When
they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there
with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said,
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” - Luke 23:33-34
Several years ago, the bishop took me and the rest of my ordination class on a Wesleyan Heritage Tour of England. Much of the trip included stops rich with Wesleyan and Methodist history: Epworth, Port of Pill, Bristol, and London. But other parts of our trip were not connected to our heritage as Methodists at all. One such place was Coventry Cathedral.
Coventry Cathedral, like many European cathedrals, sits on a hill in the center of the City of Coventry. On November 14, 1940, this city was blitzed by German forces and almost completely destroyed. The Cathedral itself was hollowed out by the bombs, and only a shell of the outer walls and the spire, or tower, remained.
In the face of such devastating damage
to their beloved Cathedral, the congregation had two choices: knock down all
signs of destruction and rebuild on site, or leave the remains as a memorial
and build a new cathedral on the adjacent lot. They chose the latter, and to
this day the remains of the old cathedral stand as a memorial to the destruction
of the Second World War, not only in Coventry but in many parts of the world. Here are pictures of the old and new Coventry Cathedral:
What’s most amazing, however, is not the congregation’s decision to rebuild. It was the decision to inscribe two words on the wall behind the altar of the old cathedral, two words that remain there today: “Father, Forgive.”
“Father, Forgive.” These two words
have a lot of power, don’t they? They were the words of the broken people of
Coventry in 1940, and they are the words of Jesus as he hung on the cross.
“Father, Forgive.”
But it is not the words themselves that are powerful. The full weight of these words comes from the context in which they are spoken. Here are people whose city had been basically obliterated, countless lives lost, and their beautiful cathedral reduced to rubble. If there were ever a time when anger at an enemy was justified, this was it. What did the people of Coventry do to deserve this? What senseless violence, destroying historic buildings and taking thousands of civilian lives! They had every right to be angry at the Germans and at anyone else responsible for this destruction!
Yet the response, at least of this congregation, was not white-hot anger. Maybe it was how they wanted to respond. But they didn’t. Instead, they took the time to inscribe “Father, Forgive.” The didn't pass a resolution at a board meeting, they didn't put up a temporary sign. They chiseled away stone until the words formed: "Father, Forgive."
You know, there are times in our lives when we are completely justified in our anger. Someone does something to us or to someone we love, and we have every right to be ticked off, every right to be upset. When enemies attack us today, we are raging mad. For instance:
1.
The
anger we felt after 9/11 was justified – there’s nothing wrong with being
incensed at such senseless violence and innocent lives lost. We were justified
in being angry. But then as Christians, we remember those two words: “Father, Forgive.”
2.
When
I was in school and a friend of mine was the victim of sexual assault, I was so
angry I wanted to scream. I punched a pillow so I wouldn’t punch the guy who
did this to her. Even today, I cannot help but shake in anger when talking about it. I was justified in my anger, but instead of enacting
retribution, I muttered under my breath, “Father,
Forgive.” I said it to myself for days, weeks, months, as long as it took
for me to start believing these two words I was saying.
3.
Just
a couple of weeks ago, I heard a Christian make an incredibly racist comment
about friends of mine – a comment so ignorant and so vile that I cannot even
bring myself to repeat it. And my goodness was I angry. Oh, I was so stinkin’
mad that I wanted to yell and scream and say hateful things back to this
person, so they would know how it felt. But instead, I took a deep breath,
and another, and another, until I was able to mutter with clenched teeth: “Father, Forgive.”
“Father, forgive.” Jesus was perfect and blameless, and had done nothing to deserve the gruesome death of crucifixion. If he wanted to be angry in that moment, no one would have blamed him. Yet from the cross – as he hung on the cross! – he did not let anger get the best of him. He may have indeed been angry at them. He could have cursed the people killing him. He could have bragged about the resurrection to come. He could’ve said, “You will rue the day you killed me!” That's probably what I would've wanted to say if I were him. But he said none of this. What Jesus said was this:
“Father,
forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”
Father,
forgive our enemies, for they do not know what they are doing. Father, forgive
terrorists, for they do not know what they are doing. Father, forgive
perpetrators of sexual assault, for they do not know what they are doing.
Father, forgive those who speak the language of hate, for they do not know what
they are doing. Father, forgive anyone who harms another person with word or
deed, or enacts any kind of evil, for they do not know what they are doing.
These are not easy words to say. It is much easier to react in anger, especially when we have every right to be angry. But the way of Christ rises above such retribution and revenge. The way of Christ calls us to a higher standard. The way of Christ is to look at our enemies, even as they hurt us, and pray:
“Father, forgive
them, for they do not know what they are doing. Amen."
