When Being More Godly Means Not Doing What God Would Do

 “Behold what the scripture says—man shall not smite, neither shall he judge; for judgment is mine, saith the Lord, and vengeance is mine also, and I will repay.” (Mormon 8:20)

We’ve been studying Alma 42 this week, in which Alma finishes his counsel to his son, Corianton. Specifically, he’s addressing the question of whether it's just for God to punish the sinner. His argument is as follows: 

Without punishment, there is no law, because the consequences of disobeying the law provide the motive for keeping it. Where no law is given, there is no mechanism for repairing any harm that is done. To use Alma’s example, if we never learned that murder was illegal and would be punished, we would not be afraid of legal punishment if we murdered. In fact, we might be justifiably shocked if the law tried to punish us for doing something that wasn’t forbidden by the law.

In other words, without law, there can be no justice, because justice relies on the law for the authority by which to enforce its demands. But there can also be no mercy, because in the absence of a punishment based on the law, there is nothing from which to save the transgressor. There has been no legal transgression, even when there has been harm, because there was no law to transgress. 

Now, some of God’s law (and it’s important to remember we are talking about divine law, not human law) is written in our hearts, or learned from reason or experience without being explicitly taught. But that doesn’t apply to all of God’s laws, and anyway, Alma is talking theory here.

So that’s why punishment is necessary. Without it, the whole concept of justice doesn’t function. If God gave laws but didn’t punish those who broke them, we would be unable to rely on divine justice, and as Alma said, “God would cease to be God.” 

However, there is law, and punishment, and justice, and all this creates the need for repentance. Alma does a good job explaining how by personally atoning for our sins, God does the only thing that could possibly have worked to allow mercy to function without robbing justice. There’s a lot I could say about that, but it’s enough for now to say that both justice and mercy must be satisfied for God to accomplish the work of saving us, and repentance is the condition upon which God’s mercy can have claim upon our souls. If we don’t repent, we can’t access that mercy, and we must bear the full weight of our sins. If we do repent, Christ has paid for our sins, and redeemed us through His mercy.

This is where my thoughts diverged from Alma a bit, into my own life. How do I, in my various roles of authority, follow the pattern of God’s justice and mercy? For example, as a parent I have a lot of power in my kids’ lives, and I try to be careful with it. Sometimes they do things when they know they shouldn’t, or they don’t do things when they know they should. Do I punish them for that? Do I lecture them about their motives? Do I institute immutable consequences, to make sure they learn their lesson?

What about with my students? My primary class? Others I may find I have some authority over?

And what about when others sin against me? What if a coworker, family member, leader, or a stranger intentionally does something that hurts me? Do I set my heart on full restitution, of the kind God’s justice demands? What if the offender doesn’t repent? Should I turn against them in enmity? Should I withdraw my friendship? Should I look on them with love, but withhold my association, compassion, or kindness, even if it pains me to do so? Shouldn’t I do what God would do, seeking to emulate the divine method in my own judgment? 

I don’t have every answer for every situation, but I believe the answer is generally no. I should not do those things. 

You see, God has two advantages that I don’t have. First, God has perfect knowledge of us and our circumstances. God knows when we have truly sinned (remember that sin is not “making mistakes,” it’s willful rebellion against God—intentionally going contrary to what we know is right), and also when we have truly repented. As humans, we lack that crucial insight. “For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7) In other words, I can’t always be sure I know what God would do.

Oh, sure, we can sometimes discern things through the spirit of God that we wouldn’t otherwise know, but we lack the perfect knowledge that is necessary to pass perfect judgment on another person. It is not for us to decide what punishment someone else deserves, because we don’t know enough. 

Second, God has moral authority as a judge. Remember that part about God having personally atoned for our sins? Remember how we all have sins? Jesus Christ can be a righteous judge because He lived as one of us, and did it sinlessly. No one else can say that. Jesus taught us this perfectly with the woman taken in adultery. “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her” (John 8:7). It’s not for us to decide what punishment someone else deserves because how dare we, hypocrites, when we need the very mercy we were thinking of withholding?

So, if we, as imperfect lawgivers, aren’t to be exactly like God in this thing, what are we to do? Simple: we are to forgive. Always. Readily. As immediately as possible. No matter the offense. Without waiting for repentance. Perhaps these verses will sound familiar:

“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.

I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:9-10)

Why do we have the greater sin when we refuse to forgive? Does that hold true for the really egregious sins? Murder? Abuse of any kind? Unrighteous dominion that leads others away from God? Are not those sins more grievous than simply holding a grudge? 

Well, they are serious, and cannot be minimized. I’m not saying that finding it hard to forgive sin is itself a sin. Remember, sin is willful rebellion against God. The sin is in utterly refusing to forgive. Refusing to seek to forgive. Turning your heart from the desire for forgiveness. Our forgiveness doesn't mean there will be no consequences for those who hurt us. Our forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting, or restoring instant trust to one who has deservedly lost it. It doesn’t mean remaining in abusive relationships, or pretending everything is right when it is not. 

But forgiveness is mercy. It’s healing. It’s the decision to leave the judgment to the Lord. We do it because WE need it, if nothing else.

“For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again” (Matthew 7:2).

“And ye ought to say in your hearts—let God judge between me and thee, and reward thee according to thy deeds” (D&C 64:11).

If we don’t do this, we allow that unforgiven sin, however large or small, to continue to work its harm in us. Maybe the offender will never repent, and if so, will never be forgiven: at least not by God. But by forgiving, we open the doorway to our own recovery from the hurt that was done to us, and perhaps we benefit another soul as well. 

By turning from forgiveness, we set that harm in cement. We allow it to grow roots in our soul, fracturing our firm foundation. It turns us further from the light of God, and plants in us a dark desire to see further harm done, or perhaps to do it ourselves. It not only preserves the initial sin, it incubates more. 

This is why we are guilty of the greater sin when we refuse to forgive. Because in doing so we deny the atonement Christ made for that sin, and we refuse the healing He offers us. Instead, we add to the weight of sin in the world. And isn’t there enough of that already?