing so. (See chapters 8 to 13 of 2 Corinthians.)
As Ralph's wife, who all too readily (and unwisely) took on his hurts as my own, I urged him to assert his authority as Paul had. But to confront was extremely difficult for Ralph. He much preferred to "turn the other cheek" by waiting patiently to see if, with time, things wouldn't work out on their own.
I could see the storm clouds gathering, and fretted that Ralph didn't "do something." Meanwhile, I began again to read about non-confrontive Moses.
I felt so sorry for Moses! In Egypt, the Children of Israel saw their enemy as Pharoah. Once safely over the Red Sea, however, they forgot the cruelties of the past. Now they remembered only the pleasant things they had left behind, and
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compared their present hardships with those. And they turned on long-suffering, patient Moses. He was now their enemy! Every little problem was his fault. Instead of trying to help him find solutions, they grumbled and complained until his patience was tried to its limits. They forgot the marvelous victories through which he had led them, and even talked of stoning him on more than one occasion. Amazingly, all too often those responsible were leaders he himself had appointed! (See Numbers 12 and 16.)
Sometimes even Moses couldn't take it. In Numbers 11:11-15, he complained bitterly to the Lord: "Why pick on me? . . . The load is far too heavy! If you are going to treat me like this, please kill me right now; it will be a kindness! Let me out of this impossible situation!"
Curious, I thought I'd check to see if other leaders in history had gone through similar experiences, and I was amazed. Not one, it seemed was exempt. All experienced battles from within their leadership which almost overwhelmed them in intensity. Often these occurred right after tremendous victories!
William Carey and his fellow missionaries, Mashman and Ward, made up the famous "Serampore Trio" in Northeastern India. They lived and worked harmoniously together from their earliest days there until they died. Over the years, the Lord crowned their work with tremendous success, and they came to be recognized, even by secular authorities, as gifted, capable men.
After twenty-some years, however, back home in London the members of the original board which had stood behind them in prayer and occasionally in gifts had all died. In their place were several well-meaning, godly younger men, who, nevertheless, were all strangers to the veteran missionaries and to their work.
Without consulting those on the field as had been the pattern, at a very inopportune time the new board sent out two new missionaries who, despite Marshman's best diplomatic
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efforts, were unable to pass the British government's requirements for residence and had to return home. Disgruntled, they blamed Marshman, and so sullied his name back in London that the new board peremptorily fired him.
Asserting further authority, the board demanded control of all the properties in India even though they had been bought with personal funds earned by the Serampore Trio in the absence of salaries from home. They also announced that from then on all decisions would be made from the home office. No longer would those on the field have any say in recruitment or field policies.
Carey was appalled, but powerless. Marshman was like a brother, and his closest fellow worker. How could he dismiss him when he was innocent of all wrong? He remonstrated with the board, which refused to yield, and the mission split. Compounding his personal distress, Carey's own nephew, newly arrived, was one of the ringleaders of the opposing group, who established another station just ten miles away.
For ten years, Carey, Marshman and Ward agonized over what to do, then finally, for the sake of harmony, yielded all rights, at enormous personal cost. The rift was healed in the surrender of all the property demanded, even the house which Carey, Marshman and Ward had bought with their own earnings and had lived in together all those years. Nevertheless, the agony of the dissention never quite left Carey for the rest of his life.1
Hudson Taylor was another. When he started the China Inland Mission, the recruits who sailed with him and his family seemed a real answer to prayer. Nevertheless, before they even got to China, the first symptoms of trouble appeared. Three people in particular decided that they really didn't have to follow Taylor's lead. Within a year they had split the mission, produced misunderstanding with other missions in China, and caused such resentment on the part of the Chinese that the work of the entire mission was threatened,
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almost before it started. Again, the pain all this caused Taylor was almost more than he could bear.2
When our own situation came to a crisis, we were equally perplexed and hurt. Even more difficult to heal was the turmoil on our staff. Before peace could be restored even partially, the staff spent long hours, on several occasions, in repentance and prayer.
Though Ralph was deeply hurt, I was amazed at how readily he forgave. "They just don't understand," he would tell me. Or, "They honestly think it would be better their way." But I saw what had happened as a direct challenge to his authority, an attempt to force things their way. And while Ralph forgave, I assumed his hurts as my own without really realizing what I was doing and as a consequence found truly forgiving very difficult.
All my life I have tried to keep "short accounts" with others. But this time I really struggled, wanting with all my heart to forgive — knowing that according to the Bible I had to — and yet feeling a tremendous barrier between myself and those who had caused us pain. It was easy to put my arms around the ones who said, "I am so sorry." But try as I would, I found it terribly difficult even to greet those who told Ralph that, given the chance, they would do it again. With all my will, I forgave. But my feelings did not seem to recognize that. I longed for the sense of perfect harmony; still the hurt persisted.
Over and over I examined the Biblical passages on forgiving. I read what others wrote on the subject. I forced myself to be friendly. And in despair, when in honesty I still recognized the barrier, I questioned: "Did Jesus forgive the unrepentant Pharisees? How could He have when He spoke such condemnatory words against them?" Yet I had to recognize that His harsh words were not because of the way they treated Him but because of the stumbling block they were to others. Did Jesus excuse us from forgiving those who were unrepentant? Or, can we truly forgive and yet feel
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deep pain and alienation?
I envied Ralph for his ability to say, "Just think how much the Lord has blessed us! Our family is all healthy. Our children all love the Lord dearly and are working with us. We have two wonderful sons-in-law. (Only two daughters were married then.) How many other people do you know who have fewer problems than we have?" Out of strong conviction, Ralph refused to judge their motives. I, by contrast, felt that if he had not so determinedly closed his eyes to what was happening, things would not have come to that impasse in the first place. Yet he had peace; I did not!
In fear and trepidation, I went several times to the one I blamed most, seeking reconciliation. Because I felt we were the ones wronged, however, I found it hard to say "Will you forgive me?" For what? For being terribly hurt? For resenting the pain? With all my will, I forgave him, and told him so. "Yet," I thought, "how much easier it would be to feel I have forgiven him if he would just ask Ralph's forgiveness."
Day after day I prayed, "Oh God, take this bitterness from my heart somehow. Show me what to do. I have done my best; you know I have. Now do a miracle in me. You will just have to do the forgiving for me, through me. I give you my permission. Indeed, I beg you!"
Little by little, He began to show me what I could do. First, He told me to pray for those who had caused us so much anguish. All right! I could do that! I could even pray that God would bless them and fill them with His love.
Then in a very excruciating process, God began showing me that down through the years I hadn't actually been so expert at forgiving as I had thought. He showed me how many offenses I still harbored — usually offenses which were really not mine in the first place, offenses made by others against my husband which I, in my "more discerning" (less forgiving!) spirit, had decided to make on my own. (Wasn't I simply being the loyal wife?) Unfortunately, I didn't realize then
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that our Lord does not promise grace to cover "borrowed" offense! But He showed me how He had been trying to get this message through to me for years, but I would only learn so much. "That is why I keep bringing it back," He said, as I wept.
He showed me how "prickly" I could be sometimes — how unwilling to give up "my rights," even though He (how could it possibly be?) was the One who was asking me to. And one by one I went over those past hurts and forgave, as best I could, each unkind word spoken about Ralph, or to him, as well as those to me.
I began to realize that by championing my husband's cause through taking on his offenses, I wasn't really helping him. I was only hurting myself. Also, gently, the Lord began to show me how that by so doing I might actually be doing Ralph harm. Did I really want him to struggle with bitterness, like I did? And I began, once again, to yield up "my rights," chief among them the right to feel bruised for Ralph's sake. God could take care of Ralph. In that simple act I found peace again. The bitterness against which I had struggled was gone.
I have often pondered about forgiveness. I know that without repentance of the wrong done, the happy relationship cannot be restored. (See 1 John 1:6-7.) But it is possible, even necessary, to forgive even if there is no repentance, even if the relationship is never restored. A mother does this all the time with a rebellious child. But even as she forgives, she waits longingly for the child to repent. She knows instinctively that even though she forgives that child, until that child repents of its wrong, it is impossible for her to shower on her child the same kind of happy love she so wants to give. No matter what, there is an undercurrent of pain, a disruption of fellowship, until repentance is complete.
Probably the most important lesson for me, however, was one which took even more time to fully understand:
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that to bear another's burdens does not mean I also take on his grievances. Since then I've recognized how those who feel they have the gift of mercy often take on the offenses of others, thinking this is a godly thing to do. But in so doing, they become bitter, angry, resentful, and a source of disunity to the whole community. In the end, God cannot use them until they release to Him this offense that should not have been theirs in the first place.
I do not mean to say by this that I should be insensitive to wrongs, nor less discerning. Nor should I be less loyal to my husband. What I am trying to say is that even though hurts are sure to come, I must look at them in a different way. My part is to keep my heart pure and my hands clean by forgiving, by praying for the unrepentant, by refusing to take on the offenses of others (no matter how much I love them and hurt when they hurt), by confronting, where necessary, in the spirit of meekness, and if I cannot do that, to pray.
I do not know why learning to forgive, even when it is unrequested and, perhaps, undeserved, is so essential to the development of our Christian character. But there is something in the process which teaches us humility and breaks our pride. It is not easy. We do not learn the lesson once and for all. When we think we have perfected this skill, then, suddenly, some other occasion arises when once again we must call on God's grace to help us forgive.
The alternative is to live with bitterness and to become hard, unloving, and eventually unloved. Jesus promised to be with us, even in this difficult lesson. He has grace that is sufficient to help us, even though our own resources are inadequate. He is making us like Himself, willing to take abuse and scorn, and to take them meekly and with patience.
One would hope that by middle age, forgiving would not be hard to do. Or better yet, nothing would ever happen that would require forgiveness.
Unfortunately, life is not like that. To live, at least as
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unto the Lord, is to forgive and forgive and forgive, "seventy times seven," as Jesus said.
But the One who gives us the grace is the one who from the cross looked on those who were mocking him, laughing that He considered Himself the Messiah. In the agony of death, bearing the terrible oppressive guilt for the sins of all mankind, to right then forgive those who scoffed at Him for claiming to be what He really was must have been hard. He it is who gives us grace when we find forgiving difficult. He it is who gently, but firmly, prods until we do.
O Lord, because You have forgiven us so much, we also forgive.
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1. See pp. 162-195 of Mary Drewery's William Carey, A Biography, (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1978).
2. See pp. 262ff of Vol. 3 of A.J. Broomhall's Hudson Taylor and China's Open Century: Survivor's Pact (Robesonia, PA: The Overseas Missionary Fellowship).
