Americans and the Lost Art of Repentance

Insurgents attack the Capitol Building on January 6, 2021—
the first such successful breach since the War of 1812

I first remember hearing “forgive and forget” in third grade. Six bullies, including one former friend, had surrounded me—an unusually tall, skinny kid and therefore highly visible—while walking home from school. They made a circle, screaming insults and shoving me around, while other kids, equally terrified to intervene, watched in silence. I eventually escaped, but had to leave my sweatshirt behind, in one kid’s thick, grabby hands.

“Forgive and forget,” my mother said, when I tearfully pleaded for my parents to do something. “That’s the Christian thing to do.” I told her, if I forgave them immediately, they’d simply repeat their attacks; she remained unmoved. My inability to forgive became pointed in coming days, as I saw that bully wearing my sweatshirt; unable to prove ownership, I had no choice but to watch him wearing it. “Forgive and forget,” my mother urged.

Episcopal theologian Fleming Rutledge writes something important in her book The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ. “When affluent white Americans think of heaven, we tend to think of celestial serenity, natural beauty, and family reunions. Black Americans… would be much more likely to think of God’s promise that there will be ultimate justice.” I’ve read similar statements before, but Rutledge removes the waxy-apple finish and exposes the core.

Well-off people, especially but not necessarily White, love thinking of God as merciful, forgiving, and generous. The disadvantaged more often remember God as just. This isn’t coincidental. White America’s creeping abandonment of religion reflects an internalized belief that we’re good enough, even blessed, as we are; even White Evangelicalism, the religious bloc famous for supporting our outgoing President, sees religion as a ratification of presupposed godliness.

We’re witnessing this currently in American politics. Defenders of the status quo demand we “move on” and “unify” following last week’s attack on the Capitol Building. These demands for unity are a secular, political equivalent for “forgiveness.” Like my well-meaning mother, these politicians want everyone to forgive the attackers, and more importantly the politicians who encouraged them, without any secular form of God’s justice.

Christian scripture, however, links forgiveness strictly to repentance. Unless somebody demonstrates a changed heart, forgiveness is an empty show, simple permission to keep transgressing. Repentance, in Hebrew, is shuv, “to change one’s path”; in Greek, it’s metanoia, “to think again.” God’s forgiveness, in scripture, comes after God’s judgement, which depends entirely on human willingness to change one’s mind and walk a new road.

An insurgent carries General Lee's battle flag into the Capitol
Building during the same attack, a first in American history

Recent culture is replete with examples of what happens if people don’t demonstrate repentance. Politics is only one example; the President’s refusal to amend his ways, after his impeachment, show he learned nothing and wasn’t remotely chastened. Likewise, comedian Louis CK, rather than relinquishing his career, turned his performances into fascist rallies. Fill in your own blank: powerful people want forgiveness, without pausing first for repentance and justice.

My mother urging me to forgive bullies, who hadn’t expressed an inkling of repentance (and, with the kid wearing my sweatshirt, the opposite of repentance), plagues me today. When my bosses are exposed lying to me, I feel guilty that I cannot immediately forgive them; my guilt makes me swallow my objections and comply even more vigorously. Same with deceitful politicians, thieving neighbors, and other wrongdoers: I feel guilty when I cannot instantaneously forgive.

This internalized script probably isn’t coincidental. Powerful people, both religious and secular, have hijacked the concept of forgiveness to support their agendas. By taking religious teachings, and other moral principles, out of context, and repeating them aggressively, they’ve successfully reprogrammed our thoughts to accept powerful people’s prerogative. The demand that we constantly forgive, for instance, the president’s sexual crimes, makes it easier to rewrite law to support his rich friends.

Don’t misunderstand me. My mother wanted me to live without the heavy burden of petty grudges. Anger and resentment can stunt the human soul, as anybody knows if they’ve witnessed the damage wrought on themselves when they can’t forgive somebody who’s dead or otherwise gone. Sometimes it’s necessary to forgive someone who hasn’t expressed repentance, because the beneficiary is yourself.

But when powerful people demand your forgiveness, they usually want it because they hope to short-circuit the need for repentance. If forgiveness is something they expect from others, something they shame well-meaning people into providing, it’s because they hope to avoid justice. That’s what we’re seeing in Washington now, and elsewhere, too. When others demand forgiveness, before even attempting repentance, that isn’t Christianity or morality. That’s ethical gaslighting, plain and simple.