More Forgiveness

In Honor of a Beloved Friend

I often get stuck on 
I forgive you.

Maybe that’s because
They don’t know what they’re doing 
needs some room in my heart.

I can forgive them.
I can speak the words.
I can say, 
You don’t get to own me,
I’m releasing your power 
to control
my heart.

But they don’t know what they’re doing,
that requires humility.

That’s the one that 
sees the injustice,
sees the better way,
understands what should have been,
holds the hand to bleeding wounds,
and offers those forgiving words
to God
anyway.

Can I accept
they're blind to what is right
and good and holy?

Can I lay down my superiority 
of knowing the better way?
Of seeing the righteous, 
justice-infused way,
that they blatantly refuse to follow
with no concern for me or mine?

Can I lay my pride
beside the pride
of the One Who Humbled Himself, 
agreeing they don’t know
and, yes, they were so obviously,
absolutely,
wrong?

Can I sit with Him 
in His knowing humility?
Can I accept that their
not knowing
leads gut-wrenchingly to death
in my life and theirs
and say those forgiveness words
with Jesus
anyway?

Because as He said those words,
those they don’t know what they’re doing words,
He knew it was unjust,
He knew death was about to happen,
He knew evil was asserting its ugly privilege
to steal and kill and destroy.

And He said them anyway.

Because God. 

Because they had no idea
what was dead
was just about to rise,
what looked like power
would fall,
impotent,
at the feet
of the One Who Came Alive.

Father, forgive them…
They don't know what they're doing.

I don’t know.

It requires more of me 
than I’m able to give
on my own.

But I believe
He came alive,
and I believe
His Living
will make it all right
in the end.

Somehow.
In some way
that means Life
for my soul.

And that gives me
the strength I need
to 
try.