Jay E. Adams, in his excellent book Christian Living in the Home, tells of a marriage counselor meeting with a troubled couple he called Sue and Wilbur.
Sue began by saying she had an ulcer, but the doctor said it was not from a physical cause. She then pulled from a large bag a manuscript about an inch thick, typed on both sides, and slapped it down on the counselor’s desk.
Then Sue said, “This is why I’m getting an ulcer.”
Flipping through it, the counselor saw she had carefully recorded every wrong Wilbur had committed during their 13-year marriage.
The counselor looked at Sue and said, “It’s been a long time since I have met anyone as resentful as you.”
He continued, “This is not only a record of what your husband has done to you, but it is also a record of what you have done about it.” It was a record of her sin against her husband, against God, and even against her own body.
The counselor then pointed out that her record of bitterness ran counter to 1 Corinthians 13, which says that love “keeps no record of wrongs.”
Interestingly, Adams notes that later counseling sessions revealed that her record of her husband’s offenses was quite accurate. The problem wasn’t that she had imagined the wrongs. The wrongs were real. The problem was that she kept the ledger.
Love doesn’t pretend the wrong never happened. Love refuses to keep a record of it.
William Barclay pointed out that the Greek word logizesthai was an accountant’s term. It was used to enter an item in a ledger so that it would not be forgotten. The point, Barclay writes, is that “Love does not store up the memory of any wrong it has received.”
Regarding this verse, William Hendriksen writes, “Here is a verbal portrait of a bookkeeper who flips the pages of his ledger to reveal what has been received and spent. He can give an exact account and provide an itemized list.”
“Some people are keeping a similar list of wrongs that they have experienced,” comments Hendriksen. “But love is extremely forgetful when it comes to remembering injury and injustice. When wrongs have been forgiven, they ought to be forgotten and never be mentioned again.”
Of course, “forgetting” doesn’t mean we can somehow erase painful experiences from our memory. The wrong may have been real. The wound may have been deep. Love, however, refuses to keep the offense on the books—to preserve it as ammunition for the next argument.
While most people don’t go to the extreme Sue did by literally recording every hurt, insult, disappointment, or offense, we may do something just as damaging—keep a mental ledger.
Through the years of counseling, not only with married couples but also with others dealing with relationship issues, it’s amazing how many can remember in detail something that was said, when it was said, and how it was said years later. That mental ledger is then pulled out when another disagreement occurs. Past wrongs are recited and new ones added.
Paul says love doesn’t live that way. As The Message paraphrases it, “Love doesn’t keep score of the sins of others.”
This problem of “record-keeping” not only exists among husbands and wives but is all too common among parents and children, neighbors, co-workers, and, sadly, even among brothers and sisters in the Lord’s church.
This characteristic of love is illustrated in the attitude of Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross. As the story goes, a friend reminded Barton of a particularly cruel wrong someone had done to her years earlier. Barton seemed not to remember it.
Her friend pressed her: “Don’t you remember?”
Barton reportedly answered, “No, I distinctly remember forgetting that.”
Keeping score can become an expression of self-centeredness, focusing more on what others have done to us, or failed to do, than on what we can do for others. Such an attitude fosters bitterness, resentment, and anger.
Love is a decision. A choice. An act of the will. Letting go of past wrongs, personal injuries, and perceived slights is a demonstration of love. It reflects an attitude of forgiveness, grace, and mercy. It is the magnanimous spirit displayed by Christ on the cross when He prayed for His murderers, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
Too often in our homes we keep score of insults, injuries, and ill-treatment. Like the man in counseling who said, “Doc, every time we get into an argument, my wife gets historical.”
“You mean hysterical?” asked the doctor.
“No,” replied the husband. “Historical. She’s always bringing up the past.”
Love doesn’t keep score. It doesn’t preserve old offenses as ammunition for tomorrow’s argument.
Love closes the ledger. Wipes the slate clean. And begins again.
–Ken Weliever, The Preacherman
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