Don’t say, “I’ll pay you back for the wrong you did.” Wait for the
Lord, and he will make things right.” (Prov. 20:22)
As I’m writing
this, I’m angry. I’m angered by, of all things, frogs. They’re loud. They’re obnoxious.
They’re in my pool. And they’re in big trouble if I can get my hands on them. I’m
up late. Later than I should be. But my sleeves are rolled up and my laptop’s humming.
Get a jump on this thing, I’d planned. Get a leg up, I’d hoped. But get your
hands on those frogs is what I’m mumbling.
Now, I have
nothing against nature. The melody of a song bird, I love. But the evening ribbit-ribbit-ribbiting of the frogs
really bugs me. So, I go outside to see what I can do. Now, we’re blessed to
have a pool, and at the deep end of the pool is a rock grotto with a rock slide.
And there they are. Must be a half dozen of them. All about three inches long,
but each equipped with a ten foot foghorn. And when they’re inside the grotto,
it sounds like there are a million of them. So, I turn the water on that leads into
the pool to disturb them. Ahh, quiet … for a minute. Then I turn on the
waterfall that spills over the grotto – that’ll drown them. Silence … for a moment.
They're frogs. They don't drown. Humbling. I’ve been sabotaged by an army of amphibians; I’ve been reduced to a frog-stalker.
So forgive me if
my thoughts are fragmented, but I’m launching artillery every other paragraph
or so. The pool is just outside my study. This is no way to work. This is no
way to end the day. My space is cluttered. My pants are wet. My train of
thought is derailed. I mean, how can you write about revengeance when a bunch
of stupid frogs are croaking for their collective love lives in your swimming pool?
Oh. Guess I’m in the right frame of mind after all.
Revengeance. Tonight
it’s easy to define: the noise of the soul. Revenge. The unseen irritant of the
heart. Vengeance. The relentless invader of silence. Just like the frogs, revenge
irritates. Just like the frogs, vengeance isn’t easily silenced. Just like the frogs,
revengeance has a way of increasing in volume until it’s the only sound we
hear. The louder it gets the more desperate we become.
When we are
mistreated, our animalistic response is to go on the hunt. Instinctively, we
double up our fists. Getting even is only natural – which is precisely the
problem. Revengeance is natural, not spiritual. Getting even is the rule of the
jungle. Giving grace is the rule of the Kingdom. But maybe some of you are thinking,
“That’s easy for you to say, sitting there with a bunch of frogs as your chief complaint.
You ought to try living with my husband.” Or, “You ought to have to cope with
my past.” Or, “You have no idea how hard my life has been.” And you’re right, I
don’t. But I have an idea how miserable your future will be unless you deal
with the anger that spawns revengeance.
X-ray the soul
of the vengeful and you’ll see the tumor of bitterness: black, menacing,
malignant. It’s carcinoma of the spirit. Its fatal fibers creep around the edge
of the heart and ravage it. Yesterday you can’t alter, but your reaction to
yesterday you can. The past you can’t change, but your response to your past
you can. Impossible, you say? No, and here’s why.
Imagine you’re from
a large family – a dozen or so kids. A family more blended than the Brady
bunch. All the children are from the same dad, but they have four or five
different moms. Imagine also that your dad is dishonest and has been for a long
time. Everybody knows it. Everybody knows he cheated your uncle out of the
estate. Everybody knows he ran like a coward to avoid getting caught. Let’s
also imagine that your great-uncle tricked your dad into marrying your mother’s
sister. He got your dad drunk before the wedding and had his less fortunate
looking daughter go to the altar instead of the pretty one your dad thought he
was marrying. That didn’t slow your father down, though. He just married them
both. The one he loved couldn’t have kids, so he slept with her maid. In fact,
he had a habit of sleeping with most of the help. As a result, a number of your
siblings look like the cooks. Finally, the bride your dad wanted to marry in
the first place gets pregnant … and Viola!
You’re born.
You’re the
favored son, and your brothers know it. You get a car; they don’t. You get
Armani; they get K-Mart. You get summer camp; they get summer jobs. You get
educated; they get angry. And then they get even. They sell you to some Foreign
Service organization, put you on a plane bound for Egypt, and tell your dad you
were murdered by Al-Qaeda. You find yourself surrounded by people you don’t
know, learning a language you don’t understand, and living in a culture you’ve
never experienced.
Imaginary tale?
No. It’s the story of Joseph. A favored son in a bizarre family who had every
reason to be angry; to seek revengeance. He tried to make the best of it,
though. He became the chief servant of the head of the Secret Service. But his
boss’ wife tried to seduce him, and when he refused, she pouted and he ended up
in prison. Pharaoh got wind of the fact that Joseph could interpret dreams and
let him take a shot at some of Pharaoh’s own. When Joseph interpreted them he
got promoted out of the prison and into the palace as prime minister: the
second highest position in all of Egypt. The only person Joseph bowed before
was the king.
Meanwhile, back
in Israel, a famine hits and Jacob, Joseph’s father, sends his sons to Egypt
for a foreign loan. The brothers don’t know it, but they’re standing in front
of the same brother they sold to the Gypsies some twenty-two years earlier.
They don’t recognize Joseph, but Joseph recognizes them. A bit balder and
paunchier, he thinks, but they’re the same brothers. Now, imagine Joseph’s thoughts. The
last time he saw those faces he was looking up at them from the bottom of a
pit. The last time he heard those voices, they were laughing at him. The last
time they called his name, they called him every name in the book.
Now’s his chance
to get even. He has complete control. One snap of his fingers and his brothers
are dead men. Better yet, slap some manacles on their hands and feet and let
them see what an Egyptian dungeon’s like. Let them sleep in the mud. Let them
mop the floors. Let them learn Egyptian. Revengeance is easily within Joseph’s
power. And there is power in revengeance. Intoxicating power.
Haven’t we
tasted it? Haven’t we been tempted to get even? As we escort the offender into
the courtroom, we announce, “He hurt me!” The jurors shake their heads in
disgust. “He abandoned me!” we explain, and the chambers echo with our
accusation. “Guilty!” the judge snarls as he slams down the gavel. “Guilty!”
the jury agrees. “Guilty!” the audience proclaims. We delight in this moment of
justice. We relish this pound of flesh. So we prolong the event. We tell the
story over and over and over.
Now freeze-frame
that scene. I have a question. Well, not for you, really, but for me. I’m in
that courtroom. The courtroom of complaint. I’m rehashing the same hurt every
chance I get with anyone who’ll listen. But, who made me God, anyway? Why am I doing
his work for Him? “Vengeance is mine,” God declared. “I will repay.” (Heb.
10:30) “Don’t say, ‘I’ll pay you back for the wrong you did.’ Wait for the
Lord, and he will make things right.” (Prov. 20:22)
Judgment is
God’s job. To assume otherwise is to assume God can’t do the job. Revengeance
is irreverent. When we strike back we are saying, “I know vengeance is yours,
God, but I just didn’t think you’d punish enough. I thought I’d better take
this situation into my own hands. After all, you have a tendency to be a little
soft.” Joseph understood that. But rather than get even, he reveals his
identity and has his father and the rest of the family brought to Egypt. He
grants them safety and provides them a place to live. They live in harmony for
seventeen years. But then Jacob dies and the moment of truth comes. The
brothers have a hunch that with Jacob gone they’ll be lucky to get out of Egypt
with their heads on their shoulders. So they go to Joseph and plead for mercy.
“Your father gave this command before he died … ‘Tell Joseph to forgive you.”
(Gen. 50:16—17) Translation? “Daddy said to be nice to us.”
Joseph’s
response? “When Joseph received the message, he cried.” (Gen. 50:17) “What more
do I have to do?” his tears implore. “I’ve given you a home. I’ve provided for
your families. Why do you still mistrust my grace?” Please read carefully the
two statements he makes to his brothers. First, he asks, “Can I do what only
God can do?” (v. 19) Let me restate the obvious. Revengeance belongs to God. If
vengeance is God’s, then it’s not ours. God hasn’t asked us to settle the score
or get even. Ever. Why?
The answer is
found in the second part of Joseph’s statement: “You meant to hurt me, but God
turned your evil into good to save the lives of many people, which is being
done.” (v. 20) Forgiveness comes easier with a wide-angle lens. And Joseph uses
one to get the whole picture. He refuses to focus on the betrayal of his
brothers without also seeing the loyalty of his God. It always helps to see the
big picture. To forgive someone is to admit our own limitations. We’ve been
given only one piece of life’s jigsaw puzzle. Only God has the cover to the box.
To forgive someone is to display reverence. Forgiveness is not saying the one
who hurt you was right. Forgiveness is stating that God is fair and He will do
what is right. After all, don’t we have enough on our plate without trying to
do God’s work, too?
Hey! I just
noticed something. The frogs are quiet. I got so wrapped up in this thing I
forgot about them. I haven’t thrown anything, or done anything for at least an
hour. Guess they fell asleep. Could be that’s what they wanted to do all along,
but I kept waking them up by doing stuff to them. They finally ended up getting
some rest, and I ended up finishing these thoughts. Remarkable what gets
accomplished when we let go of our need for revengeance. Ribbit.
Grace,
Randy
No comments:
Post a Comment