THE KEY TO SUCCESSFUL RELATIONSHIP (AND IT MAY NOT BE WHAT YOU THINK)

Rev. Dr. Kathy Fuson Hurt

FBC, February 17, 2008

Scripture: Matthew 18:21-35

 

 

            Because the couples I am typically asked to marry are people who are either unchurched, without particular church affiliation, or de-churched, alienated from the churches of their childhoods, and because I want them to be mindful of the promises they make when they marry, I always give them the option of writing their own vows. Many decline the offer, feeling unable to put words around the overwhelming mass of feelings that we capture in such shorthand expressions as “being in love” or “wanting to make a commitment.” Those who do opt to write their own vows come up with words that are usually reminiscent of traditional wedding vows, with the predictable promises of caring in times of trouble, supporting one another no matter what, and sticking it out (though not necessarily all the way till death).

            But there was one couple that took me completely by surprise with the vows they created. Having given them some guidelines for vows-writing, the couple returned with vows unlike any I had ever heard. The groom promised to his bride to “give you an identity and make the world see you as an extension of myself.” The bride responded with, “I will be compliant and sweet, but underneath I will have the real control. If anything goes wrong, I will take your money and your house.” As I sat stunned, the two broke into laughter, explaining that they had prepared more traditional vows, but also wanted to acknowledge the hidden agendas they were already discovering in their relationship (adapted from Spiritual Literacy, p. 437). By then I was at the halfway point in my own ultimately unsuccessful marriage, wrestling with all the ways my former husband and I were finding to infuriate one another, and I felt intrigued by a couple who had decided at the outset to be forthright about the expectations that are never spoken and are often unconscious when a relationship is in its early stages. Each partner wants the other to always stay the same, always be the “wonderful person I fell in love with,” often at the same time secretly hoping to be able to change the less attractive aspects of the beloved. Or each person may pledge to love the other, in the language of one wedding service, “through all the chances and changes of life,” not recognizing that those changes could be considerable, more than had ever been imagined.

            The calendar has taken us through another Valentine’s Day, another season of hearts and roses and special restaurant dinners, accompanied now in our postmodern culture of irony with stories of scientific research into the biological bases of our attraction to our mates and reports of a growing new industry specializing in products for those falling out of love and into divorce. Relationships are about love; relationships are about chemistry; relationships come and go. And still we look for some formula, some guideline, some new book, some new teacher, to help us navigate the always turbulent waters of relationship.

            Which no doubt was the motivation prompting Peter to pose the question to Jesus in today’s scripture reading about forgiveness. Having already asked other sorts of relationship questions about who gets to be in charge in heaven, who decides how to settle disputes in churches, and what sorts of responsibilities we have towards those among us who are dependent, and probably not liking any of the answers Jesus was giving, Peter tries again, hoping for some formula, some clear and easy and always reliable guideline for handling the inevitable experience of feeling wronged by another. That Peter hoped for a simple and formulaic answer can be seen in the way he phrases the question, assuming that Jesus will put a number, will quantify how much we have to put up with somebody else’s screwups before we can toss them aside and feel righteous and longsuffering in doing so. After all, there is a limit, is there not, to how much any of us can be expected to put up with before calling it quits, before deciding that a relationship is not going to work?

            For most of my adult life, I have heard that the key to successful relationship of any kind, whether the relationship is one of marriage or partnership or friendship or work or pastoral or congregational, is communication. People who are in relationship must communicate with one another if the relationship is to survive and flourish. A wise piece of advice, this urging us to communicate with one another. Communication means the parties in a relationship are in touch with one another, are keeping up with one another, are exchanging vital information that is needed to maintain the relationship. Persons in relationship really should tell each other how they are feeling, especially how they are feeling about the relationship itself. And though often forgotten, communication does not just mean speaking, but also means listening to what the other has to say. One member of a relationship often accuses the other of not communicating, at which point the accused replies with a counteraccusation, saying he or she is never listened to. And because communication comes in all shapes and sizes, we have no shortage of additional teachers and books and therapists who can teach us ways of communicating that work better than others. The couple that surprised me with their vows had already learned how to communicate hidden agendas, those ways we try to shape a relationship through manipulation and indirection and power struggles.

            But even the most communicative of relationships can still fail. No matter how earnestly the people in relationship, spouses and partners, pastors and congregations, co-workers and neighbors and friends, leaders and the people they lead communicate, talk and listen and talk further and listen more, relationships may still fall apart. So while communication is crucial, it is not sufficient to maintain a relationship; something else is needed, something more foundational must be present for a relationship to stay intact and thrive.

            “Then Peter came and said to him, ‘Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’ Jesus said to him, ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times’” (Matt. 18:21-22). Forgiveness seems to be one of those formerly common spiritual concepts that fell out of favor in liberal churches about the time we also decided to forgo all the talk of sin. Sin and forgiveness tended to be linked concepts, so when sin was tabled, forgiveness got lost as well. This trend parallels the trend in our culture toward an ever greater insistence on individual rights, on retribution for wrongs, on standing up for oneself, on not allowing oneself to be pushed around or taken advantage of, and also on declining to take responsibility for mistakes and instead blaming one’s screwups on others or forces beyond control. And perhaps setting consideration of forgiveness aside for a time has been good, since forgiveness tended to be misunderstood, in the formulaic way Peter approaches it, as being measured out against specific sins, or by being associated with forgetting, as in the phrase “forgive and forget.” Such misunderstandings of forgiveness develop because we want, like Peter, to make it easy and manageable—but as Jesus’ response and the parable he unfolds demonstrate, forgiveness is never formulaic, it is something we usually fail at (hence the need to try seventy-seven times if we have any hope of getting it right), and it requires an ongoing willingness, a willingness noticeably absent in the actions of the unforgiving servant, a willingness to admit that we are like other people, as flawed as everyone else, as prone to cause hurt as anyone else, as imperfect as anyone else.

            One afternoon, according to an old Sufi tale, Nasruddin and his friend were sitting in a café, drinking tea, and talking about life and love. The friend wondered why Nasruddin never married, to which Nasruddin replied, “I spent my youth looking for the perfect woman. In Cairo, I met a beautiful and intelligent woman, with eyes like dark olives, but she was unkind. Then in Baghdad, I met a woman who was a wonderful and generous soul, but we had no interest in common. One woman after another would seem just right, but there would always be something missing. Then one day, I met her. She was beautiful, intelligent, generous and kind. We had everything in common. In fact, she was perfect. “Well,” said Nasruddin’s friend, “what happened? Why didn’t you marry her?” Nasruddin sipped his tea reflectively. “It is a sad thing,” he replied, “but she was looking for the perfect man.” [from Spiritual Literacy, pp. 430-31)

            Forgiveness has its roots in my willingness to admit that I, like everyone else, like the person or community or co-worker or church I feel wronged by, I, too, am flawed. Beginning with this recognition, forgiveness moves into a second willingness which is the willingness to let the other—other person, community, co-worker, church—not be who or what I think they should be. If I am to forgive you, if you are to forgive me, each of us must set aside expectations, our sense that we know exactly what the other should be doing, how they should look and talk and act, what they should aspire to, where they should be headed with their life. Forgiveness requires dealing with the other just as they are, not as who or what we want them to be. Jesus makes the focus of forgiveness in his parable indebtedness, a way of life and a social status that likely did not involve having done something wrong, but was rather the result of trying to get by as best one could with the limited resources available. To demand the debt be paid would be the equivalent of demanding that the debtor conform to my sense of right and wrong and fairness.

            Forgiveness comes from a willingness to admit my own limitations; forgiveness is only possible when I am willing to let you be who you are instead of insisting that you be who I want you to be. The third willingness upon which forgiveness depends is a willingness to let go of the past. This piece of forgiveness is often misunderstood, summed up in the absolutely incorrect notion of “forgive and forget.” Not only is forgiveness not about forgetting, it actually moves in the opposite direction, towards remembering. Real forgiveness, as opposed to a shallow dismissal that says, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad, the hurt you inflicted,” genuine forgiveness requires remembering, in excruciating detail, the wrong, the betrayal, the pain the other brought. To remember how badly I was hurt, and then, only then to forgive: that is the step that makes forgiveness perhaps the most difficult part of spiritual maturity, the part we so often fail at, so that Jesus warns we may well have to try seventy-seven times before we manage even one act of forgiveness.

            But fail or not, we are urged to try. Unforgiven and unforgiving of others, we stay caught by past actions and experiences, unable to move on, closed out of the present and all its possibilities. Forgiven and forgiving of others, I remain in relationship.

            Once in Minnesota, I had been visiting a friend and she was seeing me to the door when we heard a loud noise outside. The winter day had brought some ice, and we discovered that a car had skidded off the street, plowed through my friend’s hedge, and rolled to a halt in the middle of her yard. We walked over to see if the driver was all right. As she climbed from her car, she apologized profusely and begged, “Please, I don’t want to get in a legal fight over this.” My friend reassured her that they would find a way to work it out (adapted from Christina Baldwin).

            We will not be truly free, and our relationships will not last, until we give up falling into cycles of prosecution and victimization, insisting that a spouse or partner or friend or co-worker or pastor or church or community must be one particular way, a certain kind of perfection. None of us, not one of us, is innocent, and we waste precious time trying to maintain the illusion of righteousness. We need to move on and replant the hedge.