The Risk of Releasing

This is an excerpt from a piece I wrote two years ago. For the rest of it, go here.


". . . It took me until the following afternoon before I had the courage to move beyond my demand for his contrition and forgive this man who had so hurt me. Courage, I say, because forgiveness is a risk. It means so much more than merely canceling a debt. True forgiveness involves surrender. True surrender involves releasing everything—demands, expectations, bitterness, and, ultimately, the offender’s guilt. I could not make the situation into what I wanted it to be; I could not pretend that I had the power and strength to manipulate the circumstance. Surrender would make me weak and vulnerable—or rather, it would expose this as my true condition. I had to relinquish control to God. In choosing to trust God, I was forced to lose hope in everything else. In clinging to Christ, I had to release the offender, only to risk him never understanding, never caring. By walking away, I was risking him letting me go."



It's a risk that burns you. But it's a burn that erodes the flesh and brings forth new life. "Who of us can dwell with everlasting burning? He who walks righteously..." Righteousness involves belief. Belief involves obedience.

One thing I have learned: Obedience involves risk. It's a leap into the bottomless chasm of uncertainty. If the leap should bring "death," then I believe in the God who raises the dead. But if he should give us wings, then may it be that we rise to the heavens.

Raise us up, Lord Jesus.