I can gauge my spiritual life by the degree to which I poeticize the Bible. An instance of that came to light today. I learned that someone I had deeply offended had refrained from telling me my offense until he could deal with it sufficiently in his own heart to avoid sending me a hurtful letter.

I was immediately reminded of Paul’s identical motive in his words to the Corinthians:

I wanted to visit you on my way to Macedonia….Was I vacillating when I wanted to do this? Do I make my plans according to the flesh, ready to say ‘Yes, yes’ and ‘No, no’ at the same time….But I call God to witness against me — it was to spare you that I refrained from coming again to Corinth….For I made up my mind not to make another painful visit to you. (2 Corinthians 1:16,17,23; 2:1)

Like Paul, my friend chose to bless me when his baser self wanted to hurt me back. In order to pull off that soul transaction, he had to suck up the pain himself, take on my debt himself rather than handing me the bill.

All of which made me take a second look at something Paul said later in the same letter:

[We are] always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also my be manifested in our mortal flesh. (4:10,11)

Nothing poetical or romantic about that.

I know two people, each with a parent who made a choice that severed the parent-child relationship. In one case, a father disappeared from his son’s life for a decade. In the other, a mother chose to stay with the man who was sexually abusing her daughter. All four of these people are now professing Christians, and both parents have asked for forgiveness. So these two relationships should be fine now, right?

Christians are commanded to honor our parents, after all, and further, to forgive those who trespass against us. Something I’ve learned about sin, however, having committed more than my share of it, is that it scars those around us, sometimes even cripples them. If I run over you with my car, it doesn’t matter how repentant I am — you’ll still be in that wheelchair. Likewise, if I abdicate my responsibility as a parent, though I may grieve over it in later years, my repentance doesn’t produce the trust and communion that parents and children are supposed to have. Understandably, neither of these parents is close to his child.

But there are significant differences, and as I observe these relationships unfold, I am learning something about repentance and healing. In one case, the father has come to his son more than once, and offered his sorrow for not being there. He has been in his son’s life, and in the lives of his grandchildren, as much as his son will allow. His son, not the most openly emotional person, has slowly begun to open his heart to his father. They have a future, these two — I am pretty certain of this.

In the other relationship, the mother has grown insistent that she be honored by her daughter. She doesn’t like that her daughter treats her like any other friendly acquaintance. She seems to want deference when she expresses an opinion, and to have her daughter call more often, and visit more often, and choose her over other relatives when she does come to town. This mother seems to think she is owed something, and that her daughter is not providing it.

When she apologized to her daughter, it was not specific, as in the case of the father with his son. I think a specific apology means a lot, don’t you? It shows evidence that the sin, and its consequences, have really been considered. It’s easier to believe someone’s repentance, I think, when her apology is specific.

This daughter struggles, because most of her Christian friends don’t seem to understand. You’re supposed to honor your mother, they tell her. You’re supposed to forgive.

I think many of us confuse forgiving with forgetting. My friend can’t forget the choice her mother made. And her mother hasn’t done anything to make her believe that, if a time machine brought them back to that same place, she wouldn’t make the same terrible choice again. So whereas the father and his son show hope of growing closer, the mother and daughter seem to be drifting apart.

When we damage a relationship, we have to take steps to help repair the damage, if we want the relationship to be what it was, or what it was supposed to have been. “I’m sorry” is an important step, but it’s only the first step. It’s funny and sad that when celebrities get caught in a sin, they apologize and then go into some kind of rehabilitation, as if they are the ones in need of repair, rather than the families they have wounded.

All of this has made me think about the ways in which I have hurt people, and where I have succeeded or failed in helping repair the damage. It’s certainly hard to say I’m sorry. It’s even harder to live like it. I wish more of us, myself included, could live I’m sorry, not just say it.

Trap doors. The universe is full of them. C.S.Lewis understood that when he wrote a little children’s story about a simple, homely wardrobe in an abandoned upstairs room that became the entryway to another world. This was no mere literary device on his part, to get Lucy from England to Narnia; there is something deep and spiritual afoot.

Ted Bundy, hours before they executed him in Florida, told James Dobson about the trap door that got him: pornography. He was just a kid of 12, and he and his buddies found a magazine in the alley in his neighborhood. Why Satan’s door will suck in one and not another is a mystery. But he has lots of different trap doors.

There are the notorious ones — internet porn, the bottle, the slots casino, astrology. But there are unlikely ones too — prescription pain medicine, the mall, love of horses, a love of art collecting. Makes no difference to Satan. “Soft underfoot” is as good as suicide.

I have known of men who fell through trap doors never to be heard of again. But by God’s grace, I have known of men who fell through trap doors, and after getting beat up by Satan for years, were graciously rescued by God.

God provided other trap doors, so that they stumbled into grace unawares. Some of those grace doors were unlikely too. Like prison. Which Satan no doubt meant as a trap for his kingdom, but which God co-opted for his own kingdom. Praise His unsearchable wisdom and mercy!