When we talk about forgiving others, the place to begin is with Jesus.
Luke 23:32-34
The teen had spent the night at a friend’s home, a friend his parents should have asked more questions about. No one slept that night. They played games, watched videos, checked their face book pages, ate pizza, and drank lots of beers they were too young to buy. At dawn, the sleepless teen realized he was about to be late to his job at the grocery store. He got in his car and roared away. He thought he could just make it to the store if he had no problems on the way. But that hope ended as he hurtled over the crest of a hill.
He woke up in the hospital. His parents were at his bedside almost immediately to ask how he felt and explain he had broken his arm. Before he could ask about the crash, a deputy sheriff stepped into the room. The deputy cautioned the teen that he had the right to remain silent and had the right to an attorney. He went on to tell the teen he would be charged with DWI and that the prosecutor was considering further charges. When the deputy left, the boy turned to his father and said, “Dad, what’s happening?”
“Son,” his father said, “you hit an Amish buggy. A woman and three children were killed. The police said you were speeding.”
The story of the accident was in the news statewide. Everyone had an opinion. Some thought the teen deserved hard jail time, not just a couple years in a juvenile facility. Some thought the friend’s parents should be prosecuted for making beer available to their son and his guests.
Then the news presented the strangest story of all: The Amish community announced that they had forgiven the young driver. There were those who marveled at this act of graciousness, others seemed to say, “What would you expect? It’s their way. They take Jesus’ words about forgiveness very seriously.”
What Jesus said about forgiveness were among the most challenging of his words.
His words were challenging in the first century and remain challenging in the twenty-first century. That’s why this incident at the cross was so significant.
In one sense, the event wasn’t significant at all. Crucifixions were commonplace, all across the empire criminals—some guilty of what we would consider quite petty crimes—were crucified. The fact the Romans were crucifying three at one time suggests how often they took place and how efficient the Romans were at such things. These soldiers had done this kind of work before. Occasionally, garments that once belonged to the condemned were snatched by the soldiers for their wardrobe or became the source of bonus pay for this kind of duty.
The bonus would have helped offset the stress and abuse they had to take as they did their job. Prisoners weren’t always affixed to the cross with nails but it was common enough that archaeologists have found remains with the nails still in place among the bones. Nailing a man to a cross was perhaps the most physically taxing part of the work. As squad members held a man’s arms and legs in place, another soldier drove the nails into the hands and feet. Occasionally, they might have to make more than one attempt but not often.
During this part of the process, some prisoners begged for mercy but most, sensing the futility of that, hurled curses at the soldiers. New members of the squad occasionally bristled at this abuse—after all, they were just doing their jobs—but veterans had almost become deaf to the insults. They’d heard it all before—curses calling the paternity into question, curses asking the gods to visit some plague on the soldier and his family, or curses promising that one day the Hebrew God would destroy the empire and the eternal city. They got a lot of that from Jewish prisoners. Hearing such curses were part of the job.
That’s why the soldiers could scarcely believe their ears as they were driving the spikes into the hands and feet of this Galilean. Instead of giving them a look of rage and hatred, he looked at them with eyes filled with compassion and said, “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.”
The words may have caused a momentary pause but they quickly got on with their duty. If nailing the prisoners to the cross was the strenuous part of the job, waiting for them to die was the boring part of the work. Throughout the centuries, soldiers have discovered that boredom is to be expected in the lulls between battles but these soldiers knew it could take hours for a crucified man to die, sometimes days. Death could be hurried if they broke the victim’s legs to keep them from being able to push themselves up to catch a breath. But that order would not come for hours. So, the soldiers found ways to occupy the time. In this case, they gambled for the prisoner’s clothes—especially the fine robe he had. This prisoner had never spent time in the filthy cells so his clothes were in good shape. He’d been stripped before he had been lashed so there weren’t even any blood stains.
In the end, the just had to wait for the accused to die. Given the morbid curiosity of humans everywhere, there were usually crowds to watch the executions. But today the crowd was larger. Some, standing near the cross, seemed heartbroken at what was happening. Some seemed absolutely ecstatic that this man was going to die. Even the religious leaders were there to join in the jeering and mockery.
We don’t know if any of this caused the soldiers to wonder about the man on the third cross. If they began to ask those closest to the cross, what would they have discovered?
They would have discovered he was a man who had spent the past few years saying some puzzling things but also doing good wherever he went. Of course, they didn’t know it at the time but Peter would one day preach about this man to another Roman soldier, Cornelius, and use what T. B. Maston described as a “five-word biography of Jesus.” Peter would say, "He went about doing good." [1]Luke uses a word to describe the other two men being crucified that day. He says, to use the old KJV word, they were “malefactors;” the term (κακουργο) is used only once in the New Testament and means “evil doers.” So, think of the contrast. Jesus the “good doer” was being killed as if he were an “evil doer.”
The man who did only good was treated as one who did only bad.
The inquiring solders would have found that Jesus not only did good, he was good. In fact, if they could have examined his live minutely enough they would have discovered he was truly sinless. In what would have been arrogant for any of us, he once challenged his critics to name the sins, the wrongs, he had done. They couldn’t. In the end, his enemies had to fine witnesses who were willing to perjure themselves in order to bring charges against him. The funny thing is, these “witnesses” botched the job so badly that everyone knew the charges were bogus. But still Jesus was tried and convicted.
Of course, the very trial was illegal. It took place at night, in a private home. Both were violations of procedure. A legal trial had to take place in daylight and at the temple. The soldiers might not have known this but their prisoner was the victim of a kangaroo court.
The soldiers might not have known Jesus had been denied what we call “due process,” but there was one man who knew. He was their commander, the man who had given permission for the crucifixion, the man who had ordered the strange sign placed above Jesus’ head. The sign said—in three languages, no less—“This is the King of the Jews.”
Pilate knew Jesus had done nothing worthy of death. He might be a religious fanatic but he was harmless. So,
“Pilate called together the chief priests, the rulers, and the people and said to them, ‘You brought me this man as one who was misleading the people. When I examined him before you, I did not find this man guilty of anything you accused him of doing. Neither did Herod, for he sent him back to us. Look, he has done nothing deserving death. I will therefore have him flogged and release him.’”
Of course, Jesus didn’t deserve to be flogged either but Pilate didn’t mind giving the crowd something to appease them. Turns out, it wasn’t enough. They wanted Jesus dead.
So, being an astute politician who was ever-mindful of how the polling data impacted his career, Pilate gave in to the crowd and approved the crucifixion.
The system failed Jesus. By any standard he was a victim of injustice.
One more thing the soldiers would have discovered as they investigated Jesus: He talked a lot about forgiveness.
He once said you should interrupt your worship if you realize there was someone you need to track down and forgive.
He told Peter that forgiveness toward those who wound us should be without limit.
He even linked our being forgiven to our readiness to forgive.
Of course, it’s one thing to talk about forgiveness in the abstract. It’s another thing to forgive.
Luke forever reminds us that Jesus did just that: In the face of the greatest injustice, Jesus forgave.
No matter how impossible we consider the Christian call to forgiveness, we can’t escape the example Jesus set for us.
We cry, “When I needed them the most, my friends weren’t there for me, how can I forgive them?” Then we recall Jesus meeting with those same friends after the Resurrection to welcome them back into fellowship.
We cry, “My friend betrayed me, how can I forgive?” Then we recall Jesus extending a gesture of greatest hospitality to Judas at the Last Supper.
We cry, “I was a victim of injustice, how can I forgive?” Then we recall Jesus speaking those shocking words to those cold, ruthless Roman soldiers.
Jesus’ words were twisted, he was abused, he was mocked, he was lied about, he was innocent but declared guilty. Yet, he continued to open the door to forgiveness.
Whenever you’re challenged by the whys and the hows of forgiving another, keep the example of Jesus before you.
[1] From Acts 10:38. T. B. Maston (1897-1988) was a teacher of Christian ethics at Southwestern Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas, and a very influential writer on moral issues.
