A few years ago, Pope Francis proclaimed a Jubilee Year of Mercy for the whole Church, beginning on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception and closing the following year on the Solemnity of Christ the King.
There are many fascinating aspects of this exciting and much needed year of reflection on the mercy God shown to us through Christ Jesus his Son, and much to be explored in a world where, as one wag put it “nothing is sinful, but nothing is forgiven.”
There are many dimensions to be explored in the application of the Holy Father’s Gospel of Mercy, but this evening I would like to dwell on three realities aspects of the meaning of mercy: God’s mercy on us, Our mercy on those who trespass against us, and our mercy on all who need us.
There’s an important lesson on forgiveness in the pardoning of President Nixon by President Ford. In his 1975 article “On Executive Clemency: The Pardon of Richard M. Nixon,” Michael McKibbin provides the definitive juridical analysis of this important action by President Gerald Ford, which did, as he hoped, provided an end to “our long national nightmare.”
McKibbin provides a fascinating narrative of the events and legal issues, beginning with Nixon’s denial of guilt and the now famous subsequent events which brought the events of Watergate to the attention of the American people and the judgement of the Senate Watergate Committee, Attorney General, Special Prosecutor’s Office and even the Supreme Court.
He notes that President Ford’s pardon is rather broad in its scope, granting “a full, free, and absolute pardon unto Richard Nixon for all offenses against the United States which he, Richard Nixon, has committed or may have committed or taken part in during the period from January 10, 1969 through August 9, 1974.”
My present point in this extraordinary narrative is that this act of executive mercy had one foundational requirement: “the acceptance of a pardon is an acknowledgement by the grantee that he is guilty of the offenses contained therein. A denial of such guilt by the grantee will be construed to be a rejection of the pardon.”
Thus, Richard Nixon was forced to admit in writing that his ". . . motivations and actions in the Watergate affair were intentionally self-serving and illegal" in order to receive a presidential pardon.
The multiple Supreme Court rulings that underpin the establishment of confession as a prerequisite for clemency are rooted in the unwavering insistence by the Church that contrition and confession must precede absolution.
In other words, to be forgiven, by a court or by God, you must confess. Without confession, there is no pardon.
And yet, as a recent CARA study reveals, less than two percent of all Church-going Catholics go to confession every month.
Just imagine the person who knows he has sinned. He’s denied it, anesthetized it, maybe tried to drink or medicate the guilt away. But like an aching tooth the sin sits just under the surface, gnawing at him and dragging down. He tries to make his way through the world and even to strive for holiness, but this void impedes and distracts him, imprisoning up his heart in a series of inextricable knots.
We live in a world aching for forgiveness, but petrified to confess.
But, as we have already prayed several times today, as we are forgiven, so we forgive those who trespass against us. You’ve heard the stories. Maybe you’ve even lived them.
Of the mother disowned by her daughter, who for years refuses to speak to her because of what she did, or what she said. And then she hears the mother is dying. Sometimes the story ends with forgiveness. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Or of the brother who betrays his younger sibling. It cost him his job and his reputation and it almost broke up his marriage. It’ll follow him around for years to come. So he refused to have anything to do with his brother, even when his father begged him to. Sometimes that story end with a reconciliation, and sometimes it doesn’t.
Or of the friends who stopped speaking to each other over that boy they were both dating, and how one of them married him and the other just clung to the jealousy and resentment and hurt for the rest of her life. Sometimes that story ends in forgiveness, and sometimes it doesn’t.
You remember when the disciples go to Jesus after one of them was acting like a fool again, and they ask him “How many times?! How many times do we have to keep forgiving him?” Then they try to impress Jesus: “We know, Lord, we’ll forgive him seven times!” “No,” the Lord smiles patiently at them: “Not seven times...seventy-times seven times. Judge not, least you be judged. Love the one who nails you to the cross by praying for them: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
