The Waking Dreamer: Forgiveness

Showing posts with label Forgiveness. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 02, 2025

The Burden Lifted

Psalm 32[1]

If we live in a world defined by dissatisfaction, as we discussed last week, we also live in a world defined by competition. There’s probably no better time of year to talk about this. “March Madness” isn’t just about basketball. It’s a symbol of how deeply competition is drilled into our lives. In every area of our lives, from school, to work, to sports, to even the games we play for entertainment. The level of competitiveness in our world can leave us feeling like life itself is a “zero-sum game.” That’s just a fancy way of saying that somebody has to lose so that somebody else can “win.” In a tournament like “March Madness,” a whole lot of “somebodies” have to lose so that just one team can win.

I realize that this competitiveness is so much a part of our way of life that some of you may seriously ask whether there is any real alternative. We see it when more than one company has to “compete” for our business. That can be a good thing. To be sure, we also see many ways in which cooperation brings people together for mutual benefit. I think of how communities rally around a farmer who has been injured or is sick and can’t get their crops planted or harvested. But at the end of the day, when the driving force is to “win,” that means “beating the competition.”

I think that’s at least one of the reasons why the message of God’s grace gains so little traction in our culture. The idea that God’s unfailing love is unconditional, unqualified, irrevocable, and unlimited, and that it extends to everyone, everywhere regardless of who they are, where they’ve been, or what they’ve done, just doesn’t compute for us. Like everything else, we view love as something we have to “win” by outdoing others. Even many of us who sing God’s grace in church every week may try to “win” God’s love for ourselves with our morality and our religious devotion. But the very effort means we view others as the “competition.” Maybe that’s one reason why the church has lost so much spiritual credibility with so many in our day. The idea that God extends his grace and love to all people everywhere solely because that’s who God is gets lost in the drive to “outdo” others. We just cannot envision a world in which everyone “wins.” But maybe that’s part of our problem.

You might think that’s a surprising way to introduce our Psalm for today. We hear the language of “righteousness” and we think we have to “measure up” to some kind of standard. In some of the Psalms, the bar for being “righteous” is set so high it leaves us wondering who can ever reach it.[2] But that’s where the Psalm for today comes in. We discussed last week that in the Psalms being “righteous” means trusting in God completely and wholly. Our Psalm for today expands on that: the “righteous” who are “blessed” or truly “happy” are not those who by their own efforts achieve some unreachable standard of morality. Rather, the “righteous” are those who know that they are embraced by God’s love.[3] They’ve learned to be vulnerable enough to admit their pain not only to themselves, but also to God. When they do that, they know the meaning of the psalm-singer’s words: “Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered!” Unfortunately, we tend to hear this kind of language in terms of guilt and shame. But this Psalm isn’t about guilt or shame, it’s about grace.

This is more than just religious jargon. The psalm-singer knows by experience the pain of feeling “not good enough.” To paraphrase the ancient words of the Bible, when we try to hide that pain, it becomes a burden that crushes us. It grinds us down as long as we keep silent. Many of us may know by personal experience the suffering that comes from keeping silent about our burdens. Some things are too painful to admit, even to ourselves. That’s because we may we think we’re unworthy of love and acceptance, by God, by others, or even by ourselves. But the burdens we carry don’t disqualify us from God’s love. We’re more than our worst failure. We’re more than the labels people put on us.

The psalm-singer also speaks of the freedom that comes from honesty. The promise of the Psalm for today is that when we admit all the ways in which we feel unworthy or disqualified, we find God’s total and complete acceptance. Even the language of sin and forgiveness demonstrates this. The variety of Hebrew words for sin and forgiveness in Psalm 32 offers the promise and the hope that our all guilt and shame in all its dimensions is resolved in every way that is necessary.[4] And this total and complete acceptance is available to us just for the asking. All we have to do is open ourselves enough to admit to ourselves and to God who we are, what we’ve done, and how we feel about it. We may be able to share this burden with a trusted friend or a counseling professional. The offer of healing held out to us by God’s grace applies not only to what we’ve done, but also to the pain we may carry for what has been done to us. When we name what hurts in a safe environment, we find that we’re still loved by God. Always have been and always will be. The joy and the freedom that comes from this kind of honest vulnerability is rooted in knowing that we are accepted for who we are, now and to all eternity.

In this Psalm, as in the Psalms as a whole, the key to finding this kind of freedom to learn to trust God’s unfailing love. That shouldn’t come as a surprise. The Psalms are filled with testimonies of the “blessings” that come from trusting God’s unfailing love. It’s about more than just comprehending God’s love as a concept. It’s about embracing God’s love wholly and completely with our whole hearts as well as our minds, even with body and soul. It’s about entrusting all that we are and all that we will ever be to God’s care! It may be hard to wrap our heads around something that big. Maybe we need to bring it down to a level we can grasp by taking the risk of trusting a friend enough to share our deepest pain. When we do, and we find love and acceptance in the place of the rejection we feared, the burden is lifted.

More than that, this process of healing can lead us to a whole new sense of worth, value, and acceptance. When the burdens we carry are lifted by God’s unfailing love, or even by the love of a friend, we find the freedom to accept that we are accepted. We find God’s unconditional, unqualified, irrevocable, and unlimited acceptance. That’s what “grace” means.[5] It means we’re accepted by God for who we are, now and forever. Always have been and always will be. When we find this level of freedom because the burdens that may have weighed us down for years have been lifted, we’re free to live fully in the present in a way that’s grace-filled and loving. We’re free to pass on to others the acceptance we have received. It transforms us and everyone around us, as God’s unconditional love is meant to.

[2] Psalm 15 is a great example: the psalm-singer asks a question that boils down to who may live in God’s presence, and the answer is, “Those who obey God in everything and always do what is right, whose words are true and sincere, and who do not slander others. … They always do what they promise, no matter how much it may cost” (Ps 15:2-4, GNT). I think we all tend to assume that “I could never live up to that.”

[3] J. Clinton McCann, Jr. “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:806, where he points out that one of the purposes of this Psalm is to demonstrate the truth that “to be righteous is not a matter of being sinless but a matter of being forgiven.”

[4] Peter C. Craigie, Psalms 1–50, 266.

[5] Paul Tillich, “You are Accepted,” in The Shaking of the Foundations, 162. He says that we truly experience “grace” not by anything we decide to believe or do, but rather it’s as if “a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: ‘You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!’” (emphasis added). See also James L. Mays, Psalms, 146: “Calvin observed that all that the Scripture says about blessedness in other beatitudes depends on the blessedness commended here, ‘the free favor of God, by which he reconciles us to himself’ (Calvin I:526).”

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

Forgiveness Doesn't Count

Forgiveness Doesn’t Count

Matthew 18:21-34[1]

We have a saying about forgiveness. Or, at least, we used to: “Forgive and forget.” The idea is that when you forgive someone, you wipe the slate clean and forget that they ever wronged you in the first place. I think there’s a reason why that “used” to be a saying for us. If we’re honest about it, we have to admit that there are some things we really can never forget. Last week I told you the story about the decades-long process by which I forgave my father. And while I certainly don’t dwell on the things he did to me, I can never forget them. I just can’t. It’s what happens to us when we experience trauma, especially at a young age.

These days it seems that our attitude is more one of “Forgive, but never forget.” It’s okay to forgive someone when they harm you. But in this day when taking care of ourselves takes priority over everything else, we tell ourselves that it’s best never to forget what others have done to harm us. There is some wisdom in that. If someone is still harming you, you need to remember that they aren’t safe, even if you’ve forgiven them for what they’ve done. But I’m afraid “Forgive, but never forget” too easily turns into keeping track of what others have done to us. Holding a grudge and harboring bitterness basically amounts to counting up the wrongs that have been done to us.

Our Gospel lesson for this week talks about forgiveness that doesn’t count up the wrongs done to us. You may recall that our lesson for last week was about how forgiveness calls us to take the first step in making things right when our relationships are broken. This week our lesson begins with a question from Peter: “Lord, if my brother keeps on sinning against me, how many times do I have to forgive him? Seven times?” (Mt 18:21, GNT). I like the way the Good News Translation puts it here: “how many times do I have to forgive?” Peter assumed there was a limit to how many times a person could reasonably be expected to forgive. And in Peter’s mind, forgiving someone “as many as” seven times would have been considered generous. The implication is that no one should “have” to forgive someone more than seven times.

But Jesus answered Peter in a way that pushed him way beyond what he thought was “reasonable” or even “generous.” Jesus said, “No, not seven times, … but seventy times seven” (Mt 18:22, GNT). I think it’s safe to say that Peter and the others were shocked. This went beyond anything they could imagine. The idea is that forgiveness doesn’t count. When we really forgive others, we don’t “keep score” of what they’ve done against us. As St. Paul said, when we love someone, we “keep no record of wrongs” they’ve done to us (1 Cor. 13:5, NIV). And since Jesus commands us to love others, it sounds to me like he calls us all to “keep no record of wrongs”. We can’t truly “love” our neighbors unless we also forgive them.

To help us understand what it looks like to forgive without counting, Jesus tells a parable. Because of the way Matthew arranges his Gospel, it’s easy for us to think that Jesus meant this parable to be about God. But it’s not. It’s a story about a cruel and heartless tyrant, one who wouldn’t hesitate to sell someone into slavery or even resort to torture. It’s a story the people would have been all too familiar with, since they had been ruled by cruel and heartless tyrants for centuries. Kings in those days were by definition tyrants. Their word constituted the law of the land, so whatever they wanted defined right and wrong. The people of Jesus’ day had lots of experience with that.

This tyrant decided to settle accounts with those who owed him money. That would also have been a familiar scene. When we’re told that one of his debtors owed him 10,000 talents, we may not realize we’re talking about a fortune beyond imagining. These days it would have to be measured in billions of dollars. The shocking part of this story is that when called to account, the debtor asked the tyrant king for more time. It must have been a painful scene to watch. There was no way he could have ever repaid such a huge debt. His life and the lives of his family were hanging in the balance. The real shock came when this cruel and heartless tyrant “felt sorry” for the man. He went beyond giving him more time to pay; he forgave the entire debt! That kind of thing would have been unheard of. No one would have expected this tyrant king to show such generous mercy.

That part of the story is all preparation. The real story is about this man who owed a fortune beyond imagining, and who begged for more time to pay but instead walked away a free man. It would stand to reason that anyone who was handed such a generous gift would walk away a changed man. But as we see, the story goes on to tell us that the first thing he did was go find someone who owed him money and try to force him to pay! What kind of person would do that? Didn’t he learn anything from the mercy that had been shown to him?

It was outrageous. And it outraged not only his peers, but when they reported it to the king, it outraged him as well. It outraged him enough to call the man back in, revoke his earlier mercy, and consign him to punishment and torture until that whole unimaginable fortune he owed was repaid, in all likelihood, for the rest of his life. That’s why we know this isn’t a story about God, but about a cruel and heartless tyrant. God’s mercy never fails, he never revokes his forgiveness. The point of the story is that even a cruel and heartless tyrant knows that it’s only reasonable for those who benefit from mercy to pay it forward to others. As the tyrant king said, “You should have had mercy on your fellow servant, just as I had mercy on you” (Mt 18:33).

This story reinforces Jesus’ shocking demand that we forgive one another “seventy times seven” times. That’s the kind of mercy God has shown us. As the Psalmist said in our reading today, “He has taken our sins away from us as far as the east is from west” (Ps 103:12, NCV). The prophet Isaiah declares in the name of the LORD that God doesn’t even remember our sins any longer (Isa 43:25)! That’s who God is: merciful and generous beyond our ability to imagine. And because God forgives us without counting, Jesus teaches us to forgive each other in the same way. We who have received the gift of God’s incredibly generous mercy are called to forgive each other without counting.

If you’re thinking that’s impossible, I’m sure you’re not alone. In fact, from the time Jesus spoke these powerful words the Church has struggled with them. It doesn’t seem practical: won’t unlimited forgiveness encourage people to go right on doing whatever they please? But Jesus isn’t looking at things from a human point of view. He’s talking about the way things are meant to be from God’s point of view. Forgiveness received is to be shared freely as forgiveness given to others. And those of us who know God’s incredibly generous mercy in the complete and irrevocable forgiveness he has given us are to forgive each other in the same generous way. We’re to forgive without counting.

Tuesday, September 12, 2023

Take the First Step

Matthew 18:10-20[1]

As is too often the case with men, my most difficult relationship was with my father, Harold Brehm, who passed away in May. For me, it seemed that no matter how hard I tried to do my best, it was never good enough. It’s a dilemma I’ve heard from other men and women regarding their relationships with their parents. I haven’t kept it secret that I was never close to my parents. That happens. My case was not simply one of normal “tension” between parents and children. There’s a lot I could say about that, but I choose not to out of respect for them. I will say this, the distance I kept from my father was not without cause. If I told the whole story, I’m quite sure some of you might be shocked. I’ve never spoken of this in a sermon. I refrained from doing so while he was alive out of respect for him. But now that he’s in the presence of Christ, where he’s whole and healed, I feel that I can tell my story.

I realized many years ago that it was up to me to forgive my father. I’m not ashamed to admit the process took decades. It began when I was a young man. I realized that holding on to bitterness toward my father was hurting me and my relationships. But it’s one thing to recognize the need for forgiveness. It’s another thing to actually forgive. I continued to take steps toward that goal over the years as I grew in my understanding of myself, and in my understanding of my father. I’m deeply grateful that the process led to my ability to fully forgive my father about five years ago or so. To be sure, he never apologized or asked for forgiveness. And I never confronted him for what he had done. I didn’t think it would do any good. Nevertheless, I am grateful to God for giving me the ability to let him be who was, flaws and all, and to love him despite what had happened.

It may be hard to see this, but I believe our Gospel lesson is about forgiveness. I think the reason why it may be difficult to see this is because the lesson outlines a procedure for “admonishing” or “rebuking” another person may seem impractical to us. As the basis for the practice of “excommunication” in its various forms, our lesson for today seems to be at odds with what we know of Jesus. These verses have been used to justify everything from excluding people from the Lord’s Supper to completely shunning them. I would say when Christians cut off someone else in the name of Jesus, we’ve missed something. Our lives are meant to be directed toward loving God and loving others.

I think Matthew was aware of this problem. I think we see this in the way Matthew has arranged Jesus’ teaching in this chapter. We have to take Matthew chapter 18 as a whole. When we do, we find that Matthew himself has “couched” this difficult passage about admonishing others in the context of humility, compassion, and forgiveness. We who follow Jesus are called to become “humble like a child” (Mt 18:4). We’re called to practice concern for the “little ones” by taking care that we not cause anyone to “stumble” (Mt 18:6). We’re reminded that God does not look down on any of his “sheep” who may have “gone astray” (Mt 18:10-14). And we’re called to forgive one another not seven times but “seventy-seven times” or as some translations render it, “seventy times seven” (Mt 18:22). Whatever the situation was behind this procedure for admonishing others, it was meant to be carried out with humility, compassion, and forgiveness.

We can see a similar situation with the Apostle Paul, where the question of eating meat was one that caused Gentile converts to “stumble.” In response, Paul actually urged both sides to take the first step: if you’re the one who is offended, he asks, “who are you to judge”? The idea is that rather than holding a grudge or harboring bitterness, we’re to take the first step toward resolving the problem. And if you’re the one who has offended another, he urges us to “never put a stumbling block or hindrance” in the way of another (Rom 14:13). Paul himself insisted that if he did anything to give offense to anyone, he was going to take the first step by avoiding anything that might harm others (1 Cor 8:13). The basic principle here was one of humility, compassion, and forgiveness for others.

Jesus said something similar in the Sermon on the Mount. He said that if we come to worship and remember that we have done something to offend someone, we must first be reconciled before we can rightly worship God (Mt 5:23-24). Think about it: how can we truly worship God while we’re harboring bitterness or a grudge against someone? It just doesn’t work. Jesus may have been following the lead of some of the Old Testament prophets here, like Isaiah or Jeremiah. That we cannot truly worship God without making things right with the people in our lives is a theme that they emphasized. And Jesus also insisted that we take the first step toward making things right.

I think Matthew knew what he was doing when he based the step-by-step process for setting things right on humility, compassion, and forgiveness. I think he had some keen insight into who we are as human beings. Humility enables us to look at ourselves and recognize that my attitude or my actions may be the problem, not the other person. That’s not something that comes easily. Compassion enables us to see things through the perspective of those with whom we may be at odds. It also enables us to care about them as people, and so to care about their wellbeing. Forgiveness enables us to drop any sense that we may feel we have a right to judge or to blame the other person. And when we take the first step to make things right prayerfully, we can hardly do so without a change of heart from one of blame and bitterness to one of humility, compassion and forgiveness.[2]

I’m not going to pretend that the process of healing broken relationships is one that can be undertaken lightly or carried out easily. The deeper the hurt, the more work it’s going to take from us. It took me decades to forgive my father. There were times when I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be able to get there. The key for me was that I continued to pray, and I continued to try to see him through eyes of compassion. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen quickly, but I can honestly say that I’m grateful for all the many “first steps” that God helped me to take over the years. For me, forgiving my father was crucial to my ability to “live and breathe a spirit of forgiveness”[3] toward everyone, which I would say is at the heart of following Jesus.

[2] Ulrich Luz, A Commentary on Matthew 8-20, 458. He reasons that we can hardly “pray” for the punishment of offenders, but rather for their salvation and restoration to the community!

[3] W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, Matthew 8-18.

Monday, September 14, 2020

Healing Hostility

Matthew 18:21-35[1]

It seems that everywhere you look these days you can find hostility. Some of it is very open, even “in your face.” Some of it is more subtle but no less real. It’s not hard to find someone who’s angry about something. And the sad truth is that the hostility is within us as well. All of us have people in our world who “push our buttons.” Sometimes we “go off” in the privacy of our homes, talking to the TV. Or listening to the radio in the car. I think that’s a truth we’d rather not have to face: that we may be part of the problem, not part of the solution. When hostility seems so prevalent, what can one person do?

I’ve seen one man stop a whole line of tanks simply by standing in their way. I’ve seen public officials kneeling in front of angry protesters in a move that seemed to diffuse the tension instantly, at least for the moment. Perhaps the ancient wisdom that “a gentle answer deflects anger” (Prov 15:1, NLT) still holds true. Sometimes, at least. There are times when it seems like hostility and the violence it breeds is like a flood that nothing can stop. But there are times when simple, honest, friendliness can win over even the most stubborn enemy.

In order to be able to take that kind of friendly approach even toward those who are openly hostile to us, we have to find a way to heal the hostility in our own hearts first. I think that’s where our Gospel lesson for today comes in. Jesus teaches Peter to go beyond forgiveness that only goes so far. Rather, Jesus says to practice unlimited forgiveness.[2] That’s quite a tall order for most of us. There are some people who have done us wrong in such a hurtful way that we simply find it impossible to let go our hard feelings. And yet, Jesus doesn’t let us off the hook—he makes it clear that those of us who look to God for unlimited forgiveness must put it into practice in our lives as well.

And to reinforce the point, Jesus tells a parable. A king demands of his servant the settlement of an unimaginable fortune—10,000 “talents,” which would have been several billion dollars in our world. When the servant begs for more time to pay, the king relents and forgives the entire debt. That’s hard for me to fathom! Who forgives that kind of debt? And yet, as the story goes on, the first servant goes out and demands settlement of a much smaller debt: about $10,000. When the second debtor begs for more time, using the exact same words he used, he refuses to even grant him more time to pay. When the King hears about it, he brings the first servant back in and states the obvious: “Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?” (Matt. 18:33). And the point of the story is that we who have known God’s unlimited forgiveness are to extend that to others “from the heart” (Matt. 18:35).

Unfortunately, Jesus doesn’t teach us how to do this. It’s much easier said than done, I find. I’ve learned that I have to get to the place where I can truly understand and even empathize with someone who I feel has done me wrong in order to offer them this kind of unconditional forgiveness. That doesn’t always come easily. In fact, sometimes I have to have an experience where I wind up being in their shoes myself to be able to reach that level of awareness and empathy. Sometimes it has taken me years. Sometimes, it has taken me decades.

There’s a film called The Interpreter that I think illustrates the choice we face. The film is about an interpreter at the United Nations named Sylvia. She tells the story of a rite of forgiveness in Africa called the “Drowning Man Trial.” When someone is murdered, after a year of mourning, the killer is tied up and thrown into a river to drown. The family of the victim then have to choose—if they let the killer drown, they will have justice, but they will spend the rest of their lives grieving. If they save the killer from drowning, their act of saving a life can heal their own grief. I wonder what I would do if faced with that choice!

Whether there is or ever was such a thing as a “drowning man trial,” I think it serves at least like a parable for us: do we forgive as we have been forgiven, and in so doing find healing for ourselves? Or do we nurse our hurt feelings, our hostility, and our anger, and so find ourselves trapped in bitterness? I think most of us would agree that it’s better to come to the place where we can acknowledge that we share a common humanity with those who have done us harm. When we forgive them, we not only take a step towards healing the hostility we may feel. More than that, by changing our own hearts, we put a little more kindness, a little more friendliness, a little more understanding out into the world. And I do believe that the more we do that, the more we can heal the hostility that plagues us all.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Hear Our Cry, O Lord!

Psalm 130[1]

When I was in Seminary, I worked as a Security Guard to help pay bills. The good thing about it was that I could study on the job. The bad thing about it was that when I showed up for work, I never really knew if I would get off on time. There were many a night when a four-to-midnight shift turned into a four-to-midnight-to eight in the morning shift! Of course, I usually brought extra homework in case that happened, but those were some long nights. Talk about watching for the morning to come! It always seemed like the last hour was the longest hour of the night. It felt like eight o’clock, when I would be released to go home and sleep, would take its own sweet time getting there.

Sometimes I think waiting for God to answer our prayers may feel like that. We pour out our hearts to God in the times when we need his help the most, and it can seem like the answer never comes. In fact, I think that our struggle with waiting for God to respond to our prayers may be one of the great challenges of our faith. It seems the exception to the rule when God’s deliverance comes when we think we need it. More often, the answer may come long after we’ve given up on praying, given up even on God. And when it does come, if we’ve given up on God, we may not even notice that God has indeed answered our prayer, if not in the precise way and at the precise time we expected.

Our Psalm for today presents us with an example of someone who is desperate for God to hear his prayer. The specific prayer he cries out is for God to set him free from the consequences of his sin. Though it’s not hard to pick up on the note of distress in this Psalm, we really don’t know much about the circumstances. We don’t know why the psalmist is crying out to God. It would seem that he has somehow sinned against God and is feeling that burden deeply. But we don’t really know what that sin might be. We don’t know how long he may have been praying this prayer for deliverance. This may have been a prayer written at the very beginning of a wrestling match with God. I must say that I doubt that’s the case. The note of distress and desperation sound to me more like an urgent plea from someone who’s been pouring out his heart for quite a while, and is at wit’s end holding on the hope that God will have mercy and release him from his distress.

When I read this Psalm I wonder what it was that kept him praying through such difficult times. I think we could all ask ourselves the same question: what keeps us turning to God when we feeling like we’re drowning in distress? I think the Psalm points us to an answer: it’s God’s character.[2] No matter how long the psalmist has to wait for an answer to his cry, he remains confident that God is the one who forgives sins. Despite the fact that he can describe himself as being “in the depths,” a place where there is precious little hope and one can truly feel lost,[3] he continues to trust that “with the LORD is unfailing love and with him is full redemption” (Psalm 130: 7, TNIV). This heartbreaking cry for mercy comes from one who trusts that the God to whom he prays is the God whose love never fails.

In fact, this is the central truth about who God is in the Bible. God is the one who is completely faithful, completely dependable. This is the “revelation” that came to Moses in the cleft of the rock: “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin” (Exodus 34:6-7).[4] This refrain echoes throughout the Bible over and over again. And the point of it is that God loves us with a love that will never let us go. That remains true no matter what we may do or where we may find ourselves in life. Even in “the depths” we can trust that God is the one we can depend on to love us with a love never lets us go.[5]

And yet, that same gracious and compassionate love is the very thing that can drive us to the kind of distress this Psalm expresses.[6] The reason for this is that God’s grace which never fails also never leaves us in our sins, whether they may be sins of mild neglect or blatant transgressions. Unfortunately, I’m afraid it’s all too easy for those of us who have been intentional about living out our faith to slip into the pattern of thinking that this kind of distress over sin primarily relates to others, while our failings are only “minor shortcomings.” And yet this Scripture will have none of it. Even if we have become blind to our sins, the Psalmist recognizes that we all are subject to wrongdoing. He says it this way: “If you kept track of sins, LORD— my Lord, who would stand a chance?” (Ps. 130:3 CEB). The implied answer is clear: nobody. The sometimes difficult truth is that God’s steadfast love and unfailing grace creates in us the very distress over sin that finds such moving expression in this Scripture.

But it is also God’s unfailing love and “full redemption” that makes it possible for us all to turn to the Lord and find forgiveness.[7] No matter what we’ve done, no matter where we find ourselves, we can cry out to God in prayer, knowing full well that we can trust him to set us free from our sins. Even if it takes weeks, months, or years of crying out to God, we can continue to hope in his word, which assures us that his love never fails and that he is the one who forgives our sin.[8] No matter how deep our distress may be, no matter how dark the situation may seem, we can turn to God in the assurance that God always hears our prayers.[9] I think this is especially true when we cry out to the Lord with the kind of urgency and fervor found in this Psalm. And the promise is that God does indeed hear our cry.

[2] Cf. J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:1205: “The psalmist’s waiting is based on the conviction that God is fundamentally gracious and forgiving.”

[3] Cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 406, where he says that the “depths” is a metaphor that “represents drowning in distress, being overwhelmed and sucked down by the bottomless waters of troubles … . To be in the depths is to be where death prevails instead of life as prospect and power, where the authentic word about existence is ‘I am lost’.” Cf. also McCann, Jr., “Book of Psalms,” NIB IV:1205, where he says that the “depths” “names the chaotic forces that confront human life with destruction, devastation, and death, and are regularly symbolized by water.”

[4] Cf. McCann, “Book of Psalms,” NIB IV:1205, where he refers to Exodus 34:6-7 and says, “God reveals the divine self to be ‘gracious’ … and ‘abounding in steadfast love’…, and these attributes are manifested concretely in God’s forgiveness … of the people’s ‘iniquity’.”

[5] Cf. McCann, “Book of Psalms,” NIB IV:1206, where he says, “Israel’s future does not depend on its own worthiness or ability to save itself but on God’s faithful love and ability to redeem. … No sin or setback will be of sufficient depth to separate God’s people from God’s amazing grace and faithful love.” Cf. also Bernhard Anderson, Out of the Depths: The Psalms Speak for us Today, 59: “Unlike the capricious gods of the ancient world, the God whom Israel worships is true to promises made, constant in faithfulness, consistent in behavior.” Cf. further Jürgen Moltmann, Theology of Hope, 115: “God is the same God all the way from promise to fulfillment.”

[6] Cf. H. -J. Kraus, Psalms 60-150, 467: “Yahweh is the holy God even in his grace.” He quotes from Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.1:361-2 in support: “as the gracious God He affirms Himself over against the one to whom He is gracious by opposing and breaking down his resistance … . … If we refuse to recognize and , as is right, to suffer this His opposition to us, we are also repudiating His grace.”

[7] Cf. Anderson, Out of the Depths, 94: “the presence of the Holy God in the midst of the people is experienced as both inescapable judgment … and gracious acceptance.”

[8] Cf. Kraus, Psalms 60-150, 468: “To fear Yahweh means to wait for his word of forgiveness, in straining attentiveness to look forward to the moment in which Yahweh grants salichah [deliverance].”

[9] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life, 76-77: “Wherever the cry from the depths is heard, the Spirit who ‘helps us in our weakness’ is present. … The sighs of fettered creation are taken up by the sighs of the Spirit who dwells in it, and are brought before God. … There is a cry from the depths at the beginning of every experience of God-given salvation … . And God hears the cry from the depths of desolation.”

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Pharisees and Sinners, Each and All

Lk 7:36-50[1]

There are a lot of reasons why people practice their religion. For some, it’s simply what their family has always done, and so they do it too. For others, attending church or synagogue or mosque is an integral part of their ethnic identity. Then there are those who have more interesting motivations. Some practice their religion as a way of “keeping up appearances.” For others, their religious accomplishments are a source of personal pride, and they parade them every chance they get. In recent times, especially in this country, the Christian faith has become a sanctified means of wish fulfillment: if you pray the right way or follow the right steps, all your dreams will come true. You’ll have the marriage you’ve always wanted, you’ll have perfect children, and you’ll never have to worry about your finances. As I said, there are a lot of reasons why people practice their religion.

I think our Gospel lesson for today provides us with a study that contrasts two very different people and their very different reasons for practicing their religion. Jesus attends a dinner at the home of a Pharisee named Simon. He must have been a person of some prominence, because he’s one of the few Jewish leaders to be called by name in the Gospels. Apparently, Simon had heard about Jesus and he was curious to see for himself what this rabbi from Nazareth was about. There’s no indication that Simon had any genuine interest in becoming a disciple of Jesus. The fact that Jesus wasn’t the only guest suggests Simon must have invited some of his friends to the dinner--presumably other Jewish leaders. It’s hard to tell what his motivation was on the surface of things. Was he simply curious? Did he want to question Jesus? Was he out to demonstrate that his piety was superior to this carpenter from Galilee? It’s hard to say.

The contrast in the story is with the woman who comes to Jesus. Luke’s Gospel simply says that she was a “sinner.” Although some translations assume that she had lived an immoral life, we don’t really know that.[2] Yes, Jesus said that her sins were many, but that’s a statement that could apply to us all. In Jesus’ day, people like Simon had all kinds of reasons for calling someone a “sinner,” most of which had nothing to do with that person’s actual character. But she knows that she’s a sinner. And she knows something else as well: her sins have been forgiven. It’s hard to know what motivated her to break all social conventions and “crash” this dinner with its VIP guests. Apparently, she has had some kind of encounter with the love of God that Jesus embodied and shared with those around him.[3] And so she comes, overwhelmed with gratitude to the point that she begins to weep. And her tears flow so hard that she’s able to wash Jesus’ feet with them! As if that weren’t surprising enough, she also dries them with her hair. These were things that a woman simply didn’t do to a man who was not her husband.[4]

Apparently, she had a “reputation” in Simon’s town. Simon recognized her and looked down on her as a “sinner.” And because Jesus allowed her to even touch him, he made an assumption--the rabbi from Nazareth must not be all that he heard he was.[5] But Jesus responded to the situation by offering Simon a riddle that is pretty obvious: if two people have their debts cancelled, the one who owes the most is going to be the most grateful.[6] Turns out Jesus did know who it was he had allowed to touch him--a person who has experienced the love of God as unconditional acceptance and forgiveness, and who was deeply grateful for that.[7]

On the other hand, it would seem that Simon’s true motivation for inviting Jesus to dinner was transparent enough. As Jesus pointed out, Simon denied Jesus all the customary courtesies a host would extend to a guest. So it would seem that the dinner was an elaborate scheme to demonstrate Simon’s superiority to Jesus, the friend of sinners. I think this gives us a clue as to why he practiced his religion--it was a way for him to feel superior over those he considered beneath his level of piety. He didn’t have any real interest in anything Jesus had to say or anything he might do. Simon simply wanted to humiliate this famous upstart, demonstrating who was really at the top of the religious ladder.

Two people encounter Jesus, with two very different motivations. The one comes to Jesus out of profound gratitude for the gift of acceptance. And she is so grateful for God’s loving acceptance and forgiveness that she cannot control her tears. It would seem clear that she’s practicing her faith because her heart has been radically changed. The other brings Jesus into his home simply to demonstrate his religious superiority to the man everyone is talking about. It would seem that he practices his faith simply to make himself look good in the eyes of his peers. He seems stuck in the mindset that his “righteousness” means that he deserves God’s favor. Unfortunately, we’ve read the stories about Pharisees and sinners in the Gospels so long that we make another assumption: the woman’s sins were forgiven, but the Pharisee’s were not. But that’s not what Jesus said. He said the one who was forgiven little loves little. Despite all that Simon has done to publicly humiliate Jesus, he offers forgiveness to him as well![8] Unfortunately, Simon will have to undergo a change of heart before he can even be aware of his sins, and that they are indeed great.[9]

I think this is important because we have to realize that we all practice our faith from a variety of mixed motives. While we tend to identify with the “sinners” in the Gospel stories, if we’re honest with ourselves we have to admit that we all have some of the “Pharisee” in us as well. We all have that part of us that practices our faith because it makes us feel good about ourselves. We all have that part of us that thinks we deserve a reward for doing the right thing. We all have that part that looks down on certain people as “inferior.” And Jesus offers us all forgiveness and acceptance--whether we’re more “sinners” or “Pharisees.” The path to the kind of heart-felt faith that the woman displayed by pushing past all the conventions and taboos of her world to express her gratitude is through a radical change of heart.[10] That kind of transformation, that kind of experience of God’s unconditional love for us, can only come when we recognize that we’re all both sinners and Pharisees.

[2] Cf. John J. Kilgallen, “Forgiveness of Sins (Luke 7:36-50),” Novum Testamentum 40 (April, 1998):106, where he comments, “By positioning the phrase "in the city" as he does, Luke means to say, not that the woman was a sinner, but that the woman was considered by the city to be a sinner.” Cf. also Michael Lindvall, “Scandalous Behavior,” The Christian Century (June 1,2004):119.

[3] Cf. Kilgallen, “Forgiveness of Sins,” 109-110.

[4] Cf. Francis Taylor Gench, “Luke 7:36-50: Making the Familiar Seem Strange,” Interpretation 46 (July 1992):287: “Not only are her actions out-of-the-ordinary, but they are also a violation of norms of decorum. By removing her headdress and unbinding her hair in public, she performs the ‘greatest disgrace for a woman’ (Jeremias).”

[5] Cf. Gench, “Lk. 7:36-50,” 287: she says that Simon’s response is “formulaic and logical according to his routine way of looking at things: An indecorous act means a sinner and an inappropriate association with a sinner means no prophet.”

[6] Cf. Kilgallen, “Forgiveness of Sins,” 107: Jesus’ parable “makes clear the immensity of Simon's error: all has been forgiven, while he can only think that nothing has been forgiven.”

[7] Cf. F. Bovon, Luke 1: A commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1–9:50, 297 , where he observes that “the removal of destructive prejudices in society (the cliques that exist in all classes, from drug addicts to bankers), and self-examination (where does my sin lie?) in the individual occur not in the legal investigation of inability and in the application of written rules, but in an encounter” (emphasis original). Cf. similarly, Gench, “Lk. 7:36-50,” 288-89.

[8] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ 114, where he says that Jesus’ offer of acceptance to “sinners and tax collectors,” in effect “is breaking through the vicious circle of their discrimination in the system of values set up by the righteous. In this way he is also potentially rescuing ‘the righteous’ from the compulsion of self-righteousness.”

[9] Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 4.2:797, where he says, “The question is left open whether the Pharisee Simon, who has not shown Him this love, is forgiven to this extent or can receive such absolution.”

[10] Cf. Peter S. Hawkins, “Mousetraps,” The Christian Century 118 (May 23, 2001):17, where he puts it this way: “Because the Pharisee believes that he has very little to ask from Jesus, he has little to give him in return: not a drop of water, a kiss or a drop of oil. The woman, on the other hand, knows the enormity of the debt that has been canceled. As a result, she crashes a party to make a fool of herself, skipping all appropriate expressions of thanks and soaring straight into the stratosphere of the outrageous. Forgiven much, she loves much more than good taste could ever allow.”

Tuesday, October 02, 2012

Millstones

Mk. 9:38-50[1]

One of my favorite Christmas stories is Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” In it, Dickens tells the story of how Ebenezer Scrooge is transformed from a selfish, tight-fisted miser who could care less about the welfare of anybody else into a big-hearted, generous, and kind man. Part of what effects this dramatic transformation is the fact that he’s visited by the ghost of Jacob Marley, his former partner who had been dead seven years. Interestingly, the ghost of Jacob wore a long and heavy chain that he literally had to drag along with him. When Scrooge asks Marley about it, he says that he wore the chain he forged in life—a chain forged by all the merciless, unjust, ruthless, and oppressive deeds he had done in life. And he warned Scrooge that his own chain was as long and as heavy as his, and it had grown even longer and heavier over the seven years since Marley’s death!

It’s an interesting concept, that in death we wear chains forged from what we have done in life. Though Marley claims that his chains were invisible until the day he died, I think it’s impossible for anyone to forge such a heavy chain of heartless unconcern for others without feeling something of its weight in this life. In our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus uses a different metaphor for the cost of a life lived at the expense of others—he says you might as well wear a millstone around your neck and throw yourself into the sea! In case you are unfamiliar with the way grain used to be processed, a mill would grind the grain between two stones, the top one of which was called the millstone. It was round and it was turned by livestock pulling in circles. A modern day equivalent might be one of those cast-off tires full of cement that we use to hold up a volleyball net.

Why would Jesus speak so harshly about “causing one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble”? I think it was because he was serious about injustice.[2] While the religious people of every day have identified sexual outcasts as the chief of sinners, Jesus pointed instead to the people used their power to diminish the lives of the least and the lowest in society, instead of helping them to thrive.[3] In the eyes of the biblical prophets, this was the true sin that plagued Gods’ people, and I think it still plagues many who claim to follow Christ today.

I think there are a lot of people in our world who are walking around with virtual millstones. They get rich because they are beautiful or talented or powerful or shrewd, and they help create a culture in which people think that the only way to have a decent life in this world is to be beautiful or talented or powerful or shrewd. And if you can’t get rich that way, then you have to get rich any way you can—“get rich or die tryin’” as the rapster “50 cent” puts it.

And in the wake of this outlook on life is an unbelievable trail of the wreckage of human lives. We have all kinds of monuments today that are named for the “robber barons” of the past. People who enriched themselves literally on the backs of thousands who labored in poverty. People whose hands are stained with the blood of those who died in substandard housing, with indecent living conditions, and barely enough food for their families. And today, their names are proudly displayed on our monuments—hospitals, universities, concert halls. But if anybody is walking this world as a ghost dragging long and heavy chains, it is those who profit from the labor and the misfortune of the masses.

It’s easy to look back and identify the “robber barons” of the past. But I wonder who they are in our day and time. I think of the entertainment moguls and the sports moguls and the financial moguls as likely candidates. They continue to keep people enthralled in the illusion of a “good life” for those who are beautiful or talented or shrewd enough. But in our Gospel lesson, Jesus confronted the “moguls” of his day head on. He told them it was better for them to cut off their own hands and gouge out their own eyes than to keep oppressing people the way they were doing. Now, Jesus knew that “sin” isn’t located in any particular body part; he was exaggerating to make a point.[4] But I’m afraid his warning fell on deaf ears, just as it does in large part today.

So what can we as average, everyday people do about the injustice and the inequality that pervades our world? Well, I really do believe in a version of “think globally, and act locally.” I really do believe that we are making a difference in this world just by keeping on with the life of “doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with God.” As we do so we can help dispel the illusion that you have to be beautiful or powerful to have the “good life.” And Just as Jesus did, I think we too can confront those who demean and diminish others to enrich themselves—whether they’re in Hollywood or on Wall Street or in Washington.

But I think we also have to remember that we all have diminished another at some time in our lives.[5] We all have our own millstones around our necks. Fortunately, the same Christ who confronts all who enhance their own welfare at the expense of another also offers to set us free from our millstones.[6] All of us who carry millstones, whether we’re “average” or a “mover and shaker,” suffer from what we do when we diminish others. It’s no fun walking around with a millstone around your neck! And just as Jesus offers freedom to the oppressed, he offers us all the chance to be set free from our oppressive deeds. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, all we have to do is change our hearts and change our ways, and our millstones come falling off.

[2] Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 4.2:158. He says, “It is because of His own clear-cut decision [to be about God’s business] that in the encounter with Him others must choose between Himself and all the things that perhaps seem necessary and important to them, e.g., wealth or satisfaction or pleasure or reputation.” It seems to me that justice is the heart of the “business” that Jesus said he must be engaged in.

[3] Cf. Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27-16:20, 74: “Arrogance, self-absorption, insensitivity, and tyranny are all negative attitudes that frequently lie behind the desire to be first and to be the greatest (9:34). Just as frequently these attitudes cause people to stumble, especially the younger, weaker, and less influential. Far from seeking positions of power, Jesus’ disciples should seek opportunities for service. Rather than causing the little ones to stumble, the disciples must help them stand and grow in faith. The matter is so important to Jesus that he describes the dire consquences in shocking hyperbole: better to drown oneself in the sea than to offend a little one.”

[4] Cf. Ronald Goetz, “The Costliness of Grace,” The Christian Century (Feb 6, 1986):111: “To be sure, the hand-chopping, eye-plucking remedy for sin could never work, if for no other reason than the fact that we have more sins than we have bodily parts.” Cf. also A. Y. Collins and H. W. Attridge, Mark, 452; Pheme Perkins, “The Gospel of Mark,” New Interpreters Bible VIII:641.

[5] Cf. Joel C. Marcus, “The Millstone,” The Christian Century (Sept 13, 2000):902.

[6] Cf. Marcus, “Millstone,” 902: “The calculus of revenge seems too complicated! There must be some other equation, or no hope will remain for any of us. And, indeed, the New Testament seems to hint at another equation when Paul says that God has imprisoned all human beings in disobedience in order that he might have mercy upon all (Rom. 11:32).”

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Forgiving as We Have Been Forgiven

Mt 18:21-35[1]

Every Sunday, millions of Christians in this country pray for God to forgive us as we forgive others. I wonder to what extent we really take that seriously. Let’s face it, there’s something very difficult about really forgiving those who have wronged us. On this day, it’s especially difficult for us to forgive those who attacked this country and caused the deaths of thousands of our fellow Americans. And on this day, of all days, the good news of our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ tells us that we are to forgive those who sin against us not just seven times but seventy-seven times![2] When I was planning my sermons a couple of months ago and I saw that what the gospel reading was for this Sunday, I knew it was going to be challenging for us.

The last ten years have consumed us with a “war on terror.” Apparently, in some measures we have been relatively successful at thwarting Al Qaeda.[3] And yet, at what cost? Besides the many thousands who have died, there is also the cost in what are essentially intangible measures. We’ve had to learn to adjust to a whole different way of life that is marked by greater hostility toward those who are different from us, greater anxiety about our safety, and greater fear about our future. But perhaps the most pervasive cost to us is that in our effort to make ourselves feel safe we have sold our souls to the gods of war and violence. In the process, we have essentially imprisoned ourselves in a house whose boundaries are inscribed by our fear and anger and unwillingness to forgive.

There’s a story in the 2005 Sydney Pollack film, The Interpreter that I think illustrates our predicament: do we go on avenging ourselves on our enemies, or do we find a way to practice the forgiveness we say we believe in, and in so doing set ourselves free from that awful day? The film is about an interpreter at the United Nations named Sylvia. She tells the story of a ritual of forgiveness in Africa that’s based on the principle that “the only way to end grief is to save a life.” The ritual takes place when someone is murdered. After a year of mourning, the family of the victim undergoes the “Drowning Man Trial,” where the killer is tied up and thrown into a river to drown. The family have to choose—if they let the killer drown, they will have justice, but they will spend the rest of their lives in mourning. If they save the killer from drowning, if they accept that they share a common humanity and that life isn’t always just, then their act of saving a life can heal their grief. Whether there is or ever was such a thing as a “drowning man trial,” I think it serves at least like a parable for us: do we forgive as we have been forgiven, and in so doing find healing for ourselves, or do we seek vengeance and punishment, and so find ourselves trapped in grief and bitterness?

There is a real-life story of forgiveness that comes out of South Africa and the injustice of Apartheid. One person who embodies this story is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. He was raised in one of the townships—or better shanty towns—where black South Africans were kept. He lived Apartheid—he and his family experienced it firsthand. Several of his friends were imprisoned and even killed in the violence that defined South Africa under Apartheid. When that whole system of oppression ended, the South African people faced a crossroads: would they simply live out the script of every oppressed people throughout history, whereby the oppressed become the oppressors, or could they find a different path that would lead to healing for both oppressed and oppressors alike?[4]

The leaders of the new South Africa formed a “Truth and Reconciliation Commission” to try to seek that different path. Instead of handing out punishment, the whole purpose of the commission was to give victims the chance to tell their stories, to have their suffering acknowledged, and to confront their oppressors in person. And to give the oppressors a change to tell the truth about their crimes and seek forgiveness and clemency. They had no idea what would happen from this, but as it turns out, time after time, oppressed and oppressor came together and experienced genuine reconciliation based on the experience of crimes acknowledged and forgiven.

One of the foundational principles of this experience is what Tutu calls “Ubuntu.”[5] It is a Xhosa word that stands for the idea that we all share a common humanity. It says that the only way the human family can thrive is together. That means that when we look at another human being, even someone who has wounded us deeply, we cannot see an enemy, but rather a fellow human being, a brother or a sister. It seems to me that, in order to prayer the prayer, “forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us” and mean it, we have to practice “Ubuntu”—we have to acknowledge that we share a common humanity even with those who wrong us. When we can look at those who inflict pain on us and see brothers and sisters, then we can begin to forgive as we have been forgiven. Then we can begin to set them and ourselves free from the vicious circle of bitterness, hatred, and violence, and move into the freedom of forgiving as we have been forgiven.[6]

[2] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible 8: 380, where he observes, “Whoever counts has not forgiven at all, but is only biding his or her time (1 Cor 13:5). The kind of forgiveness called for is beyond all calculation.” Cf. also D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14-28, 537. Cf. also Ulrich Luz, Matthew, 465, where he points out that Peter was asking not about limited forgiveness but whether he was expected to practice perfect forgiveness. Jesus responds by calling for “The most perfect, boundlessly infinite, countlessly repeated forgiveness.”

[3] “Ten Years On,” The Economist 3 Sept 2011, 11-12.

[4] Cf. Desmond Tutu, God has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for our Time, 52-58.

[5] Cf. Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 47; cf. also Tutu, God Has a Dream, 25-28.

[6] Tutu & Tutu, Made for Goodness, 150-51.

The Waking Dreamer