Tag Archives: forgiveness

A Sermon for the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 18, Year A)
September 6, 2026

Text: Matthew 18:15-20

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.

There are some passages in the Gospels where it’s difficult to understand exactly what Jesus is asking us to do. Our lesson for today isn’t one of them.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives his disciples a very simple set of instructions. If another member of the Church sins against you, go and speak to that person privately. If the two of you can’t resolve the matter, take one or two others with you. If the problem still can’t be resolved, bring it before the whole church.

The “what” of Jesus’ teaching is easy to understand.

The deeper question—and the one I’ve been asking myself a lot this past week—is “why”.

Why does Jesus care so much about how to deal with conflict?

Why does he give his disciples this carefully thought out process for addressing hurt or wrongdoing?

I think the answer has to do with the kind of life Jesus was calling his disciples to live.

Jesus didn’t call people to follow him as individuals. He called them into a community. He brought together people who would pray together, eat together, learn together, serve together, and share in his ministry.

Jesus knew that this way of life could never be lived alone. Following him would require the gifts, faith, strength, and companionship of other people.

That’s certainly been true in my own life.

Some of the greatest gifts I’ve received through the Church have come through Christian community: long-lasting friendships, people who’ve become like family, and the privilege of working alongside others in ministry.

And we see that kind of shared life all the time here at St. Mary’s.

When we feed the marching band before an away game, like we did recently, it takes many hands to prepare and serve the food.

Our Rice and Beans Ministry and our Community Dinners at Thanksgiving and Christmas depend upon people cooking, packing meals, setting up, and delivering food.

The Bayou Feast we do each year would be impossible without the whole parish working together to sell tickets and prepare for the event.

The same is true every Sunday morning.

Worship is the work of many people working together: the Altar Guild, the choir, our wonderful and talented organist, the ushers, the readers, the acolytes, and all those who quietly take care of details behind the scenes that most people never even notice.

That spirit of cooperation is one of the things I appreciate most about our church. This is a congregation whose members know how to work together.

That doesn’t mean we always agree or that we never disappoint one another. It means that people here understand that the life and ministry of the Church belong to all of us.

Healthy churches are built by many hands.

But whenever human beings live and work together, conflict is inevitable.

Eventually, we hurt one another. We say something we didn’t really mean. We fail to listen. We make decisions that other people disagree with. We do something that causes hurt feelings, sometimes without realizing it and sometimes because we’ve behaved wrongly.

A healthy church isn’t a church where conflict never happens.

A healthy church is one that’s learned how to deal with conflict honestly and graciously.

Conflict within a church can be especially painful because a church is more than just a civic organization. It‘s a community of faith. In many ways, it’s like a family. We pray together. We stand with each other at baptisms, weddings, and funerals. We come to the altar together to receive the Body and Blood of Christ.

When a relationship within the Church is wounded, that wound rarely affects only the two people involved. As St. Paul often reminds us, we are one body. When one part of the body is hurting, the whole body feels it.

That’s why Jesus begins today with a very simple instruction: go and speak directly to the person who’s hurt you.

Not to everyone else.

Not behind their back.

Go to that person privately and tell the truth.

There’s grace in the privacy of that first conversation. Jesus is protecting that person from unnecessary shame. He’s creating space for honesty, repentance, and forgiveness before the conflict spreads through the whole Church.

It’s not meant to be an attack. The goal isn’t to win an argument or prove that one person is right and the other is wrong. Jesus says that if the person listens, “you have regained that one.”

That’s the whole reason for this process: to regain a brother or sister, to heal what’s been broken, and to restore a relationship when restoration is possible.

This passage isn’t about dividing the Church into sinners and saints. If it were, none of us would know which side of the line to stand on.

It’s an acknowledgment that all of us will eventually fall short of our call to love one another, and all of us, at some point, will need someone to tell us the truth when we’ve caused them pain or suffering.

What Jesus describes in this passage is a simple process, but it’s not easy.

Most of us don’t enjoy conflict. I know I don’t.

We would rather avoid an uncomfortable conversation, bury our resentment, or convince ourselves that the problem isn’t that important.

And when someone tells us we’ve hurt them, often our first instinct is to defend ourselves.

We say things like, “That’s not what I meant.”

Or “You misunderstood me.”

Or “You hurt me, too.”

We try to explain ourselves when what the other person really needs is for us to acknowledge the pain we caused.

In our Rector’s Forum last Sunday, we talked about the things we sometimes need to say “no” to in order to say “yes” to God.

Maybe one of those things is trying to protect ourselves from ever having to admit that we were wrong.

Sometimes following Jesus means saying no to our pride, no to our defensiveness, and no to our need to have the last word.

Sometimes it means saying “I was wrong, and I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

But Jesus is realistic.

Not every conversation will immediately lead to reconciliation. Some people will refuse to listen. Some will deny the harm they’ve caused. Some patterns of behavior are so destructive that appropriate boundaries or even a period of separation may be necessary.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean pretending that harmful behavior is okay.

Reconciliation can’t be forced, and trust may take a long time to rebuild.

And in some circumstances, it may never be safe or possible to restore a relationship to what it once was.

Jesus doesn’t ask us to deny the truth for the sake of keeping the peace.

He gives the Church a way to be honest, to seek accountability, to protect those who’ve been harmed, and to seek reconciliation.

Eventually, Jesus says that a person who refuses to listen should be regarded “as a Gentile and a tax collector.”

That sounds harsh at first—like a command to cast the person out. But we should remember how Jesus himself treated Gentiles and tax collectors.

He continued to reach out.

He told them the truth. He didn’t approve of everything they did, but also didn’t declare them beyond the reach of God’s mercy. He continued to offer an invitation to repentance, healing, and new life.

Sometimes a boundary has to be drawn. Sometimes reconciliation isn’t possible right away. But grace doesn’t require us to lock the door and throw away the key.

Grace leaves room for repentance. Grace keeps the door open for the possibility of healing.

And that may be one of the most important gifts the Church can offer the world right now.

We live in a time when people are quickly divided into one side or another.

We assume the worst about people who are different than we are.

We talk about people behind their back.

We publicly shame those who fail.

And we use disagreement as a way to put up walls between us.

Jesus calls his Church to walk a different path.

The Church’s witness isn’t that we never disagree. It’s not that we never hurt one another or that we somehow rise above all the struggles of human relationships.

Our witness is how we respond to each other when those things happen.

Because of Jesus, we can speak the truth without being cruel.

We can acknowledge wrongdoing without humiliation.

We can forgive without denying the harm that’s been done.

We can respect boundaries.

We can learn to heal wounded relationships when healing is possible.

St. Paul tells us in today’s reading from Romans that all the commandments are fulfilled in the words, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

We love each other because God first loved us.

We forgive because we’ve been forgiven.

We offer mercy because every one of us depends on God’s mercy.

That truth is woven into our worship.

Every Sunday, we confess our sins together. All of us acknowledge that we’ve sinned against God and our neighbors and that we need mercy and forgiveness.

Then we exchange the Peace. The Peace is more than a friendly greeting or a break before Communion.

It’s a sign of reconciliation.

Before we approach the Altar, we turn to each other and share the peace of Christ.

Then we gather at one Table—not because we all agree about everything, not because every relationship is perfect, and certainly not because any of us is worthy.

We gather because God invites us all to receive the gift of God’s grace.

When Jesus promises, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them,” he’s speaking directly to the difficult work of reconciliation.

Christ is present when two people sit down and have an honest conversation.

Christ is present when someone finds the courage to say, “You hurt me.”

Christ is present when another finds the humility to say, “I’m sorry.”

Christ is present when we start to forgive, when trust is slowly rebuilt, and even when boundaries must be drawn while the hope of healing remains.

This is difficult and holy work. But we don’t do it alone. Christ is among us.

In a world that would rather be divided than healed, the Church is called to walk a different way and to show the world what reconciliation looks like.

Not perfectly, but faithfully.

We tell the truth.

We seek healing.

We leave room for reconciliation, when it’s possible.

We protect those who’ve been harmed.

We forgive because we’ve been forgiven.

And we trust that, through it all, Christ is with us.

Not just for our own sake, but so that our life together may be a sign to the world—a sign that the love of God has the power to change lives and draw us into deeper relationship with God and each other.

Amen.