The Lost Art of Forgiveness

Out of all the things Jesus could have included when teaching his disciples how to pray, one of them was “forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matthew 6:12). Yet, I admit I don’t pray that part of the Lord’s prayer as often as I should. And I would say I probably actively forgive those who have trespassed against me even less. Asking and granting forgiveness is a lost art in our culture today. However, especially among Christians, this shouldn’t be.

Our forgiveness of one another on a human level is rooted in the forgiveness we have received from God. We forgive others because we are forgiven. That was the entire point of the parable Jesus told of the king who forgave his servant a debt of 10,000 talents. In that parable, a servant was brought before his king who owed him the equivalent of billions of dollars. In short, it was a debt that he, a lowly slave, could in no way repay, not in a thousand lifetimes. The king decides to sell him, his wife, and his children. In a desperate last attempt, the servant begs for mercy. “Out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt” (Matthew 18:27). Don’t pass that by too quickly. The king just forgave a billion dollar debt “out of pity.”

I don’t think I would be spoiling the ending too much to pause right here and point out that God’s the king, and we’re the servant. Every last one of us has an incalculable, unrepayable debt against the God of the universe. We’ve spit in the Holy One’s face by blatantly rebelling against his righteous laws. Everyone has turned his own way. No one seeks after God like he ought. And yet, God forgives sinners. Through Jesus’ work on the cross, hopelessly indebted rebels can find complete pardon (read more about that here).

Back to the parable: So the servant leaves his master’s presence, fully forgiven his debt, and who do you think he bumps into? A fellow servant who owes him a hundred denarii. One denarius was the equivalent to one day’s wages of a common worker. That is, this man owed the servant a hundred day’s wages. This is no small amount. How much do you make in 100 days? For a person who earns $10.00 an hour and works eight hours a day, we’re talking about $8,000. This is no small amount. This is a sizable debt that, if someone owed that much to me, I’d want repaid like yesterday.

Upon seeing the man who owed him eight grand, the servant demanded that he repay his debt. This guy, too, begged for mercy, and the servant refused. In fact, he threw the guy in jail until he should repay the amount.

Well, word spread quickly of the servant’s actions, and the king ended up hearing about it. The king called the servant before him and reprimanded him for not forgiving his fellow servant as the king had forgiven him. Remember, the point is not that the servant wouldn’t forgive the man a small amount when the king had forgiven him such a large amount. Eight thousand dollars is a large amount! The other guy was in serious financial straits here due to his debt. The point of this parable is found in the comparison between the two amounts. The king forgave the servant a nearly incalculable debt that the servant could never repay even if he wanted. This other guy, on the other hand, while he did owe a substantial amount, perhaps could have actually repaid the servant in time.

The point of the parable? We forgive others their very serious trespasses against us because God has forgiven us our infinite trespass against him. Our forgiveness of others is rooted in God’s forgiveness of us. I don’t mean to make it sound like this is easy. Eight thousand dollars is a lot of money! If you need some help in forgiving others, spend some time thinking over the extent of the debt that has been forgiven you. Though the person who wronged you may have really hurt you deeply, God has forgiven you wrongs that you’ve done against him that are infinitely more grievous. And as children of our Father, we should look and act like him.

In these past few weeks, I’ve repented of (that is, I’ve turned away from) some very specific sins in my life and have actively sought God’s forgiveness for those things. Then I’ve basked in the glory to know that “if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). I’ve accepted the forgiveness that he so freely grants. In light of that, it’s been easier to offer grace to those who have done to me what I consider to be serious wrong. It’s not that the other person hasn’t serious hurt me. It’s simply that in light of the infinite debt that I’ve been forgiven, somehow I’m less inclined to demand full repayment of lesser debts from others.

Living this way is incredibly liberating. It will liberate you from pride, from bitterness, and from a desire for revenge. It destroys barriers that we’ve built between ourselves and other people. You see other people in a new light. You see them in the light of their need for compassion instead of in the light of their indebtedness to you. God forgives; therefore, I forgive.

Forgiveness is a beautiful art that I, many times, forget to practice. It’s certainly been lost in our society today. Nonetheless, isn’t that part of our calling as Christians—to be salt in a tasteless world? What transformation could you start in motion by forgiving others as you have been forgiven? And what more powerful testimony to the greatness of God’s grace could a lost person ask to see? Your forgiveness of others bears witness to the greatness of your God who has forgiven you. There is no God like our God, and your forgiveness of others is proof positive. Grace and peace to you as you forgive like you’ve been forgiven.

It is Enough

It is enough. I am alive.
I feel God’s earth beneath my feet
And from the sun his light and heat.
Though my libs wilt and can’t derive
The strength to stand, I am alive.
Such true and lofty thoughts defeat
Mere circumstances hard or sweet.
Though foes in pride succeed and thrive,
I am content to be alive.
For life is proof that God, replete
With sovereign joy, extends complete
Love always. Praise him. I’m alive.

© 2012 Eric Evans

Now Stand

God fells a tree to forest’s floor
that fainting fledglings might see sun.
God raises rotting roots to plant
resistant, righteous ones that that grow
deep down, resisting fiercest rain.
God breaks a man that he might build
him better than he was before.

Great God, and now you bid me stand?
How can you bid me stand in strength
when you in sweetest sovereignty
secured my swift and sure demise
and devastated my whole world?
Is this some kind of hateful joke?
Am I to stand up tall or die?

The tree falls for the fledgling’s sake,
and rot is rooted up for life.
It seems, then, God has broken me
that I might be rebuilt to stand,
for standing is impossible
with malformed legs that can’t hold weight.
Now wrecked and built anew, they stand.

© 2011 Eric Evans

Oh, Those Things I Do

Why do I do what I do? Ever asked yourself that? Why do I keep such a close guard on every word I say and how I come across in every situation? Why does my heart race whenever I begin to suspect I didn’t come across as I intended? From where does such behavior stem?

It is both gloriously liberating and dreadfully devastating to hear what James 4:1 has to say about the matter. With piercing clarity, James states, “What causes quarrels and what causes fights [outward behavior] among you? Is it not this, that your passions [desires, wants, longings] are at war within you?” Ouch. Turns out I do what I do because of the desires of my heart. In other words, my actions are a direct reflection of what I want deep down.

Ever wanted to change yourself in some way? You’re going to have to go deeper than you might have realized. You’re going to have to change what you want. I’d really like to stop feeling an adrenaline rush every time I think someone has had a bad impression of me. Looks like I need to stop wanting that person’s approval so much.

But how do I change what I want? I mean, really? Who is able to consciously decide to stop liking chocolate or pepperoni pizza? Desires you want to do away with are best changed not by uprooting the unwanted desire merely. Although you’ve got to do that. The best way to rework your heart’s cravings is to replace those cravings with higher desires. Using our example, if a person wanted to stop liking pizza, perhaps the best way to do so is to replace that desire with an even greater desire, like the desire to lose weight, for example. Until a person’s craving for pizza is replaced with something greater, behavior is not likely to change.

If deep down I crave for people to like me, the best way to change that yearning is to replace it with a greater desire, say, my desire for God to like me. And in Jesus, I’ve got that. (Does God like you?)

Wait, why was I worried about another person’s opinion of me?

But what do you do if that so-called “greater desire” just doesn’t do it for you? Pizza may look so much better than a smaller jean size. You, my friend, need new eyes to see. You want what you want because you honestly perceive the desires of your heart to be good for you. You think they’ll satisfy. A person wants pizza more than he wants to lose weight because he perceives the pizza as more satisfying than weight loss. I want people’s praise because I value that above the acceptance of my God. What in the world do I do now?

We are not without hope, for God is in the business of giving new sight to the blind. He alone can change what we perceive as good which affects what we want which results in a change in our behavior.

Need new eyes? God draws near to those who draw near to him. He promises he will hear his own. Happy desire refining.

“What Suits?” or “What Saves?”

I was skimming through a TIME Magazine article the other day and was struck by a graphic that compared the various views of heaven that several major world religions hold.  That’s when a thought struck me.  I wondered if that’s not how many people decide their religious beliefs—buffet style.  That is, I asked myself if many people today don’t choose a belief (or an entire religion for that matter) merely based on how it stacks up when compared with another one.  Whichever belief suits the prospective believer best wins, as if all the various beliefs of all the world’s religions were laid out on a buffet line to be looked over and chosen only if the hungry seeker deemed them palatable.  And even closer to home: Do I do that?

That’s not really a good way to go about it, to be honest—choosing your religious beliefs (or even your entire religion) that way, I mean.  It shouldn’t be as much about what suits me.  My main concern should be centered on what saves me.  It’s not a matter of which belief appeals to me the best.  What should interest me most is whether or not the belief under consideration is true.  After all, I’m a firm believer in the fact that I don’t determine reality.  Simply because I believe something does not make it true.  It follows from that conviction, then, that determining whether or a particular religious belief is true is much more important than whether or not I like the idea.

How do I determine truth?  I seek my shepherd’s voice.  What does Jesus have to say about a particular belief?  What words from God’s written word—the Bible—is Jesus speaking to me about the matter at hand?  That may not be a satisfactory answer for many, but for me, that thought fills me with indescribable peace.  I think it’s because I trust the good shepherd so much.  I’m sure that when he says his sheep hear his voice (present tense, indicating an ongoing reality—something that’s true right now), I, his sheep, will in fact be able to discern his voice and know his will, and in that way, he will lead me to truth.  And even when his voice does not give me the specific response I would like, he’s still so trustworthy that I’ll humble myself and wait for all to be revealed the day I stand before him face to face.

So how about you?  How do you decide what you believe?  Leave me a reply.  I’d love to hear from you.

A Matter of Words

I really want to know God. Like, really. I want to be able to communicate with him. I want to know what it is to walk in his presence. I want to feel him near, and even more than mere feeling, I want him to actually be near.

So my question naturally becomes, Well, then, just how do I do that? What is required to bridge the seemingly infinite cosmic gap of time and space that exists between me and the Creator God of the universe? Is communication with him mystical? As in, does communing with God involve low lighting, special chants, and some type of out of body experience? Must my spirit somehow leave its body and cross the vast void of eternity to enter God’s presence and know him near? Does interaction with the Divine involve a transcendent experience of bright light, heightened enlightenment, and warm, fuzzy feelings?

Sometimes I wish I had such experiences. They just sound so intriguing. And what great stories they would make! Certainly upon having such an experience I could be assured that I had, in fact, touched the heart of God and that he had touched mine.

It dawned on me the other day that communicating with God does not require anything out of the ordinary whatsoever. In fact, communicating with God is achieved by exactly the same means by which I communicate with my wife, my students at school, or a stray dog on the street. Communication involves words. It always involves words. If I want to communicate something to a dog, my students, my wife, or to God himself, the only way I can do so is through my words. It’s very simple. I speak to him. That’s all it takes to create a link with the very Maker of heaven and earth. A word.

And the mindboggling thing about it is that that’s exactly the same way he communicates to me. Receiving communication from God—just like sending it—doesn’t require trances, late-night conjuring, or special sensitivity to secret, ethereal energy fields either. He speaks to me in words. And if that weren’t jaw-dropping enough, it turns out that God wrote those words down for me in a book. And I own a copy.

If you’re like me, at first glance such an idea might seem like a letdown. I’d rather fast for seven days and then scale a high mountain where I perform some ancient, mystic ceremony during which I feel all sorts of warm fuzzies and in the process experience the very presence of God. The reality is, however, that tends to speak to me around 5:43 A.M. when I’m still wearing my bathrobe and slippers, hunched over my Bible, fighting to keep my eyes open because the old, stained leather chair we got from a thrift store is way too comfortable for morning devotions. And he speaks to me when I’m walking down the hallway at school on my way to see my fourth graders, mind racing and anxious about all I need to get done. And he speaks to me when I lay my head down on my pillow at night, and when I go to the gas station, and when I’m feeling irritation well up inside me toward my wife.

And just how does he speak to me? No lights. No soft music. No smoke. Just his words. His words as he wrote them down in a book, the Book of books, the Bible. And my heart speaks back, either audibly or silently. And in that moment, I’ve communicated with God. Unfathomable. And it’s the most common experience of all, for such is every single interaction with every single human being you’ve ever had or ever will have. Communication is essentially an affair of words.

The question, then, is whether or not you hear his voice. And whether or not you answer back. In words, of course. Something that Jesus says to me often is this: “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). That has become a very dear word directly from God’s heart to mine. And I would be overjoyed if you could say the same.

Whether you’ve never communicated with God before or you’ve done so innumerable times, at the heart of that communication are words. Speak to him, and then open the book he wrote for you and listen to him speak right back. It doesn’t sound as cool as mountaintop highs or ethereal energy fields, and yet, in my personal experience, it’s better. I think it’s better because it’s real. Real communication doesn’t involve such theatrics. But real communication is what the soul craves. So speak and listen. A real God is waiting for real fellowship with you through real words.

Behind the Poem: “Innocence Lost, Glory Gained”

Click here to read “Innocence Lost, Glory Gained,” posted January 26, 2012.

The Meaning
A little boy stares up at me with probing brown eyes. In a moment I catch a glimpse of the shift that has begun to take place in his bright, young mind. He’s beginning to see the world for what it is. And as you and I know, the world is not always a pretty place—but he’s just figuring that out. And just as you once experienced but have probably forgotten, such a realization can be devastating to a child.

Maybe the other fourth graders have stopped wanting to sit by him at lunch because they’re starting to see that he’s just a little different from the rest. Perhaps his parents are fighting more than ever and he’s not able to drown out their shouting like he used to. It could be his sister tried to kill herself a few days back, and he’s been suddenly faced with realities that he could not, a week ago, even fathom existed. (I wish all those examples were hypothetical. You learn a lot about life from third and fourth graders.)

Staring back into his big brown eyes, I can only weep on the inside, for I see what he doesn’t see. I see what his parents and his classmates and his sister don’t see. I see that life is only going to get harder, especially for this boy, of this socio-economic class, in this racist world, living in this godless and therefore hopeless society. From my vantage point a little bit farther down the road, I can see that this instance is only the first of many run-ins with reality that will leave his head spinning.

And it makes you want to cry. It makes you want to take this precious little boy home and shelter him from every horror that’s out there.

And then this thought hits me upside the head: In my own life it has been amid realizations of the harsh realities that exist around me that Jesus has whispered most clearly, “Nevertheless, I’m here, and I’m sure. I’ll be your rock in a very shaky world.” And doing the only logical thing my mind can conjure up, I cling to him in utter, helpless faith. And he saves me.

It may be that this brown eyed boy has a long, hard road ahead of him. And he may be on the very cusp of realizing that fact. Yet it might just be that this long, hard road was designed by this child’s Creator—who, by the way, loves him infinitely more than I ever could—to eventually lead him to Jesus. Perhaps it’s only through the hardship that this little boy will think to seek out the one who promises to carry him through like nothing else in the universe can. Maybe only up against the ugliness of life will this little boy ever be able to clearly see the beauty of the Jesus he so desperately needs.

May God be faithful to work it out to such an end.

The Technical
This poem doesn’t follow any traditional form. It is written in iambic quadrameter consisting of rhymed couplets. That means that each line has eight syllables that generally follow the pattern ta-DUM-ta-DUM-ta-DUM-ta-DUM. That the poem consists of rhymed couplets means that every two lines rhyme with each other.

The first 22 lines describe the changes that take place as a child grows up. The next four lines act as a commentary on the first 22 lines and a bridge to the next 22 lines. In the second half of the poem I discuss the difficult truth that it is confrontation with the harshness of reality that many times drives one to Jesus, and if that’s the case for my student, may it be so. God will be good to him as he has been to me.

Praise the Lord for the hope that’s found only in Jesus, hope that is seen most clearly when all other hope is lost.

Seeping Sin

I’m sickened by the sin that still seeps out
Of unpatched cracks that mar this earthen pot.
The stench of stale, and festering slime could not
Be covered though the cracks were worked with grout.

Was not this heart already born again?
Was not the Spirit poured out over bone
And flesh, and wasn’t he to transform stone
To living, beating heart? And yet, there’s sin.

Oh, wicked, vile, wretched man am I!
Who brings new life to bodies dead in sin?
I praise our God it’s Jesus Christ our kin
Who died ’neath sin’s rank curse that we’d not die.

And clinging fast to Jesus’ cross, I see
It’s with my transformed mind I serve God’s law,
Yet in my flesh I’m held beneath sin’s claw.
One day he’ll fully set this captive free.

For now, we groan internally and wait
With hope for body’s crowned redemption bought
In full at Jesus’ cross and being wrought
In might, though slow may seem the Spirit’s gait.

So while this seeping sin still sickens me,
Each whiff’s a sweet reminder: Cast your hope
Again on Jesus’ gracious cross whose scope
Envelops filth for all eternity.

© 2011 Eric Evans

Hard Truths Learned from Hardwood Floors

Last week I wrote about our move to a new house. (Click here to read that post.) The house is from the early 1900’s and has beautiful hardwood floors. The other day I was sweeping those beautiful hardwood floors only to be greatly disturbed by the amount of muck the broom was able to rustle up. And we had only been living in the place a week. A week! Hair. Bread crumbs. Dust. And not that pretty powdery stuff; I’m talking about massive clumps of ickiness. It was, in a word, gross.

I asked my wife if our carpeted apartment was this dirty, and her response surprised me. She said it was worse. That, like a great many things, got me thinking. Hmm. Looking at all this dirt and grime I’ve swept up off our hardwood floors, I’m absolutely disgusted. Yet the same, if not more, filth was hiding in the carpet of our old apartment the whole time. Now if I am honest with myself, I knew the carpet of our old apartment was just as dirty if not more so. Yet for some reason the dirtiness of our old carpeted floors was somehow much more acceptable to me than the dirtiness of our new hardwood floors.

The difference? My perception. I knew the dirt was there in our old carpet. I just wasn’t able to actively perceive it. I couldn’t see it and I didn’t feel it stick to the bottom of my feet as I walked across the room. As long as I didn’t perceive the filth (even though I knew it was there), it was just fine and dandy that the floors were dirty. But as soon as I or someone else is able to perceive the reality of what exists right below our feet, watch out! The cleaning maniac will definitely be appearing shortly to take that dust to town.

And isn’t that exactly how I treat the grime of my own life? Just as long as you or anyone else doesn’t notice the filth, I’m fine with the mess. As soon as someone begins to be able to perceive the amount of dirt in my life, only then do I desire to do anything about it.

For me, the answer is not that we desperately need carpet in our new home. Nor is it that I need to frantically keep a close watch on anyone who just might get a little too close to me and see the dirty floors of my heart. In fact, I’m rather thankful for this newfound perception of my dirty hardwood floors. I’ll keep them cleaner that way. So, too, should I welcome the hard truth that no matter how squeaky clean I love to present myself, I really am dreadfully sinful. And that’s not all bad news. This realization encourages me to “clean house” more often, to keep short accounts with God and with others, and to cling more fervently to God’s good grace found only in Jesus.

If you (whether actually or only metaphorically) find yourself coming to grips with your grimy hardwood floors, rejoice. That’s a good thing! By God’s good grace you’re finally becoming aware of just how much muck exists beneath your feet. It existed in your old place when you had carpet. You just couldn’t perceive it. But now you can! You’re finally beginning to see just how much your need Mr. Clean for the soul: Jesus. You would need him either way. Better to realize it. Now you can ask him to do something about it. And he will. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).

Behind the Poem: “Unrestrained”

Click here to read the poem “Unrestrained,” posted on 11/12/2011.

The Meaning
There is a longing within every human heart that is inestimable in vastness. God put it there. It is a good longing. It is a longing we have as human beings to be in relationship with our infinite Creator.

We all know relationships matter more than stuff. Just ask any lost child in a toy store, desperately looking for his mother. What’s more valuable, that Star Wars action figure you were just drooling over or your mom’s presence? Or just ask any cancer patient undergoing chemo treatments. What’s more valuable, spending your last days polishing a shiny new Mustang in the driveway or spending time with your grandchildren?

There is one relationship that matters more than any other. It is a relationship that is able to bring us more joy and more fulfillment than any other. And that’s a relationship with our God. The poem “Unrestrained” is an expression of the desire to burrow as deeply as possible into a relationship with our amazing Creator.

I chose the title “Unrestrained” because what I long to know in my walk with God is complete unrestraint. No barriers. No walls. Just him. All of him. All of him just like he is. Just like a man dying of thirst will throw off all restraint to quench his thirst, so, too, would I throw off all restraint to know my God.

And in Jesus, it is possible to do just that. It’s not possible through any religion or system or set of rules or good behavior. It’s possible through Jesus Christ alone. If you’d like to learn more about knowing your Creator, click here.

The Technical
This poem is an English sonnet written in iambic pentameter.  A sonnet is a fourteen line poem, and an English sonnet specifically is a sonnet that contains three quatrains (a quatrain is a four line stanza) with an ending couplet (a two line stanza). The rhyme scheme of this piece is ABAB CDCD EFEF GG, in which the last word of the first line rhymes with the last word of the third line and the last word of the second line rhymes with the last word of the fourth line, etc.

As traditional English sonnets work, “Unrestrained” builds a single idea over the course of the piece. Each subsequent set of four lines expands or deepens the singular idea. Here, the focus is on the feeling of longing. Dry ground longs for rain. Cancer ridden patients long for cures. The moon longs for the sun’s light. Each reveals different aspects of the specific feeling of longing I was trying to express.

The image of dry ground longing for rain reveals the barrenness one feels apart from his longing fulfilled. The image of a patient longing for a cure reveals how desperate one feels as long as his longing is left unfulfilled. The image of the moon longing for the sun’s rays reveals the hope and joy that are also associated with awaiting the fulfillment of one’s longing.

Not until the last two lines is it revealed just what this longing is for. The fact that three quatrains were dedicated to building a specific feeling of longing and that only at the end is its object revealed builds, I hope, suspense. By the time the reader gets to the end, I wanted him or her to be asking, “Just what in the world could this desperate person possibly be desiring to fill such an obvious aching of soul?” And then, in a word, the object of such a hunger is revealed.

It’s Jesus.

It’s always Jesus.

Only he can satisfy the insatiable craving of this soul. Praise God he’s ours if we would have him.