Who's Keeping Score?
Sermon
Church People Beware!
What we have in our passage is the contrast between a theology of grace and a theology of keeping score. The first is the one Jesus espouses in this text. The second is the one Peter is pushing and, by the way, the one our world has bought into for centuries.
Anne Herbert once suggested that the whole thing started in Eden when Adam and Eve began keeping score. Certainly it was carried on in their children when Cain's anger over Abel's higher giving score finally led to murder. Anyway, God got so angry with Adam and Eve for worrying about their scores and which one had the bigger house or the newer car that he just kicked them out of Eden. It was, of course, the serpent who taught them how to keep score in the first place.
So, concludes Anne Herbert's parable (publisher unknown), "Really, it was life in Eden that didn't mean anything. Fun is great in its place, but without scoring there's no reason for it… We were lucky to get out. We're all very grateful to the snake."
So who's keeping score? Everybody is. God is horribly naive to think we aren't or don't want to. Who's keeping score? Ask any coach of any sport, you name it. Ask Ivan Lendl or John McEnroe. Do you expect any one of them to say, "Oh we had a wonderful time today. After all, it's not whether you win or lose; it's how you play the game that counts." Can you imagine Vince Lombardi saying such a thing?
Ask the head of any business. "Oh, we're just having fun here. It doesn't matter how much money we make." Ask CPAs and church treasurers. Ask politicians. I once sat in the hotel room with a gubernatorial candidate, watching the returns as he lost his first campaign. The room got very quiet. And a woman yelled out "Well, who wants to be governor anyway?" And the poor candidate said with a half smile "Well, I did. I did."
Who's keeping score? Everybody is. Surely, God is too. Surely, God isn't totally laissez-faire. Surely, God isn't some divine Zorba the Greek calling all of us to hedonistic frivolity. Surely, God is less epicurean and more stoic than that. Give us a good stern, Puritanical, Calvinistic God who cares when we are sinful, a God who cares how we act, who shows us that there are consequences to our actions; that the sins of the fathers and the mothers are passed on to the sons and the daughters, from generation to generation.
If God doesn't care, what difference does it make what we do? Surely God is keeping score in some way. Jesus seems to say that as he throws in this surprise at the end of the passage to call us up short, to catch all us Libertarians off guard who think we can sin with reckless acquisitiveness, and not care for the poor, just going through life getting by with murder (which is the way some have misread Paul). Jesus leaves us all hanging. Which is it, free grace -- la de da? Or is there some bite to the gospel? Some accountability to the whole thing? We seem caught in the crossfire between the two churches across the street from one another in the same small town. One says, "There ain't no hell." The other says, "The hell there ain't!" Which is it? What's Jesus driving at here?
We know the story. The servant is summoned before the king. He owes him about $10 million. The king knows he'd lose more on the bankruptcy lawyer than he'd get out of the poor guy by taking him to court, so he tears up the debt and sends him away. The same servant goes out and roughs up the fellow who owes him $20. The king finds out, throws him in the slammer and throws away the key. Then comes the kicker. Jesus says, "So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart." Sure sounds to me like God's keeping score. Jesus seems to be saying here, God will not be mocked.
What's the deal here? Has Jesus gone hard on us? Or is this Matthew's own legalistic editorializing at the end? A downer that ruins the grace of the whole story? What is this: quid pro quo? Does all this mean if I don't forgive from the heart, God doesn't forgive me? No, it's not that simple. God cares what we do but God is not keeping score. Paul Rorem spells it out this way. "Few people think that God is an old man with a white beard on a throne; but some think he acts that way. As if God is up in heaven, looking down for unforgiving attitudes. ‘Aha! There's another. Mark that one down, Gabriel, no forgiveness for John down there.' (Paul Rorem, Augsburg Sermons 2, Minneapolis, Augsburg Publishing House, 1983, p. 228)." That's not the way it works anymore than the way the universe works. Look at gravity. If you do something stupid like stepping off a cliff, God doesn't say "I'm going to punish that person with a fall." "On the human level, a selfish and self-centered life results in loneliness," not so much by some special act of divine retribution where God zaps you from above "as by the inner logic of the heart -- the inner logic of the way we were made to be. The cause and effect are tied together by the very nature of the created order," especially in relationship to forgiveness (Rorem, op. cit., p. 228-229).
You see, it's not a matter of keeping score, because there's no way to keep a ledger on grace. But Peter couldn't catch on. He still wanted to keep score. He'd learned in the school of Jesus that forgiveness must take the place of revenge -- he understood that -- but he was still asking about limits, and yet not as much as the Jews of his day. The rabbis basically said, "Three strikes and you're out." A person may be forgiven once, twice, even three times, but anything beyond that is foolishness. The town drunk will just keep coming back. You know the type -- converted at every revival. And you can understand the rabbis' reasoning. After all, how many chances can you give a person? Peter, wanting to be generous, went beyond the rabbis and said, "Seven? How about seven?" And Jesus said, "No, seventy-times seven."
You can almost see Peter doing it in his head. "Let's see: seventy times seven is, carry the four, 490." But we miss the point if we do it in our heads, don't we? Jesus says, "Don't do it in your heads; do it in your hearts. Why? Because forgiveness is always beyond calculation." If God is keeping score on you, you'd have lost long ago. Greek scholars actually argue about whether he said seventy times seven or seventy-seven times. Either way it doesn't matter. Who's keeping score? Either way the extravagance is incredible. It's the extravagance of God.
God did our math in his heart when he sent his Son to die on a cross -- and that's why the place to start is not with the threat in verse 35 but with the unbelievable unmerited forgiveness of a God who does not keep score on us, a God who gives us not only second, third and fourth chances, but a string of them to infinity. God is like a mother who will never ever give up on us; a mother who loves us when we don't feel very lovable any more, a mother who accepts us when we feel like we have no place to turn. It's a love that's hard to accept, says Paul Tillich, especially when you don't have much to start with.
Think of the little Down Syndrome child at school one day who forgot it was his birthday, mostly because he was poor and his parents hadn't planned anything special. When the announcement of his birthday came across the loudspeaker at school, he was surprised. And when he opened his presents -- some school supplies, erasers, pens, and a little pocket flashlight -- he said with tears in his eyes, "This is the best birthday I've ever had" and carefully saved the wrapping paper for weeks.
God's love is like that. It hits us out of the blue like a surprise birthday party when we least expect it. It comes to us like $10 million when we knew we had nothing coming. All we have to do is accept it graciously and send God a "thank you" note by showing God we know what it means.
And what it means, of course, is no more keeping score with friends, or family, or even our enemies. It means no $20 limit on our forgiveness credits. It means not hoarding any of our $10 million. It means never saying again: "I'm sorry but I can never forgive him for that." or "I can't put up with it any more." "The next time she's going to get it." or "Forgiveness is just too good for them."
When you really learn "who's keeping score?" theology, it loosens you up and you begin to share it with others. You're not so uptight about life, because you're not keeping a ledger on what others have done to you. Even those who are dead and gone. Think about that person in your life who has hurt you the most. Each of us has at least one. Now, let it go into God's hands.
Two things about our lives. They are irreversible and they are short. So we do what we can with what we have left, to make our peace with God, ourselves and those around us. We pray "forgive us our debts as we also forgive our debtors their debts to us." We pray that and then we try to live it.
I'm sorry but I can't spell it out for you, says Walter Burghardt. "It's not for me to say to a survivor of Auschwitz: Forgive the Nazi who gassed your parents. It's not for me to tell a rape victim, forgive and forget. It's not for me to tell you to sit down and cancel all your debts. A sermon, like a parable, has different lessons for different listeners, different strokes for different folks (Walter Burghardt, Sir, We Would Like To See Jesus, New York, Paulist Press, 1982, p. 113)." You have to decide for yourself.
For Toyohiko Kagawa it was the slums of Tokyo. For Dom Helder Camera, it's the slums of Brazil. For Mother Theresa it was the slums of Calcutta. For Jesus Christ it was all humanity mired down in the slum of its own sin on Calvary.
As they taunted him and crucified him, I'm sure the disciples and others wondered why Jesus didn't retaliate. Whatever happened to good old divine retribution? Instead he hung there and took it. Why? Because long ago he figured out that God had stopped keeping score.
If God has stopped keeping score on us, why are we still keeping score on those around us? Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.
Anne Herbert once suggested that the whole thing started in Eden when Adam and Eve began keeping score. Certainly it was carried on in their children when Cain's anger over Abel's higher giving score finally led to murder. Anyway, God got so angry with Adam and Eve for worrying about their scores and which one had the bigger house or the newer car that he just kicked them out of Eden. It was, of course, the serpent who taught them how to keep score in the first place.
So, concludes Anne Herbert's parable (publisher unknown), "Really, it was life in Eden that didn't mean anything. Fun is great in its place, but without scoring there's no reason for it… We were lucky to get out. We're all very grateful to the snake."
So who's keeping score? Everybody is. God is horribly naive to think we aren't or don't want to. Who's keeping score? Ask any coach of any sport, you name it. Ask Ivan Lendl or John McEnroe. Do you expect any one of them to say, "Oh we had a wonderful time today. After all, it's not whether you win or lose; it's how you play the game that counts." Can you imagine Vince Lombardi saying such a thing?
Ask the head of any business. "Oh, we're just having fun here. It doesn't matter how much money we make." Ask CPAs and church treasurers. Ask politicians. I once sat in the hotel room with a gubernatorial candidate, watching the returns as he lost his first campaign. The room got very quiet. And a woman yelled out "Well, who wants to be governor anyway?" And the poor candidate said with a half smile "Well, I did. I did."
Who's keeping score? Everybody is. Surely, God is too. Surely, God isn't totally laissez-faire. Surely, God isn't some divine Zorba the Greek calling all of us to hedonistic frivolity. Surely, God is less epicurean and more stoic than that. Give us a good stern, Puritanical, Calvinistic God who cares when we are sinful, a God who cares how we act, who shows us that there are consequences to our actions; that the sins of the fathers and the mothers are passed on to the sons and the daughters, from generation to generation.
If God doesn't care, what difference does it make what we do? Surely God is keeping score in some way. Jesus seems to say that as he throws in this surprise at the end of the passage to call us up short, to catch all us Libertarians off guard who think we can sin with reckless acquisitiveness, and not care for the poor, just going through life getting by with murder (which is the way some have misread Paul). Jesus leaves us all hanging. Which is it, free grace -- la de da? Or is there some bite to the gospel? Some accountability to the whole thing? We seem caught in the crossfire between the two churches across the street from one another in the same small town. One says, "There ain't no hell." The other says, "The hell there ain't!" Which is it? What's Jesus driving at here?
We know the story. The servant is summoned before the king. He owes him about $10 million. The king knows he'd lose more on the bankruptcy lawyer than he'd get out of the poor guy by taking him to court, so he tears up the debt and sends him away. The same servant goes out and roughs up the fellow who owes him $20. The king finds out, throws him in the slammer and throws away the key. Then comes the kicker. Jesus says, "So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart." Sure sounds to me like God's keeping score. Jesus seems to be saying here, God will not be mocked.
What's the deal here? Has Jesus gone hard on us? Or is this Matthew's own legalistic editorializing at the end? A downer that ruins the grace of the whole story? What is this: quid pro quo? Does all this mean if I don't forgive from the heart, God doesn't forgive me? No, it's not that simple. God cares what we do but God is not keeping score. Paul Rorem spells it out this way. "Few people think that God is an old man with a white beard on a throne; but some think he acts that way. As if God is up in heaven, looking down for unforgiving attitudes. ‘Aha! There's another. Mark that one down, Gabriel, no forgiveness for John down there.' (Paul Rorem, Augsburg Sermons 2, Minneapolis, Augsburg Publishing House, 1983, p. 228)." That's not the way it works anymore than the way the universe works. Look at gravity. If you do something stupid like stepping off a cliff, God doesn't say "I'm going to punish that person with a fall." "On the human level, a selfish and self-centered life results in loneliness," not so much by some special act of divine retribution where God zaps you from above "as by the inner logic of the heart -- the inner logic of the way we were made to be. The cause and effect are tied together by the very nature of the created order," especially in relationship to forgiveness (Rorem, op. cit., p. 228-229).
You see, it's not a matter of keeping score, because there's no way to keep a ledger on grace. But Peter couldn't catch on. He still wanted to keep score. He'd learned in the school of Jesus that forgiveness must take the place of revenge -- he understood that -- but he was still asking about limits, and yet not as much as the Jews of his day. The rabbis basically said, "Three strikes and you're out." A person may be forgiven once, twice, even three times, but anything beyond that is foolishness. The town drunk will just keep coming back. You know the type -- converted at every revival. And you can understand the rabbis' reasoning. After all, how many chances can you give a person? Peter, wanting to be generous, went beyond the rabbis and said, "Seven? How about seven?" And Jesus said, "No, seventy-times seven."
You can almost see Peter doing it in his head. "Let's see: seventy times seven is, carry the four, 490." But we miss the point if we do it in our heads, don't we? Jesus says, "Don't do it in your heads; do it in your hearts. Why? Because forgiveness is always beyond calculation." If God is keeping score on you, you'd have lost long ago. Greek scholars actually argue about whether he said seventy times seven or seventy-seven times. Either way it doesn't matter. Who's keeping score? Either way the extravagance is incredible. It's the extravagance of God.
God did our math in his heart when he sent his Son to die on a cross -- and that's why the place to start is not with the threat in verse 35 but with the unbelievable unmerited forgiveness of a God who does not keep score on us, a God who gives us not only second, third and fourth chances, but a string of them to infinity. God is like a mother who will never ever give up on us; a mother who loves us when we don't feel very lovable any more, a mother who accepts us when we feel like we have no place to turn. It's a love that's hard to accept, says Paul Tillich, especially when you don't have much to start with.
Think of the little Down Syndrome child at school one day who forgot it was his birthday, mostly because he was poor and his parents hadn't planned anything special. When the announcement of his birthday came across the loudspeaker at school, he was surprised. And when he opened his presents -- some school supplies, erasers, pens, and a little pocket flashlight -- he said with tears in his eyes, "This is the best birthday I've ever had" and carefully saved the wrapping paper for weeks.
God's love is like that. It hits us out of the blue like a surprise birthday party when we least expect it. It comes to us like $10 million when we knew we had nothing coming. All we have to do is accept it graciously and send God a "thank you" note by showing God we know what it means.
And what it means, of course, is no more keeping score with friends, or family, or even our enemies. It means no $20 limit on our forgiveness credits. It means not hoarding any of our $10 million. It means never saying again: "I'm sorry but I can never forgive him for that." or "I can't put up with it any more." "The next time she's going to get it." or "Forgiveness is just too good for them."
When you really learn "who's keeping score?" theology, it loosens you up and you begin to share it with others. You're not so uptight about life, because you're not keeping a ledger on what others have done to you. Even those who are dead and gone. Think about that person in your life who has hurt you the most. Each of us has at least one. Now, let it go into God's hands.
Two things about our lives. They are irreversible and they are short. So we do what we can with what we have left, to make our peace with God, ourselves and those around us. We pray "forgive us our debts as we also forgive our debtors their debts to us." We pray that and then we try to live it.
I'm sorry but I can't spell it out for you, says Walter Burghardt. "It's not for me to say to a survivor of Auschwitz: Forgive the Nazi who gassed your parents. It's not for me to tell a rape victim, forgive and forget. It's not for me to tell you to sit down and cancel all your debts. A sermon, like a parable, has different lessons for different listeners, different strokes for different folks (Walter Burghardt, Sir, We Would Like To See Jesus, New York, Paulist Press, 1982, p. 113)." You have to decide for yourself.
For Toyohiko Kagawa it was the slums of Tokyo. For Dom Helder Camera, it's the slums of Brazil. For Mother Theresa it was the slums of Calcutta. For Jesus Christ it was all humanity mired down in the slum of its own sin on Calvary.
As they taunted him and crucified him, I'm sure the disciples and others wondered why Jesus didn't retaliate. Whatever happened to good old divine retribution? Instead he hung there and took it. Why? Because long ago he figured out that God had stopped keeping score.
If God has stopped keeping score on us, why are we still keeping score on those around us? Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.
