Sep/Oct 2004
GROWING PLACES
Packing a Grudge
The first time I went on a backpacking trip, I took everything I could possibly need. Along with my sleeping bag and dried food, I packed plenty of clean t-shirts and shorts, a couple of sweat shirts, two bathing suits, lots of socks, a pillow (really!), a large beach towel, a book, my journal and plenty of gum. What I found I needed most at the end of each day was a neck, back and foot massage.
The next time I went backpacking, I decided that as long as I had dry socks each morning, I could wear the same t-shirt over and over again. Reading could wait till I got home, and my small hand towel could double quite nicely as a pillow.
Each ounce matters out there on the trail. Even if the weight seems fine at first, it slowly begins to bear down, cutting into your shoulders and impacting every move you make— how you stand, how you sit, how fast you move, how far you can go without collapsing.
What we carry in our hearts does the same thing. Is there anything you are hauling around that only serves to drag you down? More particularly, are you carrying any of those little beasts called grudges? My pastor was talking about grudges, and he observed how we treat grudges like babies. We carry a grudge, nurse a grudge, hold a grudge, feed a grudge. They jump in our backpacks and affect every move we make. Before long we can’t focus on anything but our “pain in the neck.”
Why do we cart these things around? Grudges offer us nothing. They drink our joy and suffocate our pleasure. It’s been said that carrying a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. That poison only serves to make us bitter.
We’ve all probably met someone who has been wronged, be it by a spouse, a parent, a child or a boss, and they distrust everything. The wrong done to them may have been absolutely horrible; they may have been terribly hurt, but they continue to hurt themselves by holding the wrong tightly to their chest. They find no space in their backpacks for joy and gratitude, and any blessing they receive is accepted with a cynical, “Oh, this won’t last.” Too often, their prediction comes true as the grudges in their backpacks devour their chances for happiness.
Sometimes people carry grudges because they seem to offer an excuse. Apparently, if we’re victims, we’re less responsible for our choices. Sometimes we can’t even make choices because we are just waiting. Waiting for an apology, waiting for someone to realize what an idiot they’ve been, waiting for the world to recognize the wrong that’s been done to us.
What if Jesus had done that? What if after that whip had ripped into his flesh time after time after time, he had decided, “That’s it. I didn’t deserve that. Until you come crawling on your hands and knees, begging for forgiveness, I’m not going one step further.”
What if when he collapsed beneath the weight of the cross, exhausted from pain, unable to see through the blood flowing down his face, he had said, “This is ridiculous. I’m not getting nailed up on this thing. This sinful mess of a world is worthless. I quit.”
And what if when he was nailed up on that cross, and the crowd was taunting and the guards were gambling for his clothing he had said, “Smite them Lord, for they have wronged me.”
Where would we be now if Jesus had carried a backpack of grudges instead of the gentle yoke of grace and forgiveness?
God has canceled my entire debt, and I must do the same for others. So, every morning I check my backpack for little parasitic grudges, and I toss out the stowaways that are eating my joy. Then I stuff my backpack full of God’s gracious forgiveness, and thank him that his burden is light.
Do you want a lighter load too? Toss out those heavy grudges and invite in forgiveness. You’ll walk a lot better.
—Susan Reedy