And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.
Matthew 6:12 (NIV)
It’s hard to be transformed as God’s image-bearers when we believe the lie that we’re a better judge than God and will only forgive people when we feel like it.
Disruption
I will always remember the day my perfect little world was disrupted by the truth of our family’s painful past during a difficult conversation with my mom at a café in our hometown shortly after I’d given my life to Jesus at 19.
The knowledge of my mother and father’s personal trials laid siege to my apparently fragile emotional stability and newfound faith. When the veil was lifted, my broken heart was exposed. Looking back on that moment in time, I see a young girl in shock, protecting her heart with anger, hatred, and vengeance as she assaulted her mother with words intended to wound. The secrets she revealed with fear and trembling, knowing that I might reject her forever, helped make sense of some of the fuzzy memories I’d had while growing up. But at the same time, they incited a deep anger that I had been keeping at bay within me.
I got up from the table, shouting expletives in impassioned tones and generally making a horrific scene. I told her that I hated her and would never forgive her as I made my dramatic exit. She followed me out the door, crying and asking for forgiveness, which I refused to give.
A couple of weeks after our heated conversation, I was lying on the couch reading a book when my mom walked into the kitchen. I made a point to glare at her with disdain. She paused and said something that changed my life, although she wouldn’t know it for seven more years when I would give birth to my first son.
“Andi, I only hope you can forgive me one day like I know Jesus has forgiven me.”
I lay there acting as though her words didn’t affect me, but deep down I knew she was right. I made a conscious choice to hold on to unforgiveness, which turned into bitterness, offense, and resentment.
Finding Truth
Fast-forward seven years. I had moved to Australia, completed Bible college, and married Paul. I was as far away from my mom geographically, as emotionally. This distance was fine with me—until I became pregnant with our first child. All of a sudden, I had a newfound sense of responsibility to deal with my issues. If I didn’t work toward healing the relationship with my mom, I would pass this dysfunction on to my son.
For the six months prior to my pregnancy, I went to weekly counseling. Issues from my past had been affecting my marriage, my ability to lead in church, and generally function in life. Each week there was some sort of breakthrough, as God gently revealed things and healed me along the way.
My mom had deeply hurt me, and I needed healing, but I thought about all the cruel ways I had been treating my mom. If my future kids treated me that way, I would be heartbroken.
About a month before my son, Ezekiel arrived, Paul and I went on a trip for our “baby moon.” Paul went out to the beach, while I stayed in the hotel room, feeling very large and pregnant. I settled in to read the biblical story of the adulterous woman “caught in the act” and thrown at the feet of the Pharisees.
With my own words, please allow me to paint the picture of grace and forgiveness in this story from John 8.
The mouths of the accusers froth for justice as they throw the woman to Jesus’s feet. She is an adulterer, caught in the act—naked, broken, and full of shame before a crowd of religious zealots. She writhes in pain and grabs at her open wounds from the brutal journey to the temple, the “holy” Pharisees dragging her over rock and coarse sand through winding streets. As Jesus gazes into her eyes, the crowd holds their breath with expectancy for justice to be had. The law is clear: she should die.
Instead, Jesus’s eyes turn away as he kneels, staring at the temple floor. His hands extend, tracing words on the ground that, to this day, not a soul knows. Is he stalling? Is he sending a message? Is he listening to his Father for direction? Is he drawing a line in the sand?
The Pharisees yell demands for judgment, testing him in front of the crowds. “What do you say we should do, Jesus?”
Jesus stands up slowly, looking into the woman’s eyes with kindness and understanding. Her soul is met with a dignity that every living person desires. He turns to the Pharisees, and with wisdom that could only pour down from his Father in heaven, says to them, “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to cast a stone at her.”
The resulting silence is palpable as Jesus again lowers himself to draw, only the breeze whistling gently against buildings.
In one sentence, Jesus disqualifies each man and woman present from the seat of judgment, while simultaneously qualifying himself, the sinless Lamb. The stark reminder of their own law permits no response; not one of them is without sin, and they know it. As each Pharisee walks out, the crowd thins until only a few onlookers remain.
Jesus looks again with dignity and forgiveness at the woman. “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”
She raises her head, wincing, wondering if a stone is already on its way. Instead, the piercing eyes of Jesus confront her heart with a purity she has never experienced: love. Does his kindness not come with a price? To her own surprise, she replies, “No one, sir.”
The only One worthy of the judgment
seat remains in front of her.
His words of forgiveness release a grace through love that overwhelms her heart. “Then neither do I condemn you. Now go and leave your life of sin.”
She is forever changed!
This story took me back to that moment when I lay on the couch, glaring at my mom while she prayed I would one day be able to forgive her like she knew Jesus had forgiven her. I wept, recalling my cruelty and bitter unforgiveness.
Alone in that hotel room, except for the child in my womb, I cried out, “Oh, God! I forgive my mom! I forgive her! You have loved her always, and I do too! I forgive her!”
After those deep, penitent words came out of my mouth, it was as if Jesus himself entered the room. “That’s so good, sweetheart, because you were the Pharisee that threw her at my feet, when you should have been on the ground next to her, on your knees, asking for forgiveness.”
I dropped to the ground with my eight-month-pregnant belly and wept, repenting and asking for forgiveness for the judgment I had held against my mom when it was never my seat to sit in. The judgment seat has room for only One.
Note: Excerpts taken out of Andi Andrew’s Book, She Is Free: Learning The Truth About The Lies That Hold You Captive