| Sunny Side Up Jan. 22, 2003 � 2003, Kathleen Gibson As we forgive those who trespass against us A friend of ours, a young man both blessed and cursed with a simpler mind than many, insists on trusting God. He has plenty of flaws�like the rest of us�but he clings to his simple faith like a barnacle to a rock. And he loves his church. He never misses in fact�sits in the front row and smiles at me when I�m at the piano. That smile lights my worship. I depend on it. Donald, let�s call him, doesn�t own much. He takes odd jobs here and there. Lives alone. Spends much of his time walking the alleys, checking the garbage bins for �good stuff�. He finds it too, sometimes. Not long ago, late at night in one of those alleys, four thugs caught up with Donald and threw him to the ground. He plead, he prayed, he cried, he was overcome by such fear that his even his bowels betrayed him, but they wouldn�t stop. They kicked him in the face, around his eyes, left an eyebrow barely hanging onto his face. They smashed him in the ribs repeatedly, finally robbed him of a few paltry cents, got in their car and drove away. When the Preacher and I went to see him after, he asked, �Will God get these guys, Kathleen?� I looked at his swollen, barely recognizable face, and swallowed hard. He brought me his Bible and we read scriptures that speak about God being on the side of the oppressed, protecting the weak�and then he asked it. �Where was God, what was he doing, when I was down on the ground getting kicked? I prayed. I prayed hard for God to stop them.� The Preacher rescued me here. �Donald,� he said gently, �you�re alive. Somehow God arranged for your name to be on the church prayer calendar that very day. People were praying for you, some maybe even while the attack was going on. God was with you�we�ll never know how bad it could have been for you without those prayers. And he will see to those guys, even if the law never catches them.� �Will he really get�em, though? Will he make them hurt, like they hurt me?� And here I launched into the importance of forgiving like Jesus told us to, so that the foulness of what happened that dark night wouldn�t be allowed to continue to bruise his soul, in the same way the soles of the thugs� boots had bruised his body. But a great angry rip had begun in my own soul, and in the car on the way home I cried. �How could I tell him he needs to forgive those creeps when I�d like to murder them myself?� The Preacher gripped the steering wheel. �I know.� I�m working, together with Donald, to find the treasure hidden among the junk in the alley. And praying� Father God, forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And for Christ�s sake, please show us how. You can respond to these thoughts at [email protected] |
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