There’s Always Grace

A Sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 19, Year A)
September 17, 2023

Text: Matthew 18:21-35

Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak through them. Take our minds, and think through them. Take our hearts, and set them on fire. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Several years ago, when I was in my last year of seminary, I had the opportunity to take a class from a retired bishop named Mark Dyer. Bishop Mark, as we called him, was a beloved member of the seminary community, and any time he offered a class, students would jump at the opportunity to take it.

One of his favorite things to do in class was to tell stories from his his experience as a bishop in the Episcopal Church, and there’s one that I remember fondly.

It was a story about a prominent bishop within the Anglican Communion who was once invited to celebrate the Eucharist by the rector of a church.

Happily, the bishop accepted the rector’s invitation, but he had one stipulation. He told the rector that he would need a private room before the service began in order to prepare, and of course, the rector agreed to the bishop’s request.

The day of the service arrived, and when it was time for the service to begin, the rector of the church looked around and suddenly realized that the bishop was nowhere to be found.

So, he quickly went to the bishop’s room, and when he opened the door, he found the bishop lying face down on the floor with his arms stretched out on both sides. In the language of the Church, we call this “lying prostrate.” It’s a sign of humility and respect for God.

The rector told the bishop that he needed to hurry in order to make it back to the church in time for the service, but the bishop refused to go. “I’m sorry,”  he told the rector, “but you’re going to have to find someone else to celebrate the Eucharist. I have been hurt so deeply by someone that I can’t forgive him, and if I can’t forgive him, then I can’t celebrate the Eucharist.”

And that was the end of Bishop Mark’s story.

The point he was trying to make to the class was that, as Christians, we are a people who are called to seek forgiveness and reconciliation—not only for ourselves but also for the sake of the Church. When we don’t seek peace—when we don’t work to restore and mend broken relationships—it affects all of us.

This is why we take the act of confession seriously and why we practice it every week in worship. Before we share in the sacred meal, we must first be at peace with our brothers and sisters in Christ. 

This was the point I think Jesus was trying to make in our Gospel lesson from last week when he gave his disciples a list of instructions on what to do when conflict arises in the church—when one member of the church sins against another.

What it all boils down to is this: when another member of the church hurts you, don’t bottle it up or pretend it never happened. Don’t go to other people and talk about that person behind their back. Don’t retaliate against them.

Instead, go and seek peace with the one who hurt you. Hold them accountable for their words and actions, and let them know what they’ve done. By doing so, we can begin to heal and hopefully be reconciled with the one who hurt us.

In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus has even more to say about forgiveness.

Peter goes to Jesus and asks him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus responds, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

You’ve got to love Peter. He thinks he’s impressing Jesus by suggesting such a large number. Forgiving someone seven times would’ve been seen as going above and beyond what was expected at the time.

But, Jesus shakes his head at Peter’s question, and says, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.” Some translations of the text say, “Not seven times, but, I tell, you seventy times seven.” What Jesus is getting at is that our willingness to forgive shouldn’t be limited to a specific number. 

And then, to drive the point even further, Jesus tells a story—this one about a king who forgives the entire debt of one of his slaves. This wasn’t just some ordinary debt. This was a debt beyond imagining—one that never could’ve been repaid in his lifetime. In the time of Jesus, it would’ve taken a common laborer 200,000 years to pay off the slave’s debt to the king. In his mercy, the king releases the slave and forgives his entire debt.

Well, not too much later, that same slave comes upon another slave who owes him money—100 denarii (the equivalent of 100 days’ wages)—and rather than forgiving the man’s debt, as he himself was forgiven, he has him thrown in prison until he’s able to repay him.

Word gets back to the king, and he isn’t too happy about the news. He summons the slave and tells him, “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?” In his anger, he hands the slave over to be tortured until he repays the entire debt.

Now…before you jump to any conclusions about this parable, I want to say this. The king in our story is not a metaphor for God.

And, the reason why I want to make that clear is because the God we worship, the God in whom we put all of our faith and trust, is not a transactional God. He doesn’t grant us mercy and forgiveness because of what we do, and he doesn’t punish us because of what we don’t do.

Our God is a god of grace and mercy, and he’s given us these gifts—not because we’ve earned them or deserve them—but because God loves us and wants us to be restored to fullness of life. God is always ready and willing to forgive us, and his mercy is everlasting.

And because of that, we too should be willing to forgive. That’s the point of the parable in today’s Gospel reading and what Jesus is trying to teach us. Because God has forgiven us and continues to forgive us when we fall short, we too should be willing to extend that same mercy to those who sin against us.

I know it isn’t easy.

There’ve been moments in my own life when I was so deeply hurt by another person that I was unsure of whether or not I would ever be able to forgive them. At one point or another, we’ve all felt like this.

We’ve all experienced deep grief and pain from people who’ve sinned against us, and often, the people who’ve hurt us the most are the one’s we least expect to hurt us. In moments like that, how do we begin to forgive? How do we seek peace with people who’ve hurt us so badly?

Well, I wish there was an easy answer. But, the truth is that forgiveness—like with most things that are difficult—takes a lot of time and patience. It doesn’t happen overnight, especially when we’ve been hurt so deeply. And, it takes practice—sometimes much more than we really want to give.

The alternative to forgiveness would be to allow the pain and hurt we’ve experienced to consume us and cause us to become bitter and resentful. And, when that happens over a long period of time, we begin to lose sight of who we are and who God has created us to be.

Forgiveness isn’t just about the person who’s caused us harm. It’s also about us and the freedom that comes with letting go of the anger and hurt we’ve kept bottled up inside. 

So, we keep practicing forgiveness, and then, when we fail, we get back up and try again. And, we keep practicing forgiveness until it becomes a little bit easier each time. Sometimes, it’s a long process—much longer than we would like—and even when we think we’ve totally forgiven someone for something they did a long time ago, those feelings of anger and resentment come rushing back, and we find ourselves in need of forgiving again.

This is hard work, but it’s also important work.

So, while we’re at it, we should also remember to be gentle with ourselves in the process. God knows we aren’t perfect and that we’re striving each day to live more faithfully as he’s called us to live. And, God knows that we’re going to fail and that there will be moments when our hearts are just too broken to be able to forgive and begin to heal. And, in those moments, there’s always grace.

Thanks be to God. Amen.