“Can forgiveness find a footing in broader systemic realities?”
“To encourage [Black people] to see their suffering as righteous obedience to God in Christ is to sanctify a perpetual social death.”
“In a moment of racial distress, forgiveness becomes a reflex response that serves the social maintenance of racial hierarchy.”
Some quick reflections: This is why forgiveness without amends is usually bad.
Potts is right that punishment and recompense will always be incommensurate with the wrongdoing (except for restitution, which can come close). That’s how you can say that forgiveness and justice can and do coexist: Forgiveness doesn’t say nothing is due; forgiveness says that what’s been paid is enough. Nothing more is due.
Just finished reading: “Forgiveness ≠ Reconciliation: Wisdom for Difficult Relationships” (2024) by Yana Jenay Conner, whose main idea is well summarized by the title. This was my favorite article in the Winter 2024 issue of Comment. Conner helped me realize that Matthew 18 contains a righteous unforgiveness: “And if he refuses to listen…let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector" (v. 17). And these two partial quotations struck me as beautiful: “I was a daddy’s girl without a dad…” and “Even if I was interested in adjusting my grip on the cross…”
“Go, eat delicacies and drink sweet drinks and send portions to whoever has none prepared, for the day is holy to our master, and do not be sad, for the rejoicing of YHWH is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10, Alters). The enjoinment to enjoyment along with generosity, both in the name of the Lord, warms my soul.
“The secret to faith is to have two loves: one for God and the other for whoever happens to be standing in front of you at any given time” (Eloy Cruz to Jimmy Carter, as quoted by Randall Balmer in The Christian Century).
There are many kinds of love. The most extraordinary kind is the love God has for us—it’s eternal. And then there’s the love parents have for their kids—bigger than you can possibly imagine. There’s friend love, which can be magical, but it can also change over time. And then there’s married love. This kind of love is extraordinary, because it requires so much, and also gives more than you can imagine.
— Amy Low, to her kids • “New Eyes” (2024), an essay published in Comment
“For then will I transform peoples with a pure language for them all to call in the name of the LORD, to serve Him with single intent” (Zephaniah 3:9, Alters).
Lord, please transform Christians in this way. As it is, it seems we’re calling in the name of different lords to serve with various, opposing intents.
“Only rich people can live like Wendell Berry,” said my friend Josh last night, helping me articulate a misgiving I have about what The Farmer advocates. I don’t think it’s entirely true, but I do think it’s an examining thought worth bringing when you read Berry. 📖
a post-hoc contribution via WhatsApp to a house church discussion I missed:
Since the prompt last Saturday (“How do we do our part in cultivating the fruit God seeks?”) was mine but I wasn’t around to help discover answers, would you permit me nine sentences in reply?
Having been thoroughly convinced of God’s lovingkindness—well, as convinced as one can be about the thoughts of a typically invisible, inaudible spirit—I find myself frequently emphasizing the value of direct effort toward the exercise of emotional and relational virtues. In other words, I tend to see God’s good fruit as habits to practice rather than virtues to receive. Just as nothing succeeds at mastering a musical instrument more than practicing the musical instrument—not reading books about music, not talking to composers—nothing will succeed at developing love, joy, peace, patience, and the rest of them more than trying to think, speak, and act in love, joy, peace, patience, and the rest at every possible juncture.
Direct effort is better and more powerful than any other spiritual discipline toward the goal of bearing good fruit. And I mean this very situational, down-to-earth, “if this, then that,” habit-building sort of way.
At the same time, I know I’ll fail at this. The trick here is to keep trying—“a righteous person falls seven times and rises again” (Proverbs 24:16)—and not grow discouraged. Even just trying to think and act better is good, and as Bruce highlighted a couple of weeks ago, “Don’t become discouraged in doing good, for in due time we will reap, if we do not become weary“ (Galatians 6:9).
When I am tempted to beat myself up for such failure, I call upon this quotation from Brother Lawrence (without going so far as to completely absolve myself of responsibility):
“When an occasion arose which required some virtue, he said to God, ‘Lord, I cannot do this unless You allow me.’ […] When he had failed in his duty, he simply confessed his fault, saying to God, ‘I could not possibly do otherwise, if You leave me to myself. It is You who must correct my failing, and mend what is amiss.‘ And after this, he gave himself no further uneasiness about his mistake.”
“Since all his visits were beneficial, his step or holler through a doorway got a bright welcome“ (Toni Morrison, of her character Stamp Paid in Beloved).
I’m very rarely Stamp Paid with Sullivan. I need to change.
One of the main ways we cheat ourselves out of creating is the widely held belief that we need the right amount of time to make something of value—to make something worthwhile. We often resist a moment of inspiration because we’re aware of a limited time window that might interrupt the flow and therefore think, “It’s not even worth it to get started because I know I won’t be able to finish it.”
But all the time spent creating, if I’m in the right frame of mind, is not really so much about “Is this good or bad?” There’s just a lot of joy in it, in having created something at all. I don’t feel as bad about other things. I don’t necessarily feel high, or overly joyed. I just feel like, “Oh, I’m not wasting my time.”
On writing without thinking about what you’re writing about:
Creating something out of nothing is the important part. And maybe, like me, you’ll discover that you’re often better off learning how to write without much concern for what you’re writing about. And through that process, you’ll discover what is on your mind. “Jesus, Etc.” was never about anything specific to me until I sang it live for the first time and learned how sincerely it conveyed my wish for a better sense of unity with my extremely devout Christian neighbors. So do some free writing. Write without thinking. I’m sure there will be some things that will surprise you, along with some nonsense.
Step one in any anti-racist agenda: Refuse to speak in terms of race. Skin color? Pigment? Melanin? Yes. But “‘[r]ace’ itself is just a restatement and retrenchment of the problem” (Ta-Nehisi Coates).
What I really want in this instance, as George MacDonald taught me, isn’t the forgiveness for the consequences of my sins (e.g., the wrath of God) but freedom from my actual sins. I’d like to become the father that doesn’t snap at his son. I don’t want an imputed purity. I actually want to be, myself, pure.
Shame and guilt can be healthy, life-giving emotions. There’s a reason we have them. Sure, shame and guilt can become toxic and debilitating. But let’s not think that there’s something unhealthy about feeling shame or guilt when you do something that violates your conscience. That’s called being a human being.