Matthew 18:21-35
Then Peter came and said to him, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" And Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.
"For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all of his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, 'Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.' And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt.
But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, 'Pay what you owe.' Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, 'Have patience with me and I will pay you.' But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt.
When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, 'You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?' And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So my heavenly father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart."
One of the last official acts of my summer’s sabbatical was to travel with my dad to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which may be another sermon for another day. On the way, we stopped for dinner near the top of the Lower Peninsula, at a place where we vacationed often as a family when I was a kid. We took my best friend, Dave, on as many of those family vacations as we did my own brother, and I was flooded with a ton of thoughts and feelings, a million emotions and memories, as my dad and I walked and talked and took a proverbial stroll down that Memory Lane.
And I don’t remember my friend Dave for very long without wrestling with and being reminded about the power and importance of forgiveness, like the kind Jesus is talking about in this morning’s Gospel. And I’ll come back to Dave, in a minute.
This morning, Peter wants to know, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often must I forgive?" "Is once enough?" "Twice?" "Will seven times, do it?" And Jesus tells him, not so subtly, that he’s not even close … that something like “seventy times seven” might do the trick – that he should forgive and forgive, and not quit forgiving.
Now, I don’t think Jesus is really concerned about the math of forgiveness, so much as he is about the aim and the quality of it. "What is true forgiveness … genuine forgiveness … real forgiveness?" “What does it mean to forgive someone – and mean it – sincerely – from your heart?” “And why is that what God asks of us?”
These are hard questions because there are so many things for which forgiveness can be offered. There are so many feelings that have been hurt, wounds that have been inflicted, words that have been said, hearts that have been broken, that forgiveness seems to be needed in so many different ways – large and small and everywhere in between. So, true … genuine … real forgiveness may be one of those things that can only be known when you see it… or feel it… or give and receive it … for yourself.
I think it’s like tearing up a scorecard. I think it's a burden that’s lifted. I think it’s like fear that disappears. It can be a very real, physical pressure in your chest that’s released. It's a peace that abides. I think that slave in this morning’s story must have felt some of these things when his lord released him, forgave him his debt, don’t you think?
But it seems we need to be reminded, over and over again, that when it comes to forgiveness, it has as much to do – maybe more to do –with the forgiver as it does with the one who receives forgiveness.
The forgiver – just as much as the one forgiven – also feels the pressure release, the burden lift, the relief come, the peace abide. And again, you may know that If you’ve ever seen it… or offered it… or experienced it for yourself ... for real.
For me, one of the most profound struggles with the practice of forgiveness came when Dave, who I mentioned a minute ago, one of the best friends I'll ever have, died in a drunk driving accident, when we were 22 years old. He was in the passenger seat of a car full of mutual friends – and they, along with the driver, were the ones who had been drinking.
The anger, frustration, regret and sadness that come along with a loss like that are impossible to anticipate. And I watched and felt it all as it consumed me, our friends, and Dave's family. And the easy target for all of that rage, blame, brokenness, and hardness of heart was Jason, our friend who was driving the car that night.
It took some time – some much needed and well-deserved time – before forgiveness started to happen for those who withheld it. It took longer for some than for others. I’m not sure everyone has mustered it, yet, and I can’t hold that against them. But once I began to let forgiveness win me over, it became clear to me that my anger and frustration, my regret and sadness, had more to do with my own connection to that night's events than it did with Jason's position in the driver's seat.
It was hard to admit all of the reckless behavior and stupid choices that led up to the one that finally caught up with us. It was scary to know that any number of slightly different circumstances could have put any one of the rest of us in Dave's place – or Jason's. And, as unexpected dying tends to be, it was overwhelmingly sad to wonder about missed opportunities, lost potential, and to regret all the things you wish you would have said or done – or could still be doing.
And those are the things that make true forgiveness hard to give and to receive. We do things like point fingers and place blame and cast judgment as a way of keeping our distance from the ugliness of sin or the difficulty of conflict or the hurt feelings and deep sadness of whatever and whoever needs forgiving.
We hold onto grudges because they keep difficult conversations at arms' length. We keep score of wrongs because we can create winners and losers that way. We let our fear get the best of us because it comes more naturally, sometimes, than faith. Maybe we withhold forgiveness because we like to think it’s a way to get even with or punish the ones who’ve harmed us.
And all of that is the kind of prison and torture I think Jesus points to in this morning’s parable. I don't think the torture that comes from refusing forgiveness – like that slave did with his friend this morning – has anything to do with some cosmic, eternal penalty that waits for us somewhere after we’re dead and gone. I believe the torture of unforgiveness finds and afflicts us right where we live – here and now – on this side of heaven. And it afflicts those of us who withhold the gift, just as much as it does the ones we believe need our forgiveness.
Have you ever let the hard work of unforgiveness keep you up at night? Let it impact your daily life? Harm your relationships? Have you ever let the anger and hatred of unforgiveness cause you stress and anxiety to the point that you can feel it in your body? Have you ever held an unforgiving grudge against someone you had to live, work or go to church with? Is there anything more awkward, painful or unholy than sharing space and breath and life with a person you can't forgive? It's a prison and a torture of its own kind which God calls us to unlock through the practice of forgiveness.
And forgiveness doesn’t always mean hugs and kisses and warm fuzzies along the way. It’s never a sign of weakness or of giving in. It doesn’t imply that another’s wrongs were justified or acceptable. It doesn’t even mean that relationships will always be restored on this side of heaven.
When I decided to forgive Jason, the friend who was behind the wheel when Dave was killed, I got his address and wrote him a few letters in prison, trying to let him know as much. It’s been 27 years and I’ve never heard back from him, even though he’s out now, married with kids and all the rest. He’s one of those people with no presence or profile on social media. He’s never reconnected with any of our friends from back in the day, either, as far as I know. That’s his prerogative and for which he must have good reasons I can only guess about.
And what I realized a week or so ago during my walk down Memory Lane is that my forgiveness was never so much about Jason as it was about me … that I was changed – and blessed and better – by forgiving him, whether it meant anything to Jason or not. I felt free and unburdened from my anger, from my self-righteousness, from my judgment. And I found some comfort in a deep hope that our friend Dave, himself, could see and would understand the bigger picture of what happened the night he died.
And I think this is God’s desire for God’s people: That we quit bearing burdens of anger, resentment, regret and remorse that torture and dismantle us from the inside, out. That we release ourselves from doing God’s work of discerning what holy judgement looks like. That, instead, we keep our hearts and minds focused on practicing grace, offering mercy, making peace – and extending true, real, genuine forgiveness – the way it has first been shared with us, and is meant to be shared with the world – thanks to the forgiveness that is ours in Jesus Christ, and from whom it matters most, in the end, anyway.
Amen
