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…But There’s Something Even Harder!
A sermon by Dr. Jim
Somerville
Pastor, Richmond’s First Baptist Church
Richmond, Virginia
September 14, 2008
The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Matthew 18:21-35
Then Peter came and
said to him, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often
should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times,
but, I tell you, seventy-seven times (Matthew
18:21-22, NRSV).
Last week I preached a
sermon called, “Making up Is Hard to Do,” in which I shared Jesus’ very simple
and very practical instructions on what to do if somebody does you wrong. I
tried to make it even simpler and more practical by sharing some of “Ms.
Somerville’s Time-Honored Tips on Conflict Resolution in the Pre-K Classroom.”
Do you remember? If somebody does you wrong you are supposed to go to that
person and say, “We need to talk.” The other person is supposed to stop what
he’s doing, look you in the eye, and listen. Then you say, “I don’t like it
when you hit me” (or whatever), and the other person can say, “Well, I don’t
like it when you color on my picture” (or whatever). Then the two of you are
supposed to talk it through until you arrive at a mutually satisfactory
agreement, like: “I won’t color on your picture if you won’t hit me.” That’s
tricky, but the next part is trickier still: the other person is supposed to
say, “I’m sorry,” and you are supposed to say, “I forgive you.” And then the
two of you are supposed to hug or shake hands as a gesture of reconciliation.
It’s not complicated, but
that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Making up is hard to do and in today’s Gospel
reading we learn that there is something even harder. It might have happened
like this: Peter, taking all Jesus’ words to heart, went to one of the other
disciples and said, “We need to talk.” Maybe it was Andrew, his brother. Maybe
Peter said, “I don’t like it when you hit me,” and maybe Andrew said, “Well, I
don’t like it when you act like you’re the most important of all the disciples!”
Who knows? But let’s imagine that in the end they work things out, that Peter
says, “I won’t act like the most important disciple if you won’t hit me,” and
Andrew says, “OK, I’m sorry.” And Peter says, “That’s all right; I forgive
you.” And then they embrace and the other disciples say, “Awwwww, isn’t that
sweet?”
But when Andrew hits him
the next day, and again the day after that, Peter’s arm starts getting sore. He
comes to Jesus asking, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he
sins against me? As many as seven times?” And Jesus says, “I tell you, not
seven times but seventy-seven times.” Some of the old manuscripts say “seventy
times seven,” which would be a whole lot more, but either way it seems clear
that when it comes to forgiveness, Jesus doesn’t want us to keep score. He
exaggerates his point in order to make it.
The biblical scholars call
this hyperbole. It means, literally, to “throw over.” It’s related to
another word you might be familiar with, parable, which means, literally,
“to throw alongside.” With a parable you throw one truth alongside another to
help people understand something they have never encountered before. “The
Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed,” Jesus said: “it starts small and
grows large.” And everyone nods their heads, because even though they have
never seen the Kingdom they have seen a mustard seed. They understand what he’s
talking about. Jesus’ parable gives them a way to get hold of a bigger truth.
With hyperbole Jesus takes a truth and exaggerates it as a way of
emphasizing its importance. Instead of throwing one truth down beside another
he takes the truth and throws it—quite literally—over the top. In today’s
Gospel reading we have something that might be called a hyperbolic parable,
a story in which Jesus throws the truth over, throws it alongside, and turns it
every which way but loose in order to make what may be his most important point
of all.
Listen:
“The Kingdom of Heaven is
like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants,” Jesus begins. You
can recognize it right away as a parable. Jesus is throwing one truth alongside
another. The kingdom of heaven is not a king, but it’s like a king, and
since this is heaven we’re talking about that king is probably like God. Which
means that we may be like these servants he wants to settle accounts with. It
may even mean that one day God will want to settle accounts with us. Paul
certainly thinks so. In today’s reading from Romans 14 he says, “We will all
stand before the judgment seat of God.” He goes on to quote the scripture that
reads, “As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue
shall give praise to God.” So then, Paul concludes, “each of us will be
accountable to God” (Rom. 14:10-12). In the story Jesus tells that “great and
terrible day of the Lord”—Judgment Day—is pared down to a parable about a king
settling accounts with his servants; the big truth lies beside a smaller, less
threatening one. But in this parable Jesus also throws the truth over the top.
“As the king began the
settlement,” he says, “a man was brought to him who owed him ten thousand
talents.” And here we need to pause long enough to do the math. A talent was
the equivalent of fifteen years’ wages for a working man. So ten thousand
talents would be, roughly, 150,000 years’ worth of wages. Let’s say you’re a
working man, and that last year you brought in $51,333. Multiply that by
150,000 and you get a seven, and another seven, and eight zeroes, or in other
words, seven billion, seven hundred million dollars. You don’t
have to think about that very long to realize there is no way you could pay back
that much money. There are whole countries that don’t accumulate that kind of
debt. And since the man in the story can’t pay it back either the king orders
him to be sold along with his wife, his children, and all his possessions. The
king won’t get seven billion dollars out of the deal but he will get something,
which is, apparently, more than he’s gotten so far.
But this man—this
servant—falls on his knees in front of the king, saying “Have patience with me
and I will pay you everything!” Well, who’s being hyperbolic now? There’s no
way he can pay him everything. The king knows he will be lucky to get anything
at all. But because this is a parable in which one truth lies alongside
another, in which the servant is like one of us and the king is like God, the
king is moved with pity. And because it’s a hyperbolic parable in which the
truth is not only thrown alongside but also over the top the king wads up the
balance sheet and throws it over his shoulder. He forgives this servant the
entire amount and sets him free.
Let me just ask you: how
would you feel if someone had just forgiven you 7.7 billion dollars’ worth of
debt, if you knew that you and your family weren’t going to be sold into slavery
or locked up in debtor’s prison, if you knew you never had to worry about paying
that money back again? Don’t you think you would feel kind of lighthearted and
happy, tap-dancing down the front steps of the palace singing George Gershwin
tunes? That’s what you would expect from this guy. But in the story Jesus
tells the one who has just received over-the-top forgiveness has an over-the-top
reaction to a fellow servant who owes him a few measly dollars. Instead of
remembering how wonderful it was to have his entire debt forgiven he remembers
how awful it was to stand under the king’s judgment, and for some reason that’s
the feeling he decides to share with his fellow servant. I don’t know why.
Maybe it makes him feel important, powerful. He grabs the fellow by the throat
and says, “Pay me what you owe!” But the other servant falls to his knees and
says something that should have sounded very familiar to his attacker if only
because it is exactly what he said to the king: “Have patience with me, and I
will pay you.” But do you know what this ingrate does? He throws the other
fellow into prison until he can pay the entire debt.
When his fellow servants
saw it they couldn’t believe their eyes. They went straight back to the king
and told him everything that had happened. The king sent for that ungrateful
wretch and said, “You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you
pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had
mercy on you?” Well, the answer is obvious: of course he should! In fact it so
obvious that we don’t even flinch when we hear that the angry king hands the man
over to be tortured until he can pay the last penny. It is exactly what he
deserves. Amazing grace gives way to exacting justice, and we rub our hands
together with glee. Until we hear the punch line of this parable in which Jesus
says, “So my heavenly father will also to do to every one of you if you do not
forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” If making up is hard to do,
forgiving is even harder, but if we don’t do it Jesus says we will be handed
over to be tortured until we can pay back our entire debt.
In other words, forever.
The hyperbole is
everywhere in this parable, isn’t it? The man’s debt is over the top. The
king’s mercy is over the top. The man’s ingratitude is over the top. The
king’s judgment is over the top. And yet this is not just hyperbole—not just a
tall tale told for entertainment: it’s a hyperbolic parable. While Jesus is
throwing the truth over the top he is also throwing it down alongside another
truth. He exaggerates his point in order to make it and his point is this: that
we are like the one who was forgiven an unimaginable debt, and because we’ve
been forgiven much we must forgive. There is no wrong anyone can do to us that
can even compare with the wrong we’ve done to God. And unless we can learn to
forgive others their trespasses, God will not forgive ours. “How many times
should I forgive?” Peter asks. “Until you learn how to be merciful as your
Father in heaven is merciful,” Jesus might say. “Seventy-seven times. Seventy
times Seven. Seven-point-seven billion times.”
The Greek word for
forgiveness is aphiemi. If phiemi means to hold onto something,
then you might guess that aphiemi means to let go. “How many times
should I let go of the hurt I carry around with me because of what my brother
has done to me,” Peter asks. “Seven times?” And Jesus might say, “Well, Peter,
tell me: do you enjoy carrying that hurt around? Do you like showing it to
other people? Do you relish their sympathy? I don’t know about you but I would
want to let go of that hurt every time someone put it in my hand. I wouldn’t
want to carry it around. It hurts!” And although that makes good sense we have
a hard time doing it, don’t we? We can understand the need for forgiveness. We
can even understand that God has forgiven us a lot more than we will ever
forgive anyone else. But we can’t drop our hurt like a hot rock. It’s not in
our hands it’s in here—inside us. How can we do what Jesus asks? How can we
forgive others “from the heart”?
I don’t think there are
any shortcuts. At the risk of sounding trite I think you get to Forgiveness the
same way you get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice. You begin by
getting down on your knees and bringing to mind those others and what they have
done and said to you. You let yourself feel the pain of those words and deeds
and then, by God’s grace, you let it go. You say, “God help me forgive others
as you have forgiven me.” And then you get up off your knees and get on with
your day. And maybe your heart will be a little lighter, maybe you will feel a
little better, but probably you will have to do it again the next day, and the
day after that, and the day after that. Seven times probably won’t do it.
Seventy-seven times might not do it. But eventually, if you keep practicing,
you may come to that place where you can look at the one who has done you wrong
and feel nothing but compassion for a fellow sinner. Instead of putting your
hands around his throat you might put an arm around his shoulder and say, “I
know what it’s like to hurt other people. I know what it’s like to do it
intentionally and unintentionally. If God hadn’t forgiven me I wouldn’t have a
chance in heaven. But he has forgiven me, and because he has…
…I forgive you.”
—Jim
Somerville, 2008
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Gracious God: Jesus said the angels in heaven rejoice over one sinner who
repents. On this day may they rejoice over one sinner who forgives. Amen.
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