One of the least helpful things I think you can suggest to someone is to “forgive and forget.” I know that people are well-intentioned. And, yes, there are any number of minor annoyances, barbs and insults that you really should let roll off you like water down the back of a proverbial duck.
But you are not a duck!
I cannot speak for the psyche of our feathered friends, but I know we humans suffer emotional damage that cannot be forgotten. “Forgive and forget” is really wishful thinking — a wish it hadn’t happened. At worst, this saying is actually abusive, for it implies that a painful reality should be ignored. Some sins leave a deep scar on the soul.
Instead of forgetfulness, forgiveness begins and ends with the truth. When acknowledging the pain through heartfelt apology, “I’m sorry” are two of the holiest words in any religion. And also utterly countercultural.
Since ancient times, civilization has been built on this rule of law: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. But the truth of practicing forgiveness is that we break the cycle of retribution that governs our relationships. Without retribution, we can seek reconciliation — which is why an ancient rabbi taught his disciples that, in order to receive forgiveness, they must forgive others (Matthew 6:14-15). The hard truth is that we should say “I’m sorry” at least as often as we say “Amen.”
My grandfather was a pastor. Granddad was a kind-hearted and devout man. Funny, too. But throughout his career, Granddad changed churches numerous times, uprooting his family in the process. Wherever he went, Granddad seemed to find an antagonist. Privately, he would refer to this person as his “nemesis.” Often, this nemesis would have done something wrong, even cruel, to him. We all know that people get hurt in churches. Perhaps Granddad tried to forget it, but this relationship only grew worse and worse until it was simply intolerable and Granddad had to jump ship.
Several years after he retired, Granddad was admitted to a hospice house. By the time I arrived from out of state, he was already heavily sedated. It seemed that Granddad could only say two short phrases: “thank you” and “I love you.” Whether it was the influence of the morphine or another spirit, I couldn’t say, but he repeated this refrain to family, lifelong friends, and members of the healthcare staff he’d only just met: “Thank you. I love you.”
That would be beautiful enough to face your end with gratitude and love on your lips.
But, as the shadows lengthened and the fever of life became dimmer, Granddad began to say something else: “I’m sorry.”
At first, we tried to soothe him, telling him that there was no need to apologize. But he became more and more agitated. Finally, we fell silent around his bed and listened to him apologize over and over. Granddad’s eyes were glazed and he seemed to address the ceiling: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The more he apologized, the calmer he became. Finally, he smiled and something came over his face that I can only describe as the peace that passes understanding.
You and I don’t have to wait until our death beds to make our peace. Instead of forgetting, we humans can choose to remember — remember to ask for forgiveness and remember to forgive. If we can break the cycle of retribution, then the truth might set us free.
