How does forgiveness work?

The Washington Post's On Faith forum currently features bloggers commenting on how and whether the sexual lives (and infidelities) of public figures should be scrutinized. Underlying all this, of course, is the debate over whether the sexual behavior by individuals in a society is inherently a private or a public activity. And the opinions range from "It's nobody's business" (Susan Jacoby) to "Of course people have a right to know because it suggests something about the person's moral character and ability to lead" (Chuck Colson).

Christians might think how this issue relates to the way we treat one another in the church - particularly church leaders. In one Post commentary, the Rev. C. Welton Gaddy argues that adultery is no more serious than other sins and should be forgiven by the church. Grace, he says, is just as capable of healing folks of sexual sin as it is of any other sin. I say, "Amen to that!" But the question then becomes, "How does that forgiveness happen?" For instance, should we follow Matthew 18 and 1 Timothy 5 and make forgiveness a matter of the entire community? Following the logic of Titus 1, should forgiveness carry with it a necessary removal from ministerial office? That is to say, do we need to look hard at the way that grace and responsibility must go together? And is any of this different for a church leader than it is for a lay person?

My sense is that, while adultery is no more serious than other serious sin, it - like financial malfeasance - has the ability to do a disproportionate amount of harm to the body of Christ. Anyone familiar with a congregation where one of the pastoral leaders has commited adultery knows what I am talking about. And I worry that the church does not deal with such transgressions in ways that are both gracious and responsible. We get so freaked out by adultery that we either want to sweep it under the rug or punish it vindictively.

So what would a gracious and responsible ministry to sexual transgressors in the church look like? And why does this seem to be one area where the church fails so miserably?

"I forgive, I forgive"

There is a great irony contained in the more violent Muslim responses to Pope Benedict XVI's speech a few days ago, in which he quoted a medieval Byzantine emperor's comment about Islam spreading its faith through the sword. The bombing of Christian churches in the West Bank and Gaza strip, the call for the pope's assassination by radical Muslim leaders, and the execution of an Italian nun in the Somali capital of Mogadishu would seem to confirm the emperor's observation.

The fact that the pope's remarks were not intended to criticize Islam per se, but were rather part of a larger academic speech on faith and reason delivered to an audience at the University of Regensburg in Germany, does not seem to matter. Such nuances are lost on a wing of Islam that seeks to impose its will, not by the sword, but by the death squad and the suicide bomb. Regardless of the way Christians and the Christian faith might be villified with impunity in the Muslim world, even obscure academic references that may appear critical of Islam apparently deserve to be met with violence and intimidation. And therein lies the irony in the whole story.

Charles Krauthammer's most recent column in the Washington Post is insightful. I don't typically share Krauthammer's politics, but I think he's right on when he says, "'How dare you say Islam is a violent religion? I'll kill you for it,' is not exactly the best way to go about refuting the charge."

But here's the most compelling part of the whole saga to me. It's about that Italian nun who was executed as payback for the pope's comments in Mogadishu. Apparently, after she had been shot and as she lay dying on the street, she repeated over and over, "I forgive, I forgive." Her last thoughts and last words were of grace and forgiveness. One cannot help but see her imitation of Christ, who said from the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

When Dietrich Bonhoeffer decided to leave the safety of refuge in the United States to return to Nazi Germany in 1939, he made a decision that helped to seal his fate on the gallows of the Flossenburg Concentration Camp. Reinhold Niebuhr would later say that his action belonged to the "finest logic of Christian martyrdom." We might say the same for Sister Leonella, who must have known that carrying out her ministry in a city controlled by radical Islamists might eventually make her a target for violence.

Christians are not sinless, and as soon as we start to play the 'moral superiority' card, we immediately slip into that most pernicious of sins - pride. But contained within the larger story of our own violence and rebellion against the will of God is a narrative that embodies the truth of Jesus' message. It is a narrative of love, of forgiveness, of redemption, and of hope. That narrative has been lived out by the early apostles, the early martyrs, the medieval mendicants, latter-day saints like Bonhoeffer, and now by Sister Leonella on a dusty street in Mogadishu.

I hope I would have the same faith that she did if I were put in her situation. I don't know that I would. But I draw strength from the witness she has given the world.