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There’s a great scene in the movie “Fiddler on the Roof,” where a village wise guy asks the rabbi if it’s possible to bless the tyrannical Russian czar. The old man is stumped for a moment, then shouts back, “God bless and keep the czar…far away from us!” The rabbi reminds me of David in our first reading. King Saul is chasing him through Israel , with murder on the brain, and the tables are turned when David sneaks into Saul’s camp and finds his enemy asleep and vulnerable. It’s the perfect opportunity for David to clear his path to the throne. His friend Abishai is thrilled, and hisses, “Kill the nutcase!” David just steals the king’s water jar and spear, then taunts him with them from a safe distance. Like many abusers, Saul begs David to come home—“I’m sorry, I’ll change, it will never happen again.” But David is no fool, and feels safer fleeing the country to live with his people’s bitter enemies, the Philistines. “God bless and keep King Saul…far away from me.”

These stories help me make sense of the dangerous challenge of another Jewish rabbi: “Love your enemies…turn the other cheek…. forgive, and you will be forgiven.” These words from the Sermon on the Plain have inspired civil rights demonstrators to face fire hoses and police dogs, and victims’ families to protest the execution of their loved ones’ murderers. They have also been the excuse for shaming adult children who break silence about a parent’s addiction, and absolving molesting priests for a few Hail Marys before moving them to prey on fresh victims. How can we love our enemies and stay emotionally healthy? How can we forgive in a way which upholds justice, rather than thwarting it? Tough questions as we enter Lent this Wednesday, and hear our baptismal call to help God reconcile a violent, broken world. In tonight’s newsletter I have recommended several books which may shed light on these complex issues. In this homily I would simply like to suggest a way of hearing today’s Gospel that may help us “speak the truth in love” in our homes and workplaces, as well as within our Journey community.

Chapter 17 of Luke has a usually forgotten passage that provides crucial help in interpreting tonight’s Gospel. There Jesus says: “If another disciple sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is repentance you must forgive. And if the same person sins against you seven times a day, and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive.” The Greek word for “repentance” is “metanoia,”--not just feeling sorry or saying sorry, but changing direction. If you’re on I-5 to Seattle , pulling a U-turn and heading toward San Francisco . Twelve step programs echo Jesus’ wisdom when they call for “making amends” to all who have been injured, which may include ourselves. How different from many writers, both Christian and New Age, who urge letting go of anger at offenders, even if they deny or continue hurtful behavior. Psychologist Jeanne Safer suggests that such false, rushed forgiveness tempts us not to feel and work through our pain, and take action to protect ourselves and others. She quips that it bears as much relationship to real forgiveness as fruit flavored lifesavers bear to fruit, or to saving someone’s life. Calling for conversion, rather than simply delivering a “not guilty” verdict, offers true release from sin—the root meaning of the Greek words for forgiveness, “aphiemi” and “apoluo.” Such conversations take patience and courage on both sides, but can transform our lives and relationships. As the truth and reconciliation process in South Africa has shown, they can even provide a path through long-standing, brutal conflicts between oppressors and oppressed.

So is there a connection between these two commands from Luke’s Jesus? Is there a balance between loving our enemies without seeking revenge—on a literal reading, without even seeking justice—and standing against acts harmful to perpetrators, as well as to the innocent? Without trying to dissolve the paradox, I find a helpful way of living into it is to follow Jesus’ counsel in tonight’s Gospel to pray for those who harm us. I have tried to be faithful to this call in dealing with everything from severe abuse to the ordinary wounds we imperfect human beings inflict on each other. Prayer is the ideal way to prepare our hearts for speaking and listening in a loving confrontation. And while some wounds cannot be fully healed on this earth, this practice can bring some liberation and consolation--epecially if we remember it doesn’t have to be a sentimental Hallmark moment. I was beating myself up once for some very justified anger, and a friend reminded me, “you can pray for your abusers to stop abusing you.” I believe God accepts all our feelings, and would rather we pour out our fury and hatred in prayer than shame ourselves for feeling them, or strike back with a gun or a barbed tongue. If we persist, we often find ourselves growing in compassion for the deep wounds of those who hurt us, and in trust that they will find healing and conversion—in the next life, if not in this one. We can also pray for ourselves, asking God’s love to heal the roots of our own sinful words and actions. May we find the courage this Lent to pray for those who have hurt us, and those whom we have hurt--to search our consciences and offer amends, and to search our wounded hearts and gently request them--that we may all find true freedom through the transforming mercy of our God.