Sermon 9/11/05
Forgive? Forget it! - Matthew 18:21-35
(view lectionary notes for this text)
Today marks the 4 year anniversary of the tragedy of September 11th, 2001. It hardly seems possible, does it? Like many of you who may remember exactly where you were when you heard the news that JFK had been assassinated, many of us also now can add to the list remembering where we were when we heard about the planes, the twin towers, the Pentagon, the chaos of that day. I was in seminary. I had just started my internship at our United Methodist interfaith agency, located in the Upper West Side of Manhattan – I worked on Mondays and Fridays, and had put in just two days before September 11th. I was feeling pretty brave about going to work in the big city, riding the trains and the subway, being part of the commuter crowd.
On the morning of the 11th, I, not surprisingly to those of you who know me well, was probably still asleep when the first plane hit the towers. Soon after, I was up and at the bookstore, when I heard a radio report saying something about a plane and a building, but I didn’t pay it much attention. I then went to the library, where I overheard a woman telling a work-study student that it was ok if he didn’t feel like working that day. And I couldn’t log onto cnn.com on the computers. But I still didn’t know what was happening. It wasn’t until I made my way to Seminary Hall, and began talking with other students, that I realized exactly what was happening. And so eventually the fear set in, the sadness, the anxiety. In the coming weeks, I found it hard to get over my fear of going back to the city for work, hard to relax on public transportation, hard to operate through fire drills at my office building there. And I found it hard to watch how we reacted as a nation, and as a world community to these events, how quickly the climate of the world changed. Today you’ll still hear the phrase, “in a post 9-11 world . . . “
Now we find ourselves in the midst of a national tragedy of another kind. As the days have unfolded, the devastation brought by Hurricane Katrina has escalated into unimaginable proportions. A hurricane that seemed mild when it passed over Florida turned out to be quite strong when it came back for a swing at the Gulf Coast. The hurricane was strong and damaging. The aftermath from the hurricane was beyond anyone’s imagination, as flooding literally drowned and washed out cities and its people. Now, we watch, feeling mostly helpless, as the grim task of recovery begins, as disease spreads, as victims are found, and as blame is shuffled around. Already tough questions are being asked that demand answers. Who’s fault is this? Why has aid and relief been so slow? Who is in charge here? What about global warming? What about the federal budget? What about issues of poverty and racism and classism that are appearing in the midst of the chaos? Why can’t we handle a domestic natural disaster? Like September 11th, this hurricane stands poised to change our nation’s consciousness, as we stand on the brink and are asked, “how will we respond? What will we do now?”
In the midst of our remembering, and in the midst of our current national crisis, comes this text from Matthew, a question from Peter, and an answer from Jesus, that is, as usual, more than we’d bargained for. The subject is forgiveness. Peter approaches Jesus, and asks, in exasperation perhaps, “If someone sins against me, how many times must I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus, seriously, how many times must I forgive? He tosses out the number of perfection, the number of creation, seven. Probably Peter feels like this would be showing extreme forgiveness. After all, how many times could you forgive a person, the same person, for a sin against you, perhaps the same sin? And how great a sin must we forgive?
Jesus replies, “Nice try, Peter. Try seventy times seven. Count ‘em up. That’s 490 at least.” And then Jesus tells a parable, about the kingdom of heaven, saying, “It’s like this. A king wanted to settle his debts. He called forward a slave who owed him 10,000 talents. The slave could not pay, so the king prepared to sell the slave, his family, and his possessions to make the payment. But the slave begged for mercy and patience, promising to pay. The king had mercy and cancelled the entire debt and released the slave. But later, the same slave encounters a peer who owes him a small sum of money, a hundred denarii. He violently demands payment, and when his peer can’t pay, and begs for mercy, the slave denies him mercy, and has him thrown in prison. When the king finds out about it, he calls the slave before him. ‘How could you not show mercy to your fellow slave, as I showed you mercy?’ Finally, the king hands the slave over and requires payment for the debt.” Jesus concludes, saying that this is how it will be with us if we do not forgive one another.
Forgiveness is a tricky thing, isn’t it? We’re willing to go only so far before we start wanting to know about limits – how much, how often, who must we forgive and in what circumstances? And above all, is it fair? Are we getting as much as the other guy? Are they giving up as much as we are? Did they pay as much as we did? Today’s world demands answers to these questions. Can we forgive even when forgiveness entails life and death situations? Do you believe such extreme forgiveness is possible? What shapes will forgiveness take when we think of the tragedy of September 11th? What does forgiveness mean in the context of a devastating natural disaster?
All these questions about human forgiveness lead us to God’s forgiveness. Can God forgive us? Does God forgive all sins from all sinners? What are the conditions of forgiveness? Our believing in the possibility of forgiveness works both ways. If we believe that human forgiveness is possible, then forgiveness from God is certain. And in order for us to be believe that we are truly forgiven and reconciled people, truly forgiven by God and given the chance, again, for right relationship with God, then we must also believe in the possibility of human forgiveness, reconciliation in human relationships.
The thing is, it’s all good and well to talk about forgiveness, but how realistic is that? The reason we can’t just forgive and move on is because there is a consequence to the sins that others visit upon us and that we act against others. Like the children’s sermon illustration I used today, there’s a residual effect when we sin. How can we erase the damage sin does? Saying “you’re forgiven” doesn’t make everything better, does it? Can forgiveness undo September 11th? Does it undo Hurricane Katrina or bring more and faster relief to the South? Does it fix all the hurts in your life? We know it does not. And yet to forgive means to cancel a debt, like in the parable, to count the debt as no longer owed. In some traditions, while saying the Lord’s Prayer, you’ll hear the fords “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors” because that is literally what it means to sin and forgive sin. Sin results in a debt owed to the one against whom you sinned and to God. Forgiveness means a canceling of that debt. But what about the payment? How is sin paid for if the debt is cancelled? Where’s the sense of responsibility? What happens to a person’s accountability when they don’t have to pay for a sin?
It’s these questions, I think, that keep us struggling with issues of sin and forgiveness, for ourselves and for others. We want to know what we’re getting into, what we’re agreeing to, before we sign on the dotted line and let someone off the hook for sin. And we want to know what God expects from us too, if God is offering forgiveness to us. How can we forgive? How can God forgive? When we look back at our gospel lesson for today, I notice something. In the parable, the king is prepared to hold the slave accountable until something important happens. The slave asks for patience, for mercy, for a second chance. It is this act of repentance, this asking for forgiveness that triggers the king to cancel the debt.
Where has forgiveness been asked? If asked for, forgiveness seeks an answer. From God, the answer is always, always yes. God’s forgiveness pour out from a source, a heart of love for us that never empties. From us? What is our answer when forgiveness is sought from us, individually or as a society? Is the answer always yes? Is there a limit to our forgiveness? Sometimes, we question the genuineness of repentance, of apologies. Perhaps we are right to do so, knowing, from our own weak apologies that sometimes we are insincere. But sometimes we cross the line from questioning sincerity to questioning deservedness of forgiveness. We judge some to be beyond deserving our forgiveness, or God’s forgiveness. The slave certainly deemed his peer beyond deserving mercy.
We’re given a reminder, even as we pray familiar words: God, forgive us our trespasses, or sins as we forgive those who sin against us. God asks for us to share with others the same forgiveness with which God blesses us. Is it easy work? No. Like Peter, we want to know – have we done enough? But God promises us that practicing forgiveness is life-giving, where withholding forgiveness only hurts us. There is much in this world to forgive. There is much for which we seek forgiveness. So we struggle, we try harder, both in forgiving those who have sinned against us, and in asking forgiveness where we have caused harm. But wherever we find ourselves in our struggles, we can trust that we find ourselves safely caught in God’s grace, and God’s boundless forgiveness.
Amen.