Chapter Four HARMING GOD

In the worldly way of thinking, if I harm someone and that person forgives me, that’s the end of the matter.  We saw earlier how rare and difficult complete forgiveness is, but this simple fact about forgiveness remains unaffected by that scarcity.  Whether partial or complete, the act of forgiveness, in a purely material world, is strictly a relationship between two individuals: the one harmed and the one doing the harm. The forgiveness that takes place between them, no matter its degree, directly alters the relationship between those two and those two only.  And if there were no God, that would indeed be the end of the matter.  But the reality of God means, among many other things, that the harm I do in the worldly realm has a counterpart harm in the spiritual realm.

Consider this remarkable fact, well attested to in the Gospel accounts: Jesus forgave strangers for their sins.  Why is that remarkable?  Because given what we have learned heretofore, it’s impossible.  Why is it impossible?  

Because they were strangers.

The two most straightforward examples offered us by the Gospel writers are the paralyzed man described in Mark 2: 1-12 (cf also Matthew 9:1-8; Luke 5:17-26), and the woman ‘of the city’ about whom we read in Luke 7:36-50.

In Mark’s recounting of the former case, we find four men carrying their paralyzed friend on a pallet.  They are seeking to bring him face-to-face with Jesus for his miraculous healing, but they find their efforts frustrated by the crowds blocking the way into the house in which Jesus is holding forth.  Improvising on the spot, they carry their friend by an external stairway up a level, then proceed to remove some of the roofing material, and lower their friend into the crowded room below.  On seeing their faith, Mark tells us, Jesus informs the paralyzed man that his sins are forgiven.  Here is the passage in question:

And when he returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. And many were gathered together, so that there was no more room, not even at the door. And he was preaching the word to them. And they came, bringing to him a paralytic carried by four men. And when they could not get near him because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him, and when they had made an opening, they let down the bed on which the paralytic lay. And when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” 

And the same announcement by Jesus is made, according to Luke, in the home of Simon, a Pharisee who has invited Jesus to dine with him.  A woman described by Luke as “a sinner” is also there, and at a certain moment, while comparing the effusive welcome provided him by the woman to the lukewarm reception of the host himself, Jesus informs the woman, in the same simple and direct way he informs the paralyzed man, that her sins are forgiven.

Then turning toward the woman he said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven–for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.”  And he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” (44-48)

Those present on both occasions marvel at his words; in the first example, some “teachers of the law” are religiously scandalized, believing only God could offer such forgiveness; in the latter example, Simon the Pharisee surmises that Jesus must not be aware of the appalling nature of the woman’s sins.

And we also marvel at his words, but for a much different reason.  Given what we have discovered about the logic of forgiveness, the actions of Jesus were not simply presumptuous (the Pharisees’ evaluation) nor a product of ignorance (Simon’s evaluation).  Based on what we have learned, such forgiveness was conceptually impossible, and the words offering it on both occasions, therefore, simply nonsense.

Why?  Because in neither case had Jesus been the recipient of any harm from the object of his supposed forgiveness.

Suppose a man you do not recognize walks up to you on the street and says, in seeming seriousness, I forgive you.  What is your reaction?

You might, of course, simply brush him aside and continue unaffected on your way.  But assuming an element of sympathetic conscience entering into your reaction, its first stage would be for you to cast about in your mind for some occasion or previous acquaintance on which you had done something to harm this man.  If you now remember such an occasion, the perplexity is resolved.  Whatever subsequent elements there might be in your reaction, at least the man’s words addressed to you now make sense.

Or if you cannot in the surprise of the moment bring anything to mind, you might even ask the man to jar your memory, to remind you of when you had met before, and what you had done to warrant his words.  And if he does in fact describe such an incident, then again, whether you now remember it or whether you still have no such recollection, at least the man’s words make sense to you.  Your memory might be unreliable, or the man might have mistaken you for someone else, or, at the extreme, he might be delusional…but he’s still making sense, he’s still using words in conformity to the rules of the language you both share..

But suppose the man replies to your inquiry that he’s never met you before.  Then what have I ever done to you? you exclaim, still seeking for meaning in his words.  Perhaps I’ve hurt a member of your family, or of someone else you care about?  Nothing, he says.  You’ve never hurt me or anyone I know or even anyone I know about. 

You are flummoxed. You have now pursued the investigation as far as it can go, and you must conclude that the man is unaware of the meaning of his own words, either through mental unbalance, or perhaps because he is a foreigner, who has chosen the wrong word to express whatever he actually meant to say to you.

Forgiveness, as we have established in Part One, can only occur between a creditor and a debtor, between the one harmed and the one who caused the harm.  This is not a contingent relationship; it’s part of the very meaning of forgiveness. 

And yet Jesus forgave the sins of the paralyzed man in Capernaum and the woman in Simon’s house, neither of whom had done him any harm.  Are we to conclude, therefore, that Jesus was speaking nonsense, like our stranger on the street?

God forbid, as Paul might put it.  But then, what other explanation is possible?

Recognizing, at some level at least, this fundamental parameter of forgiveness, commentators in the past have sometimes elaborated on the biblical accounts in such a way as to make them conform to this conceptual necessity.  The man and the woman, these apologists speculate, must have had some previous acquaintance with Jesus, and on those previous occasions, they must have done something to him that would qualify them for his forgiveness.

But surely this is grasping at straws.  In the case of the paralyzed man, there is absolutely nothing in the text (or the parallel texts in Mathew and Luke) that would even suggest such prior acquaintance.  Indeed, the account seems at pains to distance, so to say, Jesus from personal familiarity with the paralytic.  It is the man’s friends whose altruistic behavior sets the stage for his pronouncement, and his attention, up to the moment of his words of forgiveness, is focused on them, rather than the man himself.

And even in the case of the compromised woman, where it might be and has been speculated that her effusive display of affection towards Jesus indicates some prior familiarity with our Lord on her part, so that his pronouncement in Simon’s presence was simply a reaffirmation of his forgiveness on that prior occasion, there is still absolutely nothing in reflective common sense that would suggest that the earlier acquaintance would have established an appropriate relationship for forgiveness.

Assuming her ‘sin’ to have been sexual in nature, as most commentators are agreed, are we to imagine that her past sinful behavior had involved Jesus as a participant?  Obviously not.  So even if we suppose that her remarkably attentive behavior towards Jesus in Simon’s house was an expression of continued gratitude for an earlier act of forgiveness, and that the words spoken in Luke’s text were merely a repetition of the forgiveness accomplished on that previous occasion, that merely moves the impossibility to an earlier date.  For how could Jesus have forgiven her then, having then not suffered personally from her wantonness? 

So we are back at our dilemma.  Neither the paralyzed man nor the woman of the street had, on this or any earlier occasion, done anything to harm Jesus personally.  How then can he forgive them?

And yet he does, he forgives them both.  And we are led thereby to a momentous truth, the truth that opens up the glorious reality of forgiveness as it exists, not only in the merely material universe, but in the universe created, maintained, governed and loved by Almighty God, the divine Father of the divine Son, the divine Father of us all.

What is that truth?

Here is that truth: To sin against any of God’s children is also to sin against God.

*****

Our investigation of the concept of forgiveness has taught us that forgiveness can only be accomplished by the recipient of the harm caused by the errant behavior.  Our analyses of the specific cases of the paralyzed man and the woman in Simon’s house have convinced us that Jesus was not material party to their prior sinful behavior.  And yet he forgives them. 

There is no way of avoiding the conclusion that, therefore, their sinful behavior in the material realm of their lives must have harmed Jesus in the non-material realm of his, the realm of the divine, the realm of God.

That is what logic teaches.  Is there anything in Holy Scripture that provides corroboration of this conclusion?

The answer, of course, is that scripture contains exactly that corroboration, as straightforward and unambiguous a revelation of divine reality as can be found anywhere in Christ’s instruction.  We find it in the 25^th Chapter of Matthew’s gospel.  Let me quote the entire parable.

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me,  I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ 

Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ 

And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’  Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’

Then they also will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’

Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.

‘…as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me… as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’

The scriptural attestation refers to an experienced benefit in the divine realm as well as an experienced harm.  That is, of course, an extraordinarily significant fact as well, with profound implications for the Christian.  But it is not our present concern to discuss those implications.  Our concern is to understand the role and importance of Christian forgiveness in Divine creation, and a necessary stage in arriving at that understanding is to see how divine forgiveness of human misdeed is even possible, given what forgiveness in essence is: the acceptance of harm.  Our Lord in the parable above gives us explicit warrant for asserting that divine forgiveness resolves the same situation that human forgiveness does: a creditor-debtor relationship.

We’ve previously drawn attention to the commonplace situation in which a single harmful act may have multiple victims: my errant driving may damage my neighbor’s fiancé’s car as well as her own; the terrorist’s bomb may injure a crowd of people; and so on.

Such examples are drawn from the merely material realm.  But as Christians, we do not believe we live in a merely material realm.  Ours is a realm that has a divine dimension in addition to the three (or more) dimensions that occupy the mathematical attention of those concerned with investigating the shape and nature of purely material reality.

And what our parable teaches us is that, in the material/spiritual creation we inhabit, our sinful behavior always has at least two victims, one (at least) in the material world, and another in the divine.

We are not told what the sins of the paralyzed man or the wanton woman had been; nor do we know the identities of their victims.  But we do have it on divine authority that, whatever they were and whomsoever they harmed, corresponding harms were occasioned in heaven.  And it is self-evident, therefore, that the forgiveness Jesus grants in their cases was heavenly harm, the harm done to His own person, in his divinity.

At this juncture the reader will undoubtedly find questions arising in his or her mind as to the exact nature of the harm suffered by God.  God is omnipotent, after all, and how can omnipotence experience harm?

We will address that question in the next chapter but one; but first, it will help us in our investigation to say a few words about the nature of the activity itself that occasions such harm, the activity that Scripture often refers to as sin.  It is sins, after all, that Jesus forgives, not other sorts of harmful behavior.