In Anthony Trollope’s novel written in the early 1860’s, entitled Framley Parsonage, there is an intriguing passage which describes the way in which one of the characters of the book forgives another: “Of course, Mrs. Grantly forgave Mrs. Proudie all her offenses, and wished her well, and was at peace with her, in the Christian sense of the word, as with all other women. But under this forbearance and meekness, and perhaps, we may say, wholly unconnected with it, there was certainly a current of antagonistic feeling which, in the ordinary unconsidered language of everyday, men and women do call hatred.”
Forgiving yet hating! We all know the contradiction. We felt it when we were children. Our parents made us shake hands and accept our friend’s apology, but all the time we were plotting how we would get even. We feel the tension as adults when we try to forget how someone has wronged us. Long after we said, “I forgive you,” the sting of our wound persists. We keep rubbing it as though it were a physical scar and recalling how it was inflicted. And each time we touch the sore we conjure up its initial pain. Oh, nobody, but nobody knows how we suffered!
Vengeance has a delectable sweetness, but we pay a terrible price for feasting on its fruit. It clogs love’s arteries with self‑righteousness and reduces our interpersonal relationships to a legal contest in which we keep track of every wrong.
Forgiveness does not come from moral obligation. It requires something stronger than a sense of duty to break through our bitterness. If we forgive because we ought to, we will be like Mrs. Grantly. The novelist pictures her as a “Christian lady” who is at peace with her opponent “in the Christian sense of the word.” Like many believers, Mrs. Grantly transforms the spontaneous, heartfelt character of grace into a formal, rigid legalism.
Of course, Mrs. Grantly forgave Mrs. Proudie. Of course! Because social convention demanded it. Because she knew it was proper and fitting. Because from the time she was a child the Church told her it was what God commanded. Because it was a Christian thing to do.
All of which begs yet another question for next week’s sequel: What would Jesus do?