An elephant never forgets
I’ve watched a lot of elephants in South Africa this week, and am reminded of their wonderfully long memories. They learn migration routes, the best places to eat and which waterholes can supply their herd. They greet one another with genuine displays of affection and spend time familiarising themselves with those of their kind who have died, exploring their remains with their trunks and lingering until they appear to have paid their respects. They don’t forget.
I am clearly a creature of a different sort, who forgets all manner of things. I forget where I left my phone, where I put the keys, which way I came into a shop (hopeless sense of direction), what I did with that crucial letter/form/piece of paper/pen that was in my hand just a minute ago; and where I placed that cup of tea I just made. It’s infuriating.
But, I have discovered that there’s a huge difference between forgetting and choosing not to remember.
I am someone who loves to remember – hence my proliferation of photos. My Dad was old school and took slides which were projected onto a screen in our living room on many a rainy Saturday night. I loved reliving the family holidays we spent at a Kent guesthouse, and with my grandparents in Devon. It was fascinating to watch how my siblings and myself changed over the years. We laughed at our clothes, teased my Mum for the horrific haircuts she inflicted on us, and groaned at the strange expressions we had pulled in photos we never knew had been taken. But most of all, we wallowed in memory, splashed in nostalgia and gave thanks for so many joy-filled experiences.
The years unfolded, of course, and we discovered the sobering truth that life is not wall-to-wall holidays and merriment. There are losses and hurts, pain and trauma, grief and fear, wounds and betrayals, failures and disappointments, poor choices and ill-advised decisions. Some things just happen; some are the natural consequence of our choices, some are are done to us, and some we inadvertently, or otherwise, do to others.
And this is where we find the extraordinary power of forgiveness. I am so grateful for all those who have forgiven me for things I have said or done which have caused them distress: stray words, a sour attitude, a cutting remark, a sarcastic comeback that buried itself and left a nasty wound. I’m thankful that our relationships are mended and whole.
I know I also have the power, if not always the immediate grace, to grant forgiveness to others.
Unforgiveness, we are told, is a brutal state of mind since the one it imprisons and holds to ransom so often is ourselves. It’s a powerful revelation to realise that forgiveness does not mean excusing something, or trying to justify it, or pretending that it didn’t really matter when, in truth, it has dogged our steps for extended periods of time. Forgiveness doesn’t require that someone explain their words, their actions or their motives. It simply chooses to remove ourselves from the position of judge, to refuse to spend our time trawling over the minutiae, reliving the hurt and entrenching seething resentment which can turn, all too quickly, into unresolved anger and bitterness.
Forgiveness declares that we are not the judge of the individual(s) who played their various unpleasant parts. It leaves room for grief, sorrow and lament to run their course and be processed according to our emotional and mental wiring; but it refuses to camp out there.
Biblical forgiveness sets the pattern. One of the Old Testament prophets expands on how God’s forgiveness wipes the slate clean, leaving a clean, healthy relationship. He tells us that God says He will ‘remember their sins (wrong doing) no more.’ (Jeremiah 31:34) That’s quite different from simply forgetting.
For those who think God is an old, bearded man in the sky who – since He has been around for a few thousand years and so – is rather absent-minded these days, this paints an entirely different picture. Choosing not to remember doesn’t pretend that violations of trust, harmony and union were merely imagined; it’s far more robust than that. It recognises the reality, brutality and extent of such things and makes the cold-blooded decision to put them to one side, cover them over with something more powerful and pure, and leave space for the culprit to start over as if those things hadn’t happened, allowing God to call things and people to account in His timing.
This is very liberating. It leaves us with renewed vigour, confidence and courage to push onwards.
It’s very sobering, because it’s so different from the way we usually handle things. I recently overheard a fortissimo conversation in a public park in which a lady yelled, ‘I will NEVER forgive you for this!’ It sounded like a curse on herself; the lowering of a curtain at the end of a theatre production. No opportunity for recovery or restoration.
This type of forgiveness is also a challenge for those who pray the Lord’s Prayer, in which we blithely ask God to forgive us in the same way that we forgive others. Do I forgive generously, completely, not intending to revisit the moment(s) over and over again or do I continue to hold a grudge? Do I forgive with genuine regard for the other person, truly wanting the best for them so that they can flourish and become the people they were made to be, or do I secretly hope they will trip up, be publicly humiliated and held to account by people who want their own pound of flesh?
These are uncomfortable questions.
If we cannot forget, can we at least choose not to remember?
dancingthroughchaos 