How Many Times?
Notes
Transcript
The math of revenge makes sense to us. As Taylor Swift sings, “Don’t get mad, get even.” When someone harms you, you want to get even. You don’t want to talk it out, and you certainly don’t want to forgive.
And so it leaves Peter to wondering…does forgiveness in the kingdom of God have a limit. How many times do we have to forgive others? He asks Jesus “How often should I forgive? How many times do I let them off the hook? Before he allows Jesus to answer he throws out the number seven.
What’s so great about seven? Peter actually thought he was being generous. In Rabbinic law it was customary to limit forgiveness to three times. Apparently, the third time was charm or else punishment would come with the fourth offense. Sometimes I have trouble with the one time, and Peter is saying “what about seven?” That’s more than enough.
Peter thought seven was extreme bu Jesus said not just seven, but seventy-seven times. Some translations say seventy times seven. So is it 77 or 490? Who knows, and that’s not the point?
The point is that we aren’t supposed to keep count. The point is that Jesus’ use of hyperbole here is supposed to represent the above and beyond abundant forgiveness of God. Whatever we think is enough, in Christ there is always more.
As Jesus often does, Jesus tells a parable to illustrate his point, this time the parable of the unforgiving servant. Think of it like this: A landlord has a tenant who is in debt up to his eyeballs. Ten thousand talents. Now one talent alone is worth several years salary, so ten thousand talents would represent a literal lifetime of debt. At first the landlord decides to kick out the tenant and his family his family, but the slave begs him for mercy and patience and promises to pay off his debt.
Surprisingly, the landlord is merciful and forgives the tenant all of his debt and releases him. This kind of generous wiping the slate clean is unheard of.
But then what does the tenant do with his new financial freedom and lease on life? Does he stroll through the street like Scrooge on Christmas morning? No. He goes to the first person who owed him a few hundred bucks and grabs him by the throat. The man begs for mercy and patience, but the former tenant denies him and throws this man in prison. The landlord hears about it and is furious. He says I forgave you a lifetime of debt and you imprison another because you can’t forgive a few hundred dollars?
Are we any different? It can be a small step between being forgiven and extending unforgiveness. For the landlord, it was the same day. We speak of God’s forgiveness in the morning and have lost our temper by lunch. The landlord asks “should you not have had mercy as I had mercy upon you?”
We are to forgive as we have been forgiven. This is supposed to characterize our way of life as Christians and as faith communities. One of my mentors incorporates forgiveness into her rule of life as part of her posture toward others.
But forgiveness isn’t always so simple. It is hard enough the first time let alone repeatedly. Forgiveness isn’t like a spiritual light switch that we turn on and off when convenient. And it isn’t easy because it involves acknowledging the offense and the real pain it has caused.
Lysa Terkheurst has experienced deep hurt in her life these past few years and has written profoundly from her heart about forgiveness and boundaries. She says “when you bring up the word forgiveness, it’s attached to the hardest and most horrific things people have ever walked through. So I don’t even start by telling people, “you should forgive.” I actually start by acknowledging the pain. I just say, “if no one else in this world has taken time to bear witness to your pain, I will. I’m so sorry for whatever it is you’ve walked through. I am so sorry that they hurt you the way that they hurt you, that they didn’t stay or they stayed too long. But you deserve to stop suffering because of what other people have done to you.”
In order to even think about forgiveness, we have to take an honest look at our pain. That’s where it begins. Marjorie Thompson says when we forgive we “make a conscious choice to release the person who has wounded us from the sentence of our judgment, however justified that judgment may be.” Forgiveness is not forgetting. It is not accepting or excusing. It isn’t even always continuing the relationship. It is difficult and messy.
At conference this year, we had to vote to approve those churches seeking to disaffiliate from the United Methodist Church. It was something like 184 churches. Around this time Bishop Lewis asked those who would be leaving the conference to stand. She then asked those of us remaining get up and go place our hands on those leaving. But there was more. She asked us to pray for these individuals and to bless them.
Silence was thick at first. The pain was too fresh and too raw. So many of us had been through so much. It just so happened sitting on the row behind me was a clergy member who served in the district I used to serve who was leaving. In short, I didn’t want to do this. It wasn’t my gut instinct.
Why should I start this process when there had been no apology to me for the hurt, no self-awareness of any pain caused? I became aware of the unforgiveness that had been lingering within me.
When unforgiveness is left to fester in our soul, it can consume us. It’s like the story of a prisoner of war who asked another “have you forgiven your captors yet?” “I will never do that,” the second one answered. “Then they still have you in prison, don’t they?”
I was still in prison to the unforgiveness of those who had brought me harm. And I really wasn’t sure I was ready yet to make that step. But Lysa says “that’s the enemy’s tactic....to feel like it’s too soon to forgive until its too late to forgive.” When Lysa was trying to forgive deep hurt in her life, she just didn’t feel that her feelings would allow for it. And her counselor said to her “Lysa, making the decision to forgive is not based on your determination or that you’re ready, it’s simply your cooperation with what God has already done. Whatever you’re feelings won’t allow for, the blood of Jesus will surely cover it.”
And so she laid cards on the floor, one by one of all the ways she had been hurt. And one by one she took each one and said out loud “I forgive you for this pain.”
There in the arena, I got up and walked over and reached out and touched this person. And there were prayers. And there was blessing. It didn’t take away the hurt but it was one step towards forgiveness. Unforgiveness continues the cycle of revenge. Forgivness breaks the mold.
Jan Richardson, the artist who painted the piece on the front of your bulletin today, wrote a blessing about forgiveness. She calls it “The Hardest Blessing.”
If we cannot
lay aside the wound,
then let us say
it will not always
bind us.
Let us say
the damage
will not eternally
determine our path.
Let us say
the line of our life
will not always travel
along the places
we are torn.
Let us say
that forgiveness
can take some practice,
can take some patience,
can take a long
and struggling time.
Let us say
that to offer
the hardest blessing,
we will need
the deepest grace;
that to forgive
the sharpest pain,
we will need
the fiercest love;
that to release
the ancient ache,
we will need
new strength
for every day.
Let us say
the wound
will not be
our final home—
that through it
runs a road,
a way we would not
have chosen
but on which
we will finally see
forgiveness,
so long practiced,
coming toward us,
shining with the joy
so well deserved.
The math of forgiveness seems like it doesn’t make sense, but in the kingdom of God, it always adds up to grace upon grace upon grace.