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September 11, 2005
Going Over Seventy
Matthew 18:21-35
Forgiveness. That's what God's people are to be known for. Forgiveness. It's what God's known for. And not in the cynical way noted by Michel de Montaigne: "God will forgive me; that's his business." God's known for it because we're being renewed in the image of God though Jesus Christ. Forgiveness. That's the way God takes up a serious relationship with us. Forgiveness. It's the way we get serious with other people. What do you think? Is it better to be known as people who don't forgive others, and who are content to go unforgiven? Or is it better to be known as people who take one another seriously enough to forgive one another?
Peter thought he was being serious. He was willing to go so far as forgiving someone as many as seven times. That seems like a lot. And after that? Experience teaches what grows out of an unforgiving spirit. After seven time: to hell with you. Think of it this way: what if you're the "sinner," the one who needs to be forgiven. Then it's not how many times do YOU have to forgive someone who's sinned against you, but how many times would you want to be forgiven.
Jesus was never above exaggeration to make a point. He put Peter's proposal in the shade. Some think he told Peter to forgive seventy time, others that he said seventy times seven. Either way, he upped the ante way beyond what Peter was willing to bring to the table. I suspect a lot of us sympathize with Peter. I do. In fact, for my part even Peter's pushing the envelope. Seven times, indeed. Do it to me once, shame on you; do it to me twice, shame on me. That's the attitude of the ungrateful servant in Jesus' parable. He got forgiven a lot but was merciless to a colleague over a little. Jesus' tag line deepens the matter. Forgiveness is not a gesture, or a matter of form, but is to come from the heart. Forgiveness is to be real, genuine, authentic—else, it's not forgiveness. Seven times? Seventy times? Seventy times seven times?
"I can forgive, but I can't forget." How many times have we heard that. That's OK. Remember what you've forgiven. Remember that you've forgiven it. Also remember what you've been forgiven for. And remember that it's been forgiven. Jesus leads us to believe we can forgive others. He doesn't say it's easy or hard, but that we should do it. Do we take his word for it?
Did you notice? Not a word in here about a very popular way of speaking of forgiveness. Not a word about our "forgiving ourselves." Not only is that idea not in this passage from Matthew, I have a hard time finding it in scripture. Whatever the psychology of it, "forgiving ourselves" is not part of what scripture tells us to believe and live by. To the contrary, the good word for us is that our forgiveness depends on what the Lord does. It's not something we do, or can do, for ourselves. If we could, then I guess we could save ourselves. But we can't. Only God can finally forgive us. That's what faith comes down to: believing God's the one who can mend things between ourselves and Godself. Because God forgives us we are able to forgive others.
Neither is there anything at this point about the sinner's repenting. And there's lots in scripture about repentance. Repentance is at the heart of Christian preaching from the beginning. John the Baptist, Jesus' cousin, said it: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near" (Mt. 3:2) Matthew remembers Jesus preaching exactly the same thing (Mt. 4:17). Is it that we don't have to repent in order to be forgiven? Presbyterians have been known for doing things "decently and in order." Getting things in the right order is important. Forgiveness comes before repentance. Or better, forgiveness is at the root of repentance. God's forgiveness of us in Christ is what enables us to repent. Our forgiveness of others not only empowers them to repent but enables us to accept their repentance. The one who repents doesn't lose. The one who forgives doesn't win. Forgiveness is not about winning or losing. It's about reconciliation. At the heart of the kingdom of God is forgiveness.
"But I don't feel forgiven." Goodness knows none of us is stranger to that feeling. Guilt is a tenacious companion. I think it was the late Alan Paton, the South African who wrote Cry the Beloved Country, who made the point most powerfully for me. If you don't feel forgiven, he observed, then you've just not been listening the gospel. What are we listening to when we don't feel forgiven? I've got all manner of voices in my head. They speak up at most inopportune times, sometimes loudly, often persuasively. It's hard to get rid of them. One of our prayers that goes along with reading scripture is that God will quiet in us every voice but God's own so that we might hear what God has to say. When we listen, we can hear God say: "you're forgiven."
Peter doesn't mention any particular sin. Just, if someone does anything that could be considered a sin he's willing to offer forgiveness up to seven times. Each of us could make quite a catalogue of sins without really putting our minds to it. We're well acquainted with many. Some we suffered from. Others, we've committed. So what do you suppose is the sin which we all share to a greater or lesser degree?
Some years ago Robert Worley, who taught at McCormick—our seminary in Chicago—wrote a slender volume entitled: A Gathering of Strangers. He was talking about people in churches coming together. His insight was that for all our talk to the contrary about what friendly places our churches are, we are actually strangers to one another. Seems to me we've become more and more strangers to one another in recent years. When I was a young man, I hitchhiked often; once from northwest Alabama to my parents home in southwest Louisiana. I felt perfectly safe doing it. I used to pick up hitchhikers, too. But you know what? I wouldn't do either now on a bet. Are we strangers in our church? Is it hard for us to call on the phone someone we don't know who's a member of our church? Do we usually gravitate to people we know while we're having coffee after worship?
Strangers. It's terrible to feel all alone in a room full of people. It happens when people are strangers. I've heard church members here and in almost every other congregation I've served say something like: "I've been a member here for quite a while, but I don't feel like I know anyone very well, or that anyone knows me." How did we get to be so strange to one another? And how did we become so seemingly content to have it that way? After worship today, we're having a "tailgate cookout." I can scarcely wait. It sounds like such a good time. But you know, I wonder how many of us will seek out someone we don't know, or don't know very well, to sit and have our meal with. God didn't make us to be strangers. God made us for fellowship. Without forgiveness we can have only the shabbiest short of fellowship, not even worth the name. Forgiveness in on the way to fellowship. Forgiveness is on the way to friendship.
Forgiving someone for making us feel like strangers is one thing. That's hard enough. How do you forgive someone for being a stranger? It seems to me that so long as we let people keep on being strangers, so long as we're content to have it that way, we give in to what divides us, to what keeps us from having real fellowship, from being friends. One way of forgiving one another is by getting to know each other. It's that simple. The better we know one another, the deeper the forgiveness. It comes from the heart.
Things that are simple may also be hard. Why is it so hard to get to know one another? Is it partly because we ignore the presence of God in our lives, the nearness of God's kingdom? Recently I ran into Jim and Patty Powers in the parking lot of Mercy Hospital. They were on their way to see Patty's mother, Mary. After we'd talked of her for a bit, our thoughts turned to the terrible events on the Gulf Coast. Along with lamenting the horrible suffering, we were struck by how people had come from all parts of the country, and from outside the US, to help. Jim also remembered times when great snow storms almost immobilized Cedar Rapids. Yet, people would talk to others whom they didn't know as if they were long lost friends. Maybe it's the realization that there's a power greater than what we take for granted every day that draws us out of ourselves. Maybe it's the realization that times can and do come upon us that we are utterly and completely unable to control. Such power draws us out of ourselves. Strangers stop being strangers. Coming to worship is partly a reminder of the one in whose presence we live. That's at the heart of our praise. And praise is the heart of worship. A keen sense of the greatest of God's presence draws us out of ourselves, draws us toward one another, puts us on the way to being friends.
Garrison Keillor remembers boyhood times when great storms came and blanketed the his town with snow so deep school buses couldn't take students to their homes out in the country. So the children would spend the night with people in town, their "storm family." He always liked being with his "storm family." They gave him oatmeal cookies and milk and made over him and made him feel precious.
There are many storms in our lives, some more devastating than others. I know few people who would not welcome some company in riding out stormy times. How bad would it be if First Presbyterian were known as a place where people could count on being sheltered; known for being a place where people took one another seriously enough to forgive one another, where people weren't strangers?
Forgiveness is not the end. It's the beginning. So long as we don't forgive one another, there's no starting a new relationship. We stay mired in the old hurts; our grievances seem to multiply. Peter was willing to go seven times. Jesus wanted him not to give up on people so soon. He wanted him to hang in there with those who hurt him, just as he wanted others to hang in there with Peter. Without forgiving or being forgiven we don't take each other seriously at all. Forgiving people is taking them seriously. Being forgiven is to know we're being taken seriously.
So which is harder? Forgiving or keeping a grudge? Which is better? Being forgiven, or being unforgiven? Seven times? Seventy times? Seventy times seven?
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Church of Cedar Rapids
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Phone: 319-364-6148
E-mail: church@fpccr.org
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