"Getting Even" is an Oxymoron

 

“Getting Even” is an Oxymoron

"Getting Even" is an Oxymoron - Audio/Visual 

Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you. (Eph. 4:31-32)

Back in the 80’s, a civil lawsuit was resolved short of trial. The terms of the settlement required the Defendant, Kevin Tunell, to mail a dollar every week to a family he'd rather have forgotten. They sued him for $1.5 million but settled for $936 – payable a dollar at a time. The family expected the payment each Friday so Tunell wouldn’t forget what happened on that first Friday of 1982. That's the day their daughter was killed. Tunell was convicted of manslaughter and drunken driving. He was seventeen. She was eighteen. The weekly restitution was to last eighteen years, one week at a time.

Few would question the anger of the family, and only the naive would think it fair to leave the guilty unpunished. But this arrangement raises some concerns. Are 936 payments enough? Not for Tunell to send, mind you, but for the family to demand? When they received the last payment, were they finally at peace? Was eighteen years' worth of restitution sufficient? Was 196 months' worth of remorse adequate? How much was enough? Had you been in the family, and if Tunell were your target, how many payments would you have required?

No one makes it through life injury-free. Someone somewhere has hurt you. Like the eighteen-year-old, you've been a victim, too. She died because someone drank too much. And maybe part of you has died because someone spoke too much, demanded too much, or neglected you too much. Everyone gets wounded; hence, everyone has to decide: how many payments will we demand? We may not require that the offender write us checks, but we have other ways of settling the score. Silence is a popular technique. Distance is equally effective. Nagging is a third tool for revenge. It’s amazing how creative we can get at getting even. If I can soil one evening, spoil one day, foil just one Friday, then justice is served and I'm content. For now. Until I think of you again, or until I see you again, or until something happens that brings to mind the deed you did, then I'll demand yet another check.

We think, I'm not about to let you heal before I do. As long as I suffer, you’ll suffer. As long as I hurt, you’ll hurt. You cut me, and I'm going to make you feel bad as long as I bleed, even if I have to reopen the wound myself. Call it a bad addiction. We start the habit innocently enough, indulging our hurts with doses of anger; just a needle or two of rancor. The rush numbs the hurt, so we come back for more and up the dosage; we despise not only what she did, but who she is. So, we insult him, shame him or ridicule him. The surge energizes. Drugged on malice, the roles are reversed; we aren't the victim anymore, we're the victor. And it feels good. Soon, we hate him or her and anyone like them.

The progression is predictable. Hurt becomes hate, and hate becomes rage as we become junkies unable to make it through the day without mainlining bigotry and bitterness. How will the score be settled? How do I break the cycle? How many payments do I demand? Peter had a similar question for Jesus: "Master, how many times do I forgive a brother or sister who hurts me? Seven?" (Matt. 18:21)

Peter is worried about over-forgiving an offender. Heaven forbid. The Jewish law stipulated that the wounded forgive three times. So, Peter was willing to double that and throw in one more for good measure. No doubt he thought Jesus would be impressed. Jesus wasn't. The Master's answer still stuns us. "Seven! Hardly. Try seventy times seven." (Matt. 18:22) Now, if you're pausing to multiply seventy times seven, you're missing the point. Keeping tabs on your mercy, Jesus says, is not being merciful. If you're calibrating your grace, you're not being gracious.

By this point Jesus' listeners are thinking of the Kevin Tunell’s in the world. "But what about the father who abandoned me as a kid?" "And my wife who dumped me for a newer model?" "And the boss who laid me off even though my child was sick?" The Master silences them with a raised hand and the story of the forgetful servant. “The kingdom of heaven is like a king who decided to collect the money his servants owed him. When the king began to collect his money, a servant who owed several million dollars was brought to him. But the servant did not have enough money to pay his master, the king. So, the master ordered that everything the servant owned should be sold, even the servant's wife and children. Then the money would be used to pay the king what the servant owed. But the servant fell on his knees and begged, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you everything I owe.’ The master felt sorry for his servant and told him he did not have to pay it back. Then he let the servant go free.” (vv. 23-27)

This servant had a serious financial problem. Somehow, he’d amassed a bill worth millions of dollars. If he could pay a thousand dollars a day for thirty years, he'd be debt free. Fat chance. His debt was far greater than his power to repay. And the same is true of us. Our debt is far greater than our power to repay. Our pockets are empty while our debt is in the millions. We don't need a salary; we need a gift. We don't need swimming lessons; we need a lifeguard. We don't need a place to work; we need someone to work in our place. And that "someone" is Jesus Christ. "God makes people right with himself through their faith in Jesus Christ. . . . God gave him as a way to forgive sin through faith in the blood of Jesus' death." (Rom. 3:22, 25)

Our Master has forgiven an insurmountable debt, but does he demand reimbursement? Does he insist on his pound of flesh? When your feet walk the wrong road, does he demand that you cut them off? When your eyes look twice where they should never look once, does he blind you? When you use your tongue for profanity instead of praise, does he cut it out? If he did, we’d be one maimed civilization. But he demands no payment, at least not from us. And those promises we make, "Just get me through this mess, God. I'll never disappoint you again"? We're as bad as the debtor. "Be patient with me," he pledged. "I will pay you everything I owe." The thought of pleading for mercy never even entered his mind, but though he never begs for grace, he receives it anyway. He leaves the king's chamber a debt-free man. But apparently, he doesn't believe it.

Later, that same servant found another servant who owed him a few dollars. The servant grabbed him around the neck and said, "Pay me the money you owe me!" The other servant fell on his knees and begged him, "Be patient with me, and I will pay you everything I owe." But the first servant refused to be patient. He threw the other servant into prison until he could pay everything he owed. (Matt. 18:28-30) Now, when you think about it there’s something seriously wrong with this picture.

Are these the actions of a man forgiven millions? Choking a person who owes him a few bucks? Are these the words of a man who’s been set free? He’s so occupied with the mistake of his brother that he misses the grace of the Father. He demands that his debtor be put in jail until he can repay the debt. Now that’s crazy. Not only is he ungrateful, he’s also irrational. How can he expect the man to earn money while in prison? If he has no funds outside of jail, is he going to discover some loose change while he’s in prison? Of course not. What's he going to do? Sell magazines to inmates? The decision makes no sense, but hatred never does. How can this happen? How can one be forgiven and not forgive? How could a free man not be quick to free others? Part of the answer is found in the words of Jesus: "The person who is forgiven only a little will love only a little." (Luke 7:47)

To believe we are totally and eternally debt free is seldom easy. Even if we've stood before the throne and heard it from the king himself, we still doubt. As a result, many are forgiven only a little; not because the grace of the king is limited, but because the faith of the sinner is small. God is willing to forgive all. He's willing to wipe the slate completely clean. He guides us to a pool of mercy and invites us to bathe. Some plunge in, but others just touch the surface. They leave feeling unforgiven. Apparently, that was the problem of the servant. He still felt in debt. How else can we explain his behavior? Rather than forgive his transgressor, he chokes him? "I'll squeeze it out of you." He hates the very sight of the man. Why? Because the man owes him so much? I don't think so. He hates the man because the man reminds him of his own debt to the master. The king forgave the debt, but the servant never accepted the grace of the king. We can understand why the Hebrew writer insisted, "See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many." (Heb. 12:15)

Where the grace of God is missed, bitterness is born. But where the grace of God is embraced, forgiveness flourishes. In what many believe to be Paul's final letter, he urges Timothy to "be strong in the grace we have in Christ Jesus." (2 Tim. 2:1) How insightful that last exhortation. Paul doesn't urge Timothy to be strong in prayer or Bible study or benevolence, as vital as each may be. He wants his son in the faith to major in grace. Claim this territory. Dwell on this truth. If you miss anything, don't miss the grace of God. The longer we walk in the garden, the more likely we are to smell like the flowers. The more we immerse ourselves in grace, the more likely we are to give it. Could this then be the clue for coping with anger? Could it be that the secret is not in demanding payment but pondering the payment of your Savior instead?

Your friend broke his promises? Your boss didn't keep her word? I'm sorry, but before you act, answer this question: How did God react when you broke your promises to him? You've been lied to? It hurts to be deceived. But before you double your fists, think: How did God respond when you lied to him? You've been neglected? Forgotten? Left behind? Rejection hurts. But before you get even, get honest with yourself. Have you ever neglected God? Have you always been attentive to his will? None of us have. And how did he react when you neglected him? The key to forgiving others is to quit focusing on what they did to you and start focusing on what God did for you. But that's not fair! Somebody has to pay for what he did. I agree. Someone must pay, and Someone did. But you don't understand. This guy doesn't deserve grace. He doesn't deserve mercy. He's not worthy of forgiveness. I'm not saying he is. But are you? Besides, what other choice do you have? Hatred? The alternative is not very appealing.

Look what happens when we refuse to forgive. "The master was very angry and put the servant in prison to be punished until he could pay everything he owed." (Matt. 18:34) Unforgiving servants always end up in prison. Prisons of anger, guilt and depression. God doesn't have to put us in a jail; we create our own. "Some men stay healthy till the day they die . . . others have no happiness at all; they live and die with bitter hearts." (Job 21:23-25) Hatred will sour your outlook and break your back. The load of bitterness is simply too heavy. Your knees will buckle under the strain, and your heart will break beneath the weight. The mountain before you is steep enough without the heaviness of hatred on your back.

The wisest choice – the only choice – is for you to drop the anger because getting even is never enough. It’s an oxymoron. Since when is “getting” ever going to make you “even” in terms of a number, amount or value? And with whom or what? The “getting even” measuring stick is yours; others have their own. So, “even” has no standard of comparison unless you’re using a scale of justice or something, and guess who hangs in the balance on that scale? You will never be called upon to give anyone more grace than God has already given to you.

During World War I, a German soldier jumped into an out-of-the-way foxhole. There he found a wounded enemy. The fallen soldier was soaked with blood and only minutes from death. Touched by the plight of the man, the German soldier offered him water. Through this small kindness a bond was developed. The dying man pointed to his shirt pocket; the German soldier took from it a wallet and removed some family pictures. He held them so the wounded man could gaze at his loved ones one final time. With bullets raging over them and war all around them, these two enemies were, for a moment, friends.

What happened in that foxhole? Did all evil cease? Were all wrongs made right? No. What happened was simply this: two enemies saw each other as humans in need of help. That’s forgiveness. Forgiveness begins by rising above the war, looking beyond the uniform, and choosing to see the other; not as an enemy or even as a friend, but simply as a fellow fighter longing to make it safely home.

Grace,

Randy

The Civil War of the Soul

 

The Civil War of the Soul

Civil War of the Soul - Audio/Visual 

I was alive before I knew the law. But when the law's command came to me, then sin began to live, and I died. The command was meant to bring life, but for me it brought death. . . . When I want to do good, evil is there with me. In my mind, I am happy with God's law. But I see another law working in my body, which makes war against the law that my mind accepts. That other law working in my body is the law of sin, and it makes me its prisoner. What a miserable man I am! Who will save me from this body that brings me death? (Romans 7:9-10, 21-24)

The following is a true story; names have not been changed to protect the innocent. I confess – I’ve violated the law. What's worse, I don't want to stop. My misdemeanor actions began innocently enough. My route to the office takes me to an intersection where every person in California is turning west. I, on the other hand, want to head north. Each morning, I wait long minutes in a long line at a long light, mumbling, "There’s got to be a better way." And then I found it. While still a quarter mile from the light, I spotted a shortcut – the dirt shoulder. It was worth a try, I thought, and I drive a truck; what’s a little dirt? So, I swerved right, bid farewell to the crawling commuters and took my chances. It led me straight to the head of the line were few others were waiting. Lewis and Clark would have been proud.

From then on, I was ahead of the pack. Every morning while the rest of the cars waited in line, I veered onto my private autobahn and smugly applauded myself for seeing what others had apparently missed. I was surprised that no one had discovered it earlier, but then again, few have my innate navigational skills … well, with the exception of a clever CHP officer who was in hiding just off of that same shoulder one morning. And if it weren’t for some unfortunate driver who’d discovered my express lane and arrived just moments before I did, I probably would have been the recipient of a special “Greetings!” from the State of California. And it was then that I noticed the sign: “Shoulder Closed.” In other words, the shoulder was not meant for travel, but something to cry on if you got caught.

But my problem is not what I did before I knew the law. My problem is what I want to do now, after I know the law. You'd think that I would have no desire to use the shoulder again, but I do. Part of me still wants to use the shortcut. Part of me wants to break the law. Each morning the voices within me have an argument. My "ought to" says, "It's illegal;" my "want to" answers, "But I've never been caught." My "ought to" reminds me, "The law is the law;" my "want to" counters with, "But the law isn't for careful drivers, like me. Besides, the five minutes I save I'll dedicate to prayer." My "ought to" doesn't buy it – “Pray in the car while you wait in line with the rest of California," it says.

Before I knew the law, I was at peace. Now that I know the law, an insurrection has occurred. I'm torn. On one hand I know what to do, but I don't want to do it. My eyes read the sign, but my body doesn't want to obey. What I should do and end up doing are two different matters. I was better off not ever knowing the law. Sound familiar? For many of us, it’s the itinerary of the soul. Before coming to Christ, we all had our share of shortcuts. Cheating was a shortcut to success. Boasting was a shortcut to popularity. Lying was a shortcut to power. Then we found Christ, we found grace, and we saw the sign. Has this ever happened to you?

You've got a hot temper and then read, "If you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be judged." (Matt. 5:22) Wow, I never knew that you say. You tend to exaggerate to make your point and then discover, "Say only yes if you mean yes, and no if you mean no. If you say more than yes or no, it is from the Evil One." (Matt. 5:37) But I've been talking like that for years, you mutter. You enjoy letting people see your generosity and then read, "So when you give to the poor, don't let anyone know what you are doing." (Matt. 6:3) Oh boy, I didn't know that was wrong, you think. You have a habit of categorizing people into convenient little boxes and then hear Jesus say, "Don't judge other people, or you will be judged." (Matt. 7:1) Son of a gun, no one ever told me that judging was a sin, you whisper.

All these years you've been taking shortcuts, never seeing the sign. But now you see it. Now you know it. It would have been so much easier had you never seen the sign, but now the law has been revealed. So, what do you do? Your battle is identical to the one within the heart of Paul. The civil war of the soul. And how welcome is Paul's confession? How good it is to know that he struggled like the rest of us. Those who have been amazed by grace have been equally amazed by their sin. Why do I say yes to God one day and yes to Satan the next? Once I know God's commands, why am I not eager to obey them? Shouldn't these conflicts cease now that I see the sign? Does my struggle mean I'm not saved? These are the questions of Romans 7. And these are the questions of many Christians.

Maybe you've hit your head against a wall, like a bird flying into a pane of glass when it sees its reflection and then falls to the ground, momentarily stunned. Are there weaknesses within you that stun you? Your words? Your thoughts? Your temper? Your greed? Your grudge? Your gossip? Things were better before you knew the law existed. But now you know. And now you have an internal civil war to wage. But there are a couple of truths to take into that battle.

First, remember your position – you’re a child of God. Some interpret the presence of this battle as the abandonment of God. Their logic goes something like this: "I’m a Christian. My desires, however, are anything but Christian. No child of God would have these battles. Therefore, I must be an orphan. God may have given me a place back then, but he has no place for me now." But that's Satan sowing those seeds of shame. If he can't seduce you with your sin, he'll let you sink in your guilt. Nothing pleases him more than for you to cower in the corner, embarrassed that you're still dealing with some old habit. "God's tired of your struggles," he whispers. "Your Father is weary of your prayers for forgiveness," he lies. And many believe him, spending years convinced that they are disqualified from the kingdom. But honestly, who told you that you deserved forgiveness in the first place?

When you came to Christ, did he know every sin you'd committed up to that point? Yes. Did Christ know every sin you would commit in the future? Yes, he knew that too. So, Jesus saved you, knowing all the sins you would ever commit until the end of your life, right? Right. You mean he’s willing to call you his child even though he knows each and every mistake of your past and future? Yes. Sounds to me like God has already proven his point. If your sins were too great for his grace, he never would have saved you in the first place. It isn’t like your temptation is late-breaking news in heaven. Your sin doesn't surprise God. He saw it coming. So, is there any reason to think that the One who received you the first time won't receive you every time? Besides, the very fact that you are under attack must mean that you're on the right side, don’t you think? Did you notice who else had times of struggle? Paul did.

Note the tense in which Paul is writing: "I do not understand . . ." ". . . it is sin living in me . . ." "I do not do the good things I want . . ." "I see another law working in my body . . ." "What a miserable man I am." (Rom. 7:14-25) Paul is writing in the present tense. He’s not describing a struggle of the past, but a struggle in the present. For all we know, Paul was engaged in spiritual combat when he wrote his letter to the Romans. Do you mean the apostle Paul battled sin while he was writing a book in the Bible? Well, can you think of a more strategic time for Satan to attack? Isn’t it possible that Satan feared the fruit of this epistle? Could it be that he fears the fruits of your life, too? Could it be that you’re under attack – not because you’re weak, but because you might become strong? Perhaps he hopes that in defeating you today he will have one less missionary, or writer, or giver, or singer to fight with tomorrow.

But not only are you positioned as a child of God, but your principle is the Word of God. When under attack, our tendency is to question the validity of God's commands; we rationalize like I do with driving on the shoulder. The law is for others, not for me. I'm a good driver. But by questioning the validity of the law, I minimize, at least in my mind, the authority of the law. For that reason, Paul’s quick to remind us that "the law is holy, and the command is holy and right and good." (Rom. 7:12) The root word for holy here is hagios, which means "different." God's commands are holy because they come from a different world, a different sphere, a different perspective. In a sense, the "Shoulder Closed" sign on my forbidden shortcut was from a different sphere, too. The lawmakers' thoughts are not like my thoughts. They are concerned with the public good, at least in principle. I am concerned with personal convenience. They want what is best for the county, supposedly. I want what’s best for me. They know what’s safe. I know what’s quick. They don't create laws for my pleasure; they make laws for my safety.

The same is true with God. What we consider shortcuts God sees as disasters. He doesn't give laws for our pleasure. He gives them for our protection. In seasons of struggle we must trust his wisdom, not ours. He designed the system; he knows what we need. But since I’m stubborn, I think I do. My disrespect for the "Shoulder Closed" sign reveals an ugly, selfish side of me. Had I never seen the law, I would have never seen how selfish I am. We’re not lured by the shorter commute as much as we’re lured by the sign. Isn't there within each of us a voice that says, “I wonder how many times I can drive down that shoulder without getting caught"? But the moment we begin asking those questions, we’ve crossed an invisible line into the arena of fear. Grace delivered us from fear, but how quickly we return.

Grace told us we didn't have to spend our lives looking over our shoulders but look at us glancing in the rearview mirror. Grace told us that we’re free from guilt but look at us with guilt on our consciences. Don't we know better? What’s happened to us? Why are we so quick to revert back to our old ways? Or as Paul so candidly writes, "What a miserable man I am! Who will save me from this body that brings me death?" (Rom. 7:24) Simply stated: we are helpless to battle sin alone. And aren't we glad Paul answered his own question? "I thank God for saving me through Jesus Christ our Lord!" (v. 25)

The same One who saved us first is there to save us still. There is never a point at which you are any less saved than you were the first moment he saved you. Just because you were grumpy at breakfast this morning doesn't mean you were condemned at breakfast. When you lost your temper yesterday, you didn't lose your salvation. Your name doesn't disappear and reappear in the Book of Life according to your moods and actions. Such is the message of grace.

"There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." (Rom. 8:1) Of course, there’s a difference between stumbling in your walk, and abandoning the faith altogether. You can choose to walk away from your faith at your peril, but no power in existence can take your faith without your consent. (Rom. 8:35-37) You are saved, not because of what you do, but because of what Christ did. And you are special, not because of what you do, but because of whose you are. And you are his. And because we are his, let's forget the shortcuts and stay on the main road. God knows the way. He drew the map for crying out loud. Now that’s a shoulder you can use.

Grace,

Randy