KINGDOM: People of Forgiveness
Can you recall the last time you did something to someone for which you needed to be forgiven? Or the last time you were wronged and realized that you needed to forgive the person who harmed you? Everyone of us have experienced both of those scenarios and the wounds and scars may still be fresh with feeling. One of the things that makes reading the stories and parables of Jesus fascinating is that we are forced to find ourselves some place in the story, identifying with one or more of the characters. That is certainly true for today’s text found in Matthew 18:21–35. It comes to us in two parts each with an implied imperative and an important lesson.
Let’s begin with the first two verses (Matthew 18:21-22):
21 Then Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” 22 Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.
In this block of teaching on what Kingdom living looks like in a Christian community, Jesus had just given his disciples instructions on what to do when a Christian brother or sister sins against you—Go to them and try to gain them back. What He says sounds simple and straightforward, still seldom practiced in the Christian community. There was something about that teaching that prompted Peter to ask a follow up question about “How many times am I expected to forgive?”
When he suggested seven, he thought he was being gracious. The rabbis taught that one need forgive only three times: “If a man commits a transgression, the first, second and third time he is forgiven, the fourth time he is not forgiven” (Yoma 86b) so he is more than doubling the required acts of forgiveness. After all in Jewish thought that number seven represented completeness and wholeness. Peter has clearly learned from Jesus that retaliation is not the right response for a Kingdom citizen; rather, forgiveness is the expected response, but just in moderation and forgiving the same person seven times should be enough. Wouldn’t you think?
Jesus’ response to the question comes in two parts—a different number and another story or parable to make His point. Both answers suggested that a lot of forgiving is expected in the Christian community. The number 77 times or 70 times 7 as it is also translated was not suggesting that when we get to the 78th offense or the 491st we can stop forgiving. Jesus’ answer not about a specific number. Jesus is really saying “Stop counting!” For Jesus’ followers forgiveness is to be unlimited; it is a way of life. Tom Wright is right when he writes, “If you’re still counting how many times you’ve forgiven someone, you’re not really forgiving them at all, but simply postponing revenge.”
This negative command ‘Stop counting” is summed up well in a positive lesson by Lewis Smedes in his book, Forgive and Forget: “When you release the wrongdoer from the wrong, you cut a malignant tumor out of your inner life. You set a prisoner free, but you discover that the real prisoner was yourself.” (p. 133) So you forgive again and again since it frees you as much if not more than the other person.
That brings us to Jesus’ parable in Matthew 18:23-35:
23 “Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. 24 When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents. 25 And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. 26 So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ 27 And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. 28 But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, ‘Pay what you owe.’ 29 So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ 30 He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt. 31 When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their master all that had taken place. 32 Then his master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. 33 And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?’ 34 And in anger his master delivered him to the jailers, until he should pay all his debt. 35 So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.”
There is something significant in contrasting the two debts. The first servant’s debt of 10,000 talents was incomprehensible. Not easy to determine exact amount of the debt since one talent was a worth about 6,000 days wages or 23 years’ worth of work. At our current minimum wage of $8.25 (calculate it before increases) that is $66 a day or $17,160 per year. So a talent’s worth of 23 years of work would be nearly $400,000. 10,000 times that amount would be nearly $4 billion (with b). This amount indicates the incalculable, incomprehensible debt owed by the servant and his inconceivable claim, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ With that kind of debt—Impossible!
In spite of how much he was owed, the king has mercy of the servant, shows compassion on him and his family. He does not sell them into slavery to pay back some of the debt, a practice in those days. Instead he cancels the debt, releasing him from any obligation.
In the story, this debt represents the type of debt we have been forgiven by the Father. We would never be able to pay back such a huge debt, and we are granted a reprieve simply by repenting. In turn, we should be as willing to pardon infractions against us, which are qualitatively much less in comparison.
In this next scene of the story, the servant who has been forgiven the unimaginable amount of ten thousand talents finds a fellow servant who owes him one hundred denarii, a debt of a few thousand dollars. Here is the irony, the one who had been forgiven so much does not respond with the same mercy and compassion but rather insists, “Pay back what you owe me!’ In spite of his pleas in almost the same words we heard from the forgiven servant he threw him into a debtor’s prison, which made it impossible to repay the debt.
The point of Jesus’ parable is that when you consider what you have been forgiven, there is no way you can withhold forgiveness from anyone who sins against you. The meaning of the parable is found in the final verse: “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart.” To live by the ethics and values of the Kingdom of God means that we will be transformed into Kingdom citizens, children of the King who after experiencing the mercy and grace of God, begin to emulate the example of the King. Out of a transformed heart of gratitude, emanates a changed life that shows the same mercy and grace we have received from God.
The implied imperative of the parable is this Positive Command: Start Comparing! Compare what you are being asked to forgive with what God has forgiven you. Compare your debt that you could not pay; paid by an act of sheer grace that you did not deserve with whatever debt or trespass or sin or hurt with which someone has wronged you. After you make that comparison, respond accordingly.
The positive command: Start Comparing!” is also summed well in a Negative Lesson by Lewis Smede: “If you cannot forgive people from their wrongs and see them as the needy people they are, you enslave yourself to your painful past, and by fastening yourself to your past, your hate becomes your future. You can reverse your future only by releasing people from their pasts.” (Lewis Smedes, Forgive and Forget, p. 29) That is something to ponder.
In last week’s message on the wedding feast, Jon asked a probing, profound question, “Do you have room in your theology for an outraged, rejected, spurned king?” Today’s text ends with a similar scenario—An angry king who refuses to overlook the superficial, hypocritical response of a so-called servant who has been graciously forgiven and treated with mercy, then refuses to forgive and show mercy to another. There are striking similarities between the depictions of the King in Matthew 18 and Matthew 22. Difference is the King in Matthew 22 is angry with outsiders who do not accept His gracious invitation to the wedding feast and in Matthew 18 His anger is directed toward those who have accepted the invitation and enjoyed the feast of forgiveness but have not been transformed by the extravagant grace and lavish forgiveness of God demonstrated in their unwillingness to forgive others.
The parable teaches that anyone who refuses to forgive, is inviting God to withhold forgiveness from him. God as our Judge will do to the unforgiving as they have done to others. The final expression, “if you do not forgive your brother from your heart” makes the point that we must forgive wholeheartedly, not grudgingly. That is why Jesus taught us to pray, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
I realize this is not an easy message to hear. Some of you carry deep wounds that have left you scarred for life. You may say, “You don’t know what I have dealt with, what that person did to me. There is no way I could ever forgive.” You are probably right, I don’t know what you have suffered at the hands of someone else and will never understand how that has scarred you. I can only tell you some stories of what other Christians have done.
Here is Michael Wilkins” story, one of our doctoral professors from Talbot Seminary:
“I was raised by a stepfather who caused my family and me a great deal of pain. He left our family when I was in my early teens, and I carried a deep animosity toward him for years. When I was in Vietnam, my animosity became almost obsessive, and I vowed that the first time I saw him on my return, I would kill him. I would make him pay for what he had done to our family. I returned a few months later and within a year had become a Christian. My world began to change, and I put that stepfather out of my mind.
I had not thought about him much until about four years later, when he suddenly showed up where my wife and I and our little girl were living. He had tracked us down. My wife, being the loving person she is, invited him in. As we sat and talked politely, that vow came to my mind. I then told him, ‘I made a vow in Vietnam that the first time I saw you, I would kill you. Today is that day.’ I will never forget the look of terror that came over his face. He started to sweat and slide down on the couch. I went on, ‘But I now know that I’m no better a person than you. God has forgiven me. And if he can forgive a sinner like me, I can forgive you. I will not allow you to hurt my family again, so don’t think that this is made out of weakness. Rather, I forgive you because I have been forgiven.’
I probably was as shocked as he was. I had not thought about saying those words of forgiveness, but they came easily. I was deeply aware of the mercy and forgiveness that God had extended to me. I knew my sin better than anyone. I may not have been as abusive as my former stepfather. I may not have hurt people in the same way he had hurt our family. But I had also abused and hurt people in my own self-seeking way. When I came to that awareness, I knew that I needed mercy and forgiveness. And in receiving the gift of life that Jesus extended to me through his work on the cross, extending mercy and forgiveness to my former stepfather was a natural response. My vow had been the rash, irresponsible reaction of a deeply hurt, bitter young sinner. However, my ability later to forgive came from the eternal, loving act of grace in Jesus’ sacrifice for my sin. I discovered that the key to forgiveness is to stop focusing on what others have done to us and focus instead on what Jesus has done for us.” Maybe that helps you find forgiveness in your heart.
Perhaps some of you recall the tragedy of the senseless murder of the five girls in a Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania schoolhouse on October 2, 2006. The story of what a group of Amish Christians did following the death of their daughters is depicted in the movie, Amish Grace. As the parents of the victims are struggling with forgiving here is how the father of one of the girls describes forgiveness to the wife of the murderer, Charlie:
“You do not understand; our forgiveness isn’t about Charlie. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t even mean a pardon. We know that Charlie will stand before a just God, but we also know that if we hold on to our anger and resentment, then it is only ourselves who are being punished.” At the end of the movie as the Amish community comes to the graveside of Charlie to express their sympathy and support for his family, the minister observes, “On this of all occasions, we cannot pretend that evil does not exist. We cannot pretend that even the most God-fearing of men cannot be swayed by darkness to carry out evil acts, acts that leave terrible pain in their wake. But as our Amish brothers and sisters have shown us, when we do not seek vengeance for our pain, when we open our hearts to the healing light of forgiveness, then the darkness is vanished and evil is not more.”
Stories of extravagant grace and forgiveness like that abound. But perhaps this one is the most amazing of all. It is a true story that our NT Professor Tyler Stewart told in a chapel service earlier this semester:
It is the story of Steve and his son Jimmy who lived in Oklahoma. They were best pals. Steve was often in the garage tinkering on his car while Jimmy would be playing in the front yard, throwing a ball around, having a good time, doing what little boys do. Occasionally the ball would roll into the street and Jimmy being a little kid would run out and get the ball. Steve would get on him saying “Jimmy you can’t keep running out in the street, you’re going to get hurt.” This was a concern because there was another kid in the neighborhood, a seventeen year old named Kevin. You’ve probably met someone like him, he was a kind of guy you did not want your daughter to date. The kind of guy you didn’t want your sons to hang out with. The kind of guy where his parents were not in the picture, no one really knew where they were. He lived with his grandma who had zero control. He somehow had gotten this car and would drive that thing around the neighborhood, so fast, whipping around corners. As the classic dad, Steve would yell out, “Hey Kevin slow down, SLOW DOWN.” Fearing that one day the worse would happen and one day it did.
The ball rolled out in the street, Jimmy ran out to get it. Steve turns around to see Kevin come flying around the corner and Jimmy is gone in an instant. Kevin is sentenced to 3 years in prison. After a few weeks in prison, he hears this knock at the jail cell. The guard says, “Kevin, you have a visitor.” Kevin’s thinking “a visitor?” “I don’t have any friends” and “My grandma is not coming out to see me.” “Who is here?” He walks into the room, goes into the booth, sits down at the glass divider and who does he see across from him? Steve. Steve picks up the phone and looks at him. Kevin doesn’t know what to do, so he picks up the phone and looks at him. It takes him awhile to say it, but slowly Steve says “You killed my only son, but I forgive you.” His eyes well up with tears and he just stares at him. Then he hangs up the phone without saying another word and leaves. Kevin doesn’t know what to think, what to say. He has never heard anyone say something like this. He goes back to his cell. He’s crying too. He doesn’t know what to do. Kevin hates himself; he hates what he’s done; he hates his sin. A couple of weeks go by and there is another knock at the cell and the guard says, “You have a visitor.” It was Steve. Every few weeks this happened and every single time he leaves the cell and who would be sitting across from him? Steve.
Pretty soon the conversations became more than just a few words until they could actually have a conversation. It became a time when somehow in the process, Steve went from just forgiving Kevin to helping Kevin, mentoring Kevin, to talking about all the stuff that was going on in Kevin’s life in prison, trying to help him get his GED, trying to help him in the process of getting out of prison. Time comes for his parole. Finally Kevin goes home. He’s at his grandma’s house, he walks in and his grandma says, “Steve wants to have dinner with you tonight.” “Okay, I’ll head over there.” Kevin is a little nervous about it. It is one thing to have a conversation with someone whose son you killed through a big plate glass window and with a guard present. But now he’s just going to go to this guy’s house and sit at his table? As he walks into Steve’s house, Steve is in the kitchen making some dinner.
When he gets everything ready, he sits down at the table and looks across the table at Kevin. Steve says to him, “Now listen. I’m going to tell you something, so listen to me very carefully. You have killed my only son that could never be replaced and I don’t want you to even try.” Kevin just nods. “But here’s how I see it Kevin. You need a father, so if you’ll have me, I would like to adopt you and he slides a paper across the table to Kevin. It is an adoption form that just needs one more signature, Kevin’s. That is more than Amish grace. That is amazing grace. But even that story pales in comparison to God’s story. You see through the death of His son (not an accident but an act of sacrifice), God adopted us even though it was our sins, our wrongs, our offenses, our trespasses, our debts that required His sacrifice so that we are forgiven through His death.
Where do you see yourself in this story? Do you need to forgive or do you need to be forgiven? Are you Kevin or are you Steve? Are you a Kingdom citizen who forgives or one who withholds forgiveness and holds grudges? Kingdom people: the forgiveness that we’ve been given, Jesus calls us to give freely to others.
Forgiveness is another of Jesus’ hallmarks for authentic church life. There are bound to be failures and breakdowns between Christian brothers and sisters. Forgiveness is the way to handle them. The Christian life is born in forgiveness, and it must characterize us all the way through our relationships. Naturally, we may find it hard to forgive. Peter did. He wanted to know how few times he could forgive his brother (poor Andrew!). He suggested seven times, and must have felt he was offering the moon: the rabbis reckoned that three times was enough! But Jesus’ reply will have shattered him. ‘Not seven times, but seventy-seven times,’ better, seventy times seven. It means ‘Go on and on and on forgiving.’ Not, of course, 490 times, but constantly. God’s pardon is like that. Ours must mirror it if we are in his family. And because we are forgiven people, we will be able to summon the motivation and the power to forgive. To say ‘I forgive you’ is not enough. It needs to be repeated whenever we feel the sense of grievance rising up in us afresh. It is primarily a matter of the will. As we determine not to hold the grievance against our brother or sister, but to accept his or her penitence wholeheartedly as God does, gradually the heart catches up with the head, and forgiveness, repeatedly reiterated, becomes part of us and enters deep into the wounded feelings. We are at last able to say, ‘It is finished.’
There is no doubt that these two areas on which Jesus has put his finger are singularly apt for most churches. Church life is bedeviled by failure to be open over wrongs that are committed, and by failure to forgive. As Christians, we are called to openness with those we feel have wronged us, and to frank forgiveness when apology is sincerely made. Hidden grievances and unwillingness to forgive are two things that make shipwreck of personal relations. Jesus warns us against them.
Freedom from resentment (18:23–35)
Resentment is a deadly disease, and it is very common. It can even have physical results. It certainly carries severe spiritual consequences. Our relationship with God becomes strangled by it. Counselling often reveals this as the basic problem behind dryness or spiritual decline. ‘Is there someone you will not forgive?’ can be a most revealing question. And this story of the unforgiving servant drives home the message of the last two pericopae like a pile-driver. It does not add anything very new. But it is one thing to be told a truth, and quite another to hear a brilliant short story in which you side with the underdog and then find yourself accusing not the man in the story but yourself! It is a powerful application of the parable. It drives you to take sides. And you end up by taking sides against your own actions. One is reminded of the parable Nathan recounted to King David, culminating in the devastating accusation, ‘You are the man!’ And so this astonishing story brings to a climax this chapter on relationships. If these are not right in a church, nothing else will go right.
The king in the story found one of his debtors who could never, in many lifetimes, pay the debt he owed. That is the point. The debt was incalculable. And against all expectation the king forgives him freely, when he asks for mercy. Astonishing grace, but that is what God is like to us who are broken before him and could never begin to repay what we owe. ‘Be patient with me … and I will pay back everything’ (26) is pitifully untrue, as threadbare as our own excuses and palliatives: ‘I will try a bit harder. I will come to church. Surely that will do?’ But it won’t. The debt is phenomenal: a thousand times the annual revenue of Galilee, Judea, Samaria and Idumea put together! Totally beyond imagining. And the king forgives him the lot. The parallel is plain. That is what God has done to the sins of the disciple—any disciple. They have been piling up for years like debts: every day, every hour adds to them. They can never be paid. And God says, ‘I release you from that debt.’
What did the man do? Behave towards others with the generosity that he had received? No. He exacted the last copper coin from a fellow-servant who owed him a comparatively trifling debt. He must have been brooding over that unpaid debt for years. Resentment had taken hold of his attitude towards his fellow-servant. Resentment is a horrible thing. It is wicked: ‘You wicked servant’ (32). It is an attitude that captures us, enslaves us. It is fatal. If we do not forgive, we shall not be forgiven.
Once again we see how opposed Matthew rightly is to cheap grace. It will not do to claim to be forgiven and then to prove by our actions that our lives have not been changed. The pardon of God is dynamic, life-changing. We cannot go through heaven’s narrow door if our lives are bulging with resentments. Heaven is for penitent sinners only, those who know themselves freed from a debt they could never pay, and who prove their gratitude by their lives. God puts his precious gift of forgiveness in our hands—but only if we open them up to him, not clench them in anger against our brethren. We have already seen this principle taught after the Lord’s Prayer (6:14–15). Now it comes again, in brilliant color in this wonderful story.
The point is underlined. There is no escaping it by pious platitudes about God’s willingness to forgive us whatever we do. His forgiveness is indeed inexhaustible, but it can be received only by those who repent. And resentment has to be repented of. It utterly blocks us from receiving and enjoying the forgiveness we long for. When someone says ‘I cannot forgive So-and-so for what he [or she] has done to me,’ the answer is clear: ‘You must forgive, or you will never be forgiven by God. You will exclude yourself from his presence now and from his heaven later if you do not repent of this attitude. How can God forgive you if you will not forgive?’
We are not responsible for the reaction of the other party in all this. If he or she will not accept our apology we cannot help it. We cannot do more, apart from reiterating it when appropriate. What we are responsible for is rooting out resentment in our own hearts and taking it to the cross where it belongs.
Consider those seven things. Hardly any one of them would feature in our own top priorities for the progress of our church. We would probably not have rated relationships that high in order of importance. If we did, I am reasonably sure that we would not have come up with a list of seven attitudes so searching, so painful, as these. Maybe that shows how far we are from the Christianity Jesus taught and exemplified, and which Matthew thought so vital for the life of his church.
Peter’s question and Jesus’ answer say it all (verses 21–22). If you’re still counting how many times you’ve forgiven someone, you’re not really forgiving them at all, but simply postponing revenge. ‘Seventy times seven’ is a typical bit of Jesus’ teasing. What he means, of course, is ‘don’t even think about counting; just do it’.
Jesus underlines his teaching with a parable, found only in this Gospel. For this reason brings out an implication of the preceding. Forgiveness is important in a sinful world where all people are sinners, in the first place because we are all in need of being forgiven, and in the second, because people keep on sinning against us so that we ourselves are constantly confronted with situations in which the followers of Jesus are required to forgive.
And those who receive extraordinary grace should act in accordance with the grace they receive. The king asks whether the servant ought not to have had mercy on his fellow (the form in which the question is put looks for an affirmative answer). Most translations have something like “ought you not—?” which makes for better English, but the king says something stronger than that. He sees it as necessary83 that the forgiven man act like a forgiven man, namely in forgiving others. You also underlines the point: “you, you who have been forgiven, you who have received such striking generosity, ‘you too’ should have been generous.” The king says that the man should have had mercy. We might have expected him to say something like “you should have cancelled the debt,” but he refers to mercy as the attitude that should have guided the thinking and the actions of a man who had been the recipient of such signal mercy. The king speaks of mercy on your fellow servant, putting the emphasis on his relationship to the man he had condemned rather than on that to his sovereign. I also does not mean “I, in addition to others” but “even I,” “I, for my part.” And the king goes on to remind the man that he had received mercy (rather than strict justice).
Jesus does not always make an application of the truth taught in his parables, but on this occasion he does. So does not mean “exactly like this,” but it does mean that the severity we discern in the punishment of the man in the parable is all that unforgiving sinners can look for from the hand of God. God might, of course, be more merciful than the king, but that is not the point. The point is that the man deserved no more; any unforgiving sinner, by the fact that he refuses to forgive, is inviting God to withhold forgiveness from him. Jesus refers to God here as “my heavenly Father,” stressing his special relationship to God and at the same time something of the majesty of God. The certainty that God will be our final Judge underlies the statement that he will do to the unforgiving as they have done to others.
The lesson that is driven home is that the followers of Jesus must each (the word is important; there are no exceptions) forgive. And the final expression brings home the truth that we must forgive wholeheartedly, not grudgingly. It is easy to skimp on forgiveness, refraining from outward evidence of an unforgiving heart but nursing up a grudge against one who has offended us. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us” is a prayer that we must pray with due searching of heart.
“When you release the wrongdoer from the wrong, you cut a malignant tumor out of your inner life. You set a prisoner free, but you discover that the real prisoner was yourself.” (Lewis Smedes)
“Forgiving is the only way to heal the wounds of a past we cannot change and cannot forget. Forgiving changes a bitter memory into a grateful memory, a cowardly memory into a courageous memory, an enslaved memory into a free memory. Forgiving restores a self-respect that someone killed. And, more than anything else, forgiving gives birth to hope for the future after our past illusions have been shattered.
When we forgive, we bring in light where there was darkness. We summon positives to replace negatives. We open the door to an unseen future that our painful past had shut. When we forgive, we take God’s hand, walk through the door, and stroll into the possibilities that wait for us to make them real.” (Lewis Smedes, The Art of Forgiving, 176)
“If you cannot forgive people from their wrongs and see them as the needy people they are, you enslave yourself to your painful past, and by fastening yourself to your past, your hate become your future. You can reverse your future only by releasing people from their pasts.” (Lewis Smedes, Forgive and Forget, 29)