Forgiveness
Sermon
Growing in Christ
Sermons for the Summer Season
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?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times."
-- Matthew 18:21-22
I am going to begin this sermon with its conclusion; I am going to start with the ending: Where there is forgiveness, there is life. When you forgive you are a part of the eternity of God's love.
Luther put it this way in the Small Catechism, "Where there is forgiveness of sins, there is also life and salvation."
For the sake of your Son, Jesus Christ, have mercy on us. Forgive us, renew us, and lead us, so that we may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your holy name.1
Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, when my brother or sister wrongs me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?"
-- Matthew 18:21 (paraphrased)
If you think about it, that was a rather generous offer by Peter, to forgive someone seven times. To say from the heart, "I forgive you," and then, "I forgive you, again. Yes, from the depth of my being, in mind and soul I really do forgive you this third time." And to do that seven times! It certainly goes beyond the normal, everyday expectations of the workplace. If someone wrongs you again and again and again, and you forgive from the heart seven times, that is very generous.
But that's not what Jesus said. Jesus (as the Christ, as the voice of God) replied, "No, not seven times but seventy-seven times" (Matthew 18:22 paraphrased).
Our culture is somewhat comfortable with relatively large numbers. We may drive a car hundreds of miles at a time and buy items that cost thousands of dollars. Such numbers actually mean something to us. But there was an odd-acting quasar in the news last week. In the constellation Serpens, this quasar is about eight billion light-years away from earth. Let me think about that: eight billion light-years. If light travels at the speed of 186,282 miles per second, in a year it will cover about six trillion miles (that is a six followed by twelve zeros). Six trillion miles; now I must multiply that by eight billion to determine how far away this quasar is from me. For most of us, there is a point where certain numbers cause our eyes to glaze over and the mind to fog up; they stretch beyond comprehension.
There is some question over the translation of the Aramaic of the text. Does the word Jesus used mean "seventy times seven" or more likely "seventy-seven"? It really doesn't matter. On the street in ancient Palestine, pre-calculator, almost pre-science, that seventy-seven figure was practically incomprehensible. An accurate translation of Jesus' response to the question of how many times should we forgive would be "forever. Forgive forever!"
Just in case someone misses the radical nature of that answer, Jesus tells a radical parable. Jesus presents his audience with a drama in three acts.
Act I: The reign of God may be said to be like a ruler who decided to settle accounts with the servants. Jesus sets this story in a hypothetical location, some eastern empire where there were non-Jewish customs and laws, where, for example, one could sell a spouse and children to pay a debt which was not allowed in Palestine at the time of Jesus. I believe Jesus set the story in a vague, abstract location so those hearing him would not be distracted by thoughts of a specific ruler or region and miss the inclusive word of the parable.
Once upon a time, there was a ruler, and a servant of the ruler owed an incredible amount of money. In Greek, it says that the servant owed the ruler 10,000 talents. About the time of Jesus, all the revenue of King Herod from his total kingdom in one year was about 900 talents. The servant in the story owed 10,000 talents. A talent was the largest unit of currency in use at the time of Jesus, and 10,000 was the highest number used in counting. In other words, this character owed the ruler billions and trillions of dollars! The sale of one's property, family, and one's very self wouldn't come close to paying off even a fraction of what was owed. It was hopeless. It was utterly hopeless.
The servant asked the ruler for mercy and promised to pay back all the money owed if he would be given "a little more time," which would have been a real laugh for those first hearing the story. That was an impossible promise to keep. The servant knew it; certainly the ruler knew it. It could never be paid off.
However, Jesus said the ruler, strictly out of loving mercy, out of pure grace, forgave the servant and cancelled the debt completely.
There were no special deals and no interest payments; the ruler forgave the debt completely.
Now Act II of the play: Someone, a peer of the one forgiven, owes him 100 denarii, a small amount of money that could be easily acquired and repaid, which is what this person promised to do, using ironically, the exact same words of promise that were said earlier in the play by the ruler's debtor. But the forgiven one, unmindful of the forgiveness received, acts totally opposite from the ruler, and rejects the offer, grabs the debtor by the throat, and throws him into jail.
Then, Act III: The ruler sends for the ungrateful servant and says, "I forgave you! Don't you know the nature of forgiveness? Should you not have dealt mercifully with your fellow servant, as I dealt with you?" The ungrateful servant was sentenced to jail, literally in the Greek, taken to the "torturers" until what was owned would be paid back.
Then the important postscript to the story: Jesus said this parable is a story about God, who is like a loving parent, who forgives far beyond the pleas and even the understanding of the beloved children. It is about God who forgives way beyond the worth of anyone's human achievements. God forgives simply out of divine goodness and love, out of grace.
The result of accepted forgiveness is to be whole, to have a clear view of what harmony can be in human relations. I really believe if a person cannot forgive, it is self-destructive. In withholding forgiveness, not allowing it to flow through you, you are certainly less than what God wants you to be. Not forgiving is like turning yourself in for torture.
Such forgiveness is a radical concept, though certainly not an isolated scriptural event; rather, it is woven throughout the entire fabric of the Bible, from Joseph in our first reading this morning, forgiving his selfish, vengeful brothers, to Jesus on the cross: "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." But it is so difficult for us, so difficult for me.
One time, at the college where I served as pastor, we sponsored a lecture and forum on the topic of rape. A guest speaker told about a personal experience. She was raped by her father many years before. She told her story with intense emotion and cutting rage -- a deep inner anger. She said she would never forgive her father; she would always hate him and always wish suffering for him.
After her talk, I asked her about forgiveness -- not forgetting and certainly still working to make sure this does not happen to others. We talked about working to make sure that others will feel free to speak about such horrible experiences and deal with what has happened to them. I could understand if she never liked her father again -- okay. However, could she ever forgive in the sense of letting go of the hate, and even wish some healing for her father in his distorted state?
Well, she jumped all over me, saying something like I was another male who doesn't take rape seriously. I think the inner rage gave power to her message and her personal story, which brought an important message to places like a college campus, but the lack of forgiveness was eating her alive; it was so obvious, so self-destructive, and not just when she gave her lecture; the rape was still occurring.
Forgiveness frees the forgiver from being overwhelmed and devoured by the past. I believe forgiveness is a reality that is at the very core of what it means to be a Christian, at the very center of the gospel message. Often when we wish to share the message of Christianity, share the gospel, share the good news, or when we want to define God, we talk about love. We say, "God is love" or "We should love one another," which is okay if we go on to define what love means, and if we remember that the secular world has defined love in many ways, some of which can easily distort the essence of Christianity. Perhaps our primary strategy of evangelism should be to summarize the essence of Christianity, the good news, as a living word about forgiveness.
"But Lord, how many times do I have to forgive? Seven times?"
I have heard it put this way: "Without forgiveness of sins, there is really no future for us." When we have a serious falling out with someone and there is not forgiveness, our future with that someone is forever closed. The past then controls the future.
We have heard the pain in the voices of our brothers and sisters: "I hate that person. I know this is eating me alive, but I just can't seem to let it go. I know that I should pray about it and forgive even if I can't forget. But I can't pray; I can't even focus on anything but my hurt and my anger. I'm all knotted up inside, and I don't know what to do."
How can we offer good news? Maybe say something like, "Right now you probably cannot forgive him or her; it's too soon, the pain is too raw. But what you can or cannot do right now is not perhaps a particularly good gauge of what you maybe able to do in time, with a lot of grace."
Forgiveness is the way God has chosen to relate to a creation that has evolved into self-awareness and often chooses in our freedom the destructiveness of selfishness.
Forgiveness is a determination to seek the new; to be a peacemaker in a warring world; to refuse to give in to the corrosive cynicism of a consumer culture; to be light and salt; to be hopeful when despair drags people down; to side with the oppressed, the outsiders, the lost; to find ways to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick.
A true story comes to mind: After retiring as a nurse, Janet Colby decided to work part-time as a school bus driver transporting elementary school kids. One day as the kids got off the bus at school, she didn't see Jonathan. She knew Jonathan had gotten on the bus, but now where was he? She walked to the very back of the bus, and there was Jonathan still sitting in his seat. His book bag was open and he was holding a jar of blue paint, which was also open, and there was blue paint all over his hands, all over the front of his shirt and his pants, and on the bus seat. Blue paint was at that very moment dripping onto the floor. Janet looked at him and said, "Jonathan."
Jonathan quickly replied, "I didn't do it," which seems to me to be the most common response of our society today. "I didn't do it."
I read about a stream that was polluted by chemicals that caused a massive fish kill. The toxins are traced directly to a pipe leading to a local chemical plant. How did the plant executives first respond? "We didn't do it."
Jonathan looked like he was going to be sick, but he said, "I didn't do it."
The next day, Jonathan stepped on the bus with a present for the driver. It was a drawing that he had made. Jonathan had attempted to draw a school bus with a stick figure of a little boy and a little stick figure of Janet Colby, the bus driver, whose big round head in the drawing contained a wide smile. A big balloon coming from the mouth of the little boy held these words, "I'm s-o-r-e."
Janet asked the young artist, "Jonathan, what does s-o-r-e spell?"
He said, "Sorry. I'm sorry."
And Mrs. Colby did smile and hugged Jonathan, who then also smiled.
When one knows that they are in need of forgiveness, they are not only sorry, but also sore; they are hurting. It hurts knowing something is very wrong and needs to be set right.
We must be responsible for our actions, and there are certain consequences that must be dealt with in terms of justice and preventing further pain. Forgiveness is not excusing unjust behavior. Nor is it necessarily forgetting what happened. I am talking about forgiving, accepting that person as a fellow, sacred traveler in our life together, a child of God. Sometimes it is very difficult. In that forgiveness, there is, I believe, a glimpse of resurrection already now -- a wholeness. It is the smile on the face of Jonathan and Mrs. Colby after the blue paint episode, when being sore turns to sorry and then turns to loving community.
A number of years ago, in St. Peter's Square in Rome, a young Turkish terrorist shot Pope John Paul. When the Pope, who was seriously injured, recovered, he went to the prison to visit his would-be assassin. In the bare, whitewashed prison cell, John Paul tenderly held the hand that had held the gun and had pulled the trigger. And the Pope forgave the young man. When the Pope emerged from the cell, he said,
What we talked about will have to remain a secret between him and me, [but] I spoke to him as a brother whom I have pardoned -- the Lord gave us the grace to meet as brothers, because all the events of our lives must confirm that God is our Father and all of us are God's children in Jesus Christ, and thus if we are all God's children in Jesus Christ, we are all brothers [and sisters].
The pope forgave the gunman, but the gunman remained in prison. We are still responsible for what we have done, accountable even with forgiveness.
Love takes the form of forgiveness and justice at the same time. And as I have said, we should not forget, for example, the horror and continuing impact of slavery in the United States or the European holocaust, or being abused in one's youth or in one's marriage. Not to forget, or revise the realities of such evil. And we should certainly take precautions so such actions of pain and separation will never happen again to ourselves or to others, along with perhaps steps now to rectify past injustices. But to become whole, as sisters and brothers, we must be open to the healing of forgiveness and to the hope for reconciliation. This is at the heart of the radical nature of Christianity, the revelation of God through Jesus.
Forgiveness frees the forgiver from being overwhelmed and devoured by the past. The forgiver is removed from the nightmare of revenge of prejudice or despair. "Father forgive them," even from the cross, is the Christ-model of the human living out the image of God. It is entering into God's point of view.
"Lord, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?"
Whenever there is forgiveness, there is life. When you forgive, you are a part of the eternity of God's love. Amen.
Sermon delivered September 12, 1999
First Lutheran Church
Duluth, Minnesota
____________
1. Lutheran Book of Worship (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1978), p. 56.
-- Matthew 18:21-22
I am going to begin this sermon with its conclusion; I am going to start with the ending: Where there is forgiveness, there is life. When you forgive you are a part of the eternity of God's love.
Luther put it this way in the Small Catechism, "Where there is forgiveness of sins, there is also life and salvation."
For the sake of your Son, Jesus Christ, have mercy on us. Forgive us, renew us, and lead us, so that we may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your holy name.1
Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, when my brother or sister wrongs me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?"
-- Matthew 18:21 (paraphrased)
If you think about it, that was a rather generous offer by Peter, to forgive someone seven times. To say from the heart, "I forgive you," and then, "I forgive you, again. Yes, from the depth of my being, in mind and soul I really do forgive you this third time." And to do that seven times! It certainly goes beyond the normal, everyday expectations of the workplace. If someone wrongs you again and again and again, and you forgive from the heart seven times, that is very generous.
But that's not what Jesus said. Jesus (as the Christ, as the voice of God) replied, "No, not seven times but seventy-seven times" (Matthew 18:22 paraphrased).
Our culture is somewhat comfortable with relatively large numbers. We may drive a car hundreds of miles at a time and buy items that cost thousands of dollars. Such numbers actually mean something to us. But there was an odd-acting quasar in the news last week. In the constellation Serpens, this quasar is about eight billion light-years away from earth. Let me think about that: eight billion light-years. If light travels at the speed of 186,282 miles per second, in a year it will cover about six trillion miles (that is a six followed by twelve zeros). Six trillion miles; now I must multiply that by eight billion to determine how far away this quasar is from me. For most of us, there is a point where certain numbers cause our eyes to glaze over and the mind to fog up; they stretch beyond comprehension.
There is some question over the translation of the Aramaic of the text. Does the word Jesus used mean "seventy times seven" or more likely "seventy-seven"? It really doesn't matter. On the street in ancient Palestine, pre-calculator, almost pre-science, that seventy-seven figure was practically incomprehensible. An accurate translation of Jesus' response to the question of how many times should we forgive would be "forever. Forgive forever!"
Just in case someone misses the radical nature of that answer, Jesus tells a radical parable. Jesus presents his audience with a drama in three acts.
Act I: The reign of God may be said to be like a ruler who decided to settle accounts with the servants. Jesus sets this story in a hypothetical location, some eastern empire where there were non-Jewish customs and laws, where, for example, one could sell a spouse and children to pay a debt which was not allowed in Palestine at the time of Jesus. I believe Jesus set the story in a vague, abstract location so those hearing him would not be distracted by thoughts of a specific ruler or region and miss the inclusive word of the parable.
Once upon a time, there was a ruler, and a servant of the ruler owed an incredible amount of money. In Greek, it says that the servant owed the ruler 10,000 talents. About the time of Jesus, all the revenue of King Herod from his total kingdom in one year was about 900 talents. The servant in the story owed 10,000 talents. A talent was the largest unit of currency in use at the time of Jesus, and 10,000 was the highest number used in counting. In other words, this character owed the ruler billions and trillions of dollars! The sale of one's property, family, and one's very self wouldn't come close to paying off even a fraction of what was owed. It was hopeless. It was utterly hopeless.
The servant asked the ruler for mercy and promised to pay back all the money owed if he would be given "a little more time," which would have been a real laugh for those first hearing the story. That was an impossible promise to keep. The servant knew it; certainly the ruler knew it. It could never be paid off.
However, Jesus said the ruler, strictly out of loving mercy, out of pure grace, forgave the servant and cancelled the debt completely.
There were no special deals and no interest payments; the ruler forgave the debt completely.
Now Act II of the play: Someone, a peer of the one forgiven, owes him 100 denarii, a small amount of money that could be easily acquired and repaid, which is what this person promised to do, using ironically, the exact same words of promise that were said earlier in the play by the ruler's debtor. But the forgiven one, unmindful of the forgiveness received, acts totally opposite from the ruler, and rejects the offer, grabs the debtor by the throat, and throws him into jail.
Then, Act III: The ruler sends for the ungrateful servant and says, "I forgave you! Don't you know the nature of forgiveness? Should you not have dealt mercifully with your fellow servant, as I dealt with you?" The ungrateful servant was sentenced to jail, literally in the Greek, taken to the "torturers" until what was owned would be paid back.
Then the important postscript to the story: Jesus said this parable is a story about God, who is like a loving parent, who forgives far beyond the pleas and even the understanding of the beloved children. It is about God who forgives way beyond the worth of anyone's human achievements. God forgives simply out of divine goodness and love, out of grace.
The result of accepted forgiveness is to be whole, to have a clear view of what harmony can be in human relations. I really believe if a person cannot forgive, it is self-destructive. In withholding forgiveness, not allowing it to flow through you, you are certainly less than what God wants you to be. Not forgiving is like turning yourself in for torture.
Such forgiveness is a radical concept, though certainly not an isolated scriptural event; rather, it is woven throughout the entire fabric of the Bible, from Joseph in our first reading this morning, forgiving his selfish, vengeful brothers, to Jesus on the cross: "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." But it is so difficult for us, so difficult for me.
One time, at the college where I served as pastor, we sponsored a lecture and forum on the topic of rape. A guest speaker told about a personal experience. She was raped by her father many years before. She told her story with intense emotion and cutting rage -- a deep inner anger. She said she would never forgive her father; she would always hate him and always wish suffering for him.
After her talk, I asked her about forgiveness -- not forgetting and certainly still working to make sure this does not happen to others. We talked about working to make sure that others will feel free to speak about such horrible experiences and deal with what has happened to them. I could understand if she never liked her father again -- okay. However, could she ever forgive in the sense of letting go of the hate, and even wish some healing for her father in his distorted state?
Well, she jumped all over me, saying something like I was another male who doesn't take rape seriously. I think the inner rage gave power to her message and her personal story, which brought an important message to places like a college campus, but the lack of forgiveness was eating her alive; it was so obvious, so self-destructive, and not just when she gave her lecture; the rape was still occurring.
Forgiveness frees the forgiver from being overwhelmed and devoured by the past. I believe forgiveness is a reality that is at the very core of what it means to be a Christian, at the very center of the gospel message. Often when we wish to share the message of Christianity, share the gospel, share the good news, or when we want to define God, we talk about love. We say, "God is love" or "We should love one another," which is okay if we go on to define what love means, and if we remember that the secular world has defined love in many ways, some of which can easily distort the essence of Christianity. Perhaps our primary strategy of evangelism should be to summarize the essence of Christianity, the good news, as a living word about forgiveness.
"But Lord, how many times do I have to forgive? Seven times?"
I have heard it put this way: "Without forgiveness of sins, there is really no future for us." When we have a serious falling out with someone and there is not forgiveness, our future with that someone is forever closed. The past then controls the future.
We have heard the pain in the voices of our brothers and sisters: "I hate that person. I know this is eating me alive, but I just can't seem to let it go. I know that I should pray about it and forgive even if I can't forget. But I can't pray; I can't even focus on anything but my hurt and my anger. I'm all knotted up inside, and I don't know what to do."
How can we offer good news? Maybe say something like, "Right now you probably cannot forgive him or her; it's too soon, the pain is too raw. But what you can or cannot do right now is not perhaps a particularly good gauge of what you maybe able to do in time, with a lot of grace."
Forgiveness is the way God has chosen to relate to a creation that has evolved into self-awareness and often chooses in our freedom the destructiveness of selfishness.
Forgiveness is a determination to seek the new; to be a peacemaker in a warring world; to refuse to give in to the corrosive cynicism of a consumer culture; to be light and salt; to be hopeful when despair drags people down; to side with the oppressed, the outsiders, the lost; to find ways to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick.
A true story comes to mind: After retiring as a nurse, Janet Colby decided to work part-time as a school bus driver transporting elementary school kids. One day as the kids got off the bus at school, she didn't see Jonathan. She knew Jonathan had gotten on the bus, but now where was he? She walked to the very back of the bus, and there was Jonathan still sitting in his seat. His book bag was open and he was holding a jar of blue paint, which was also open, and there was blue paint all over his hands, all over the front of his shirt and his pants, and on the bus seat. Blue paint was at that very moment dripping onto the floor. Janet looked at him and said, "Jonathan."
Jonathan quickly replied, "I didn't do it," which seems to me to be the most common response of our society today. "I didn't do it."
I read about a stream that was polluted by chemicals that caused a massive fish kill. The toxins are traced directly to a pipe leading to a local chemical plant. How did the plant executives first respond? "We didn't do it."
Jonathan looked like he was going to be sick, but he said, "I didn't do it."
The next day, Jonathan stepped on the bus with a present for the driver. It was a drawing that he had made. Jonathan had attempted to draw a school bus with a stick figure of a little boy and a little stick figure of Janet Colby, the bus driver, whose big round head in the drawing contained a wide smile. A big balloon coming from the mouth of the little boy held these words, "I'm s-o-r-e."
Janet asked the young artist, "Jonathan, what does s-o-r-e spell?"
He said, "Sorry. I'm sorry."
And Mrs. Colby did smile and hugged Jonathan, who then also smiled.
When one knows that they are in need of forgiveness, they are not only sorry, but also sore; they are hurting. It hurts knowing something is very wrong and needs to be set right.
We must be responsible for our actions, and there are certain consequences that must be dealt with in terms of justice and preventing further pain. Forgiveness is not excusing unjust behavior. Nor is it necessarily forgetting what happened. I am talking about forgiving, accepting that person as a fellow, sacred traveler in our life together, a child of God. Sometimes it is very difficult. In that forgiveness, there is, I believe, a glimpse of resurrection already now -- a wholeness. It is the smile on the face of Jonathan and Mrs. Colby after the blue paint episode, when being sore turns to sorry and then turns to loving community.
A number of years ago, in St. Peter's Square in Rome, a young Turkish terrorist shot Pope John Paul. When the Pope, who was seriously injured, recovered, he went to the prison to visit his would-be assassin. In the bare, whitewashed prison cell, John Paul tenderly held the hand that had held the gun and had pulled the trigger. And the Pope forgave the young man. When the Pope emerged from the cell, he said,
What we talked about will have to remain a secret between him and me, [but] I spoke to him as a brother whom I have pardoned -- the Lord gave us the grace to meet as brothers, because all the events of our lives must confirm that God is our Father and all of us are God's children in Jesus Christ, and thus if we are all God's children in Jesus Christ, we are all brothers [and sisters].
The pope forgave the gunman, but the gunman remained in prison. We are still responsible for what we have done, accountable even with forgiveness.
Love takes the form of forgiveness and justice at the same time. And as I have said, we should not forget, for example, the horror and continuing impact of slavery in the United States or the European holocaust, or being abused in one's youth or in one's marriage. Not to forget, or revise the realities of such evil. And we should certainly take precautions so such actions of pain and separation will never happen again to ourselves or to others, along with perhaps steps now to rectify past injustices. But to become whole, as sisters and brothers, we must be open to the healing of forgiveness and to the hope for reconciliation. This is at the heart of the radical nature of Christianity, the revelation of God through Jesus.
Forgiveness frees the forgiver from being overwhelmed and devoured by the past. The forgiver is removed from the nightmare of revenge of prejudice or despair. "Father forgive them," even from the cross, is the Christ-model of the human living out the image of God. It is entering into God's point of view.
"Lord, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?"
Whenever there is forgiveness, there is life. When you forgive, you are a part of the eternity of God's love. Amen.
Sermon delivered September 12, 1999
First Lutheran Church
Duluth, Minnesota
____________
1. Lutheran Book of Worship (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1978), p. 56.
