Sunday, September 24, 2017

For This Reason (Sermon)


“For This Reason”
Matthew 18:21-35
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
9/24/17

         Peter is always pushing boundaries. He’s always trying to wedge his will into Jesus’ teachings. In this instance, he wants some clarification on this whole business of forgiveness. How often, he asks, should we forgive? Upwards of seven times?
         No, says Jesus, not seven times, but – and here the translation you use matters – you are to forgive seventy-seven times – or – seventy times seven.
Now this tests my fourth-grade aptitude in math, but I’m pretty sure that option two equals 490.
One has to imagine Peter standing there in absolute disbelief. What?! Forgive that lying, cheating, thoughtless good-for-nothing four-hundred-ninety times?!
The idea of forgiving the same person, nearly five hundred times, that’s too much to ask, isn’t it? Besides, when does extending that much grace make you a doormat or even an enabler?
Into that moment of mystified resentment Jesus launches into the parable of the unforgiving servant. And he begins that parable with a three-word preface: “For this reason.” The reason to which Jesus refers seems to be the emotional distress that his teachings cause. And he causes distress intentionally – and repeatedly. He uses hyperbole to jar his listeners into imagining their place in the world differently.
Forgiving someone anywhere between 77 and 490 times, says Jesus, is like a slave who owes his master 10,000 talents. There’s no consensus on how to convert that figure into contemporary terms, but a conservative appraisal suggests that 10,000 talents represent more than a hundred thousand years of laborer’s wages. So, when Jesus tells his story and asks his hearers to imagine a slave asking for a little more time to come up with the money, he’s not simply being playful. He’s being preposterous. It is impossible for a slave to pay off a debt of more than 3 billion dollars. This is Jesus’ way of saying that this story is about far more than money.
Likewise, when it comes to forgiving someone else, it’s foolish, in fact it’s utterly useless for Peter to keep accounts. Keeping track of how many times who forgives whom means that forgiveness has never even been offered. And if it has, it has only been offered as some kind of tool, some kind of leverage for one to hold over another. It’s like me saying to you: Don’t forget, I forgave you when you were unkind to me. I forgave you when you misunderstood something I said. Even when you sat in my pew, I forgave you. So, you owe me!
Apparently, that’s how Peter understands forgiveness. And for that reason, neither seven times, nor seventy-seven times, nor four-hundred-ninety times will ever be enough, because he is keeping score. He will always be like the slave who begs for but refuses to grant mercy.
There’s a cliché we’ve all heard and we’ve probably all used at one time or another: Forgive-and-forget. Forgive-and-forget works for spilled milk. It works for an oversight by your partner in Bridge or Spades. And for the record, forgive-and-forget should never even be considered as an optional response when someone sits in “your” pew, because you don’t own a pew, not in a sanctuary in which the kingdom of God is proclaimed. When you find someone sitting in the pew you normally occupy, then for God’s sake, sit somewhere else. And if that offends you, well, forgive me and forget it.
Having said all that, forgive-and-forget does not apply to matters that cause genuine harm and suffering. True forgiveness does not forget intentional betrayal or injury. Indeed, true forgiveness remembers what caused the suffering. True forgiveness looks the offense and the offender in the eye and says, “What happened caused me, or someone I love great suffering. It should not have happened. And neither you nor I will forget it. Nor should we. Our relationship may be different from now on because of what we’ve been through, but I choose not allow that memory, that moment in time to control my future, to limit my joy, to reduce me to something less than I am and can be in Christ. Will you walk with me through this shadowed valley?”
Forgiveness is not fulfilled in one act of declaring forgiveness any more than a marriage is fulfilled in the act of saying “I do.” To forgive is to ask the other person to join you on a journey toward new relationship, new wholeness. That person may not come along with you. They may not even acknowledge the need to be forgiven. And if they’ve truly done something for which you must forgive them, that makes forgiveness harder on you, but no less important. When we withhold forgiveness until it is earned by the other, or when forgiveness becomes a self-aggrandizing gesture, we’re just keeping score. We’re not settling debts, we’re racking them up.
The same is true when we find ourselves needing to confess to someone else and to ask their forgiveness. In confession, we acknowledge to another that our decisions and our actions have caused suffering. That person may not be ready to forgive just yet. But just as we begin the journey of forgiving others, we may begin the journey of being forgiven. Even if the only one who seems to forgive us is ourselves.
Whether forgiving or being forgiven, when humbly offered, the act of forgiving releases us from the toxic burdens of resentment and vengeance. It banishes the demons of judgment. Forgiveness is nothing short of entering a fresh experience of resurrection.
That makes forgiveness a way of life, a cross to bear, a discipline that requires practice. For this reason, we must learn to forgive ourselves first. We must confess our selfish ways, our weaknesses and fears, and offer ourselves grace. To forgive as we forgive ourselves is synonymous with loving our neighbor as we love ourselves.
I think Jesus refers to self-forgiveness when he speaks of forgiving “from the heart.” Not to forgive ourselves renders us ungrateful for the grace God shows to us and impotent to share it with others. For this reason, I struggle with Matthew’s rendering of this parable. I truly believe that the only way we can experience God as the brutal, score-keeping master in the story is by refusing the Christ within, refusing to receive and to share forgiveness. That all-too-human master in the parable has nothing in common with the God revealed in Jesus.
Having said all that, forgiveness doesn’t mean allowing wrong-doing to continue just because we have found strength to forgive. Yes, Jesus forgives unilaterally and completely, but he doesn’t ignore or excuse actions that require forgiveness. The whole point of the Incarnation is that in Jesus, God enters a violent, resentful, unforgiving world to demonstrate love and to work for justice, because allowing us to continue living and acting destructively is neither loving nor just. God has a greater vision for God’s beloved creation.
For this reason, as disciples of Jesus, our demonstration of love and our work for justice begins right here – in our own hearts where we forgive ourselves, and in our own families and churches where we forgive each other. And from here we move outward – hands and feet, hearts and tongues, eyes and ears – all in grateful witness to God’s redeeming love and justice in and for the world.

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