“Kingdom Math”

Midweek Lent, 5

March 20, 2024

Matthew 18:15-22

I grew up learning how to hold a grudge. You might call it a family inheritance. Forgiveness may be a spiritual strength, but in the real world—according to some—it’s a weakness. It just sets you up for more hurt. It makes you a patsy. A dupe. A fool. How does the saying go: “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”

Even the Bible sets up rules for forgiveness. Amos identifies a ‘three-strikes-you’re-out’ rule. In the first two chapters, he begins an accounting of the various cities’ sins, saying: “For three transgressions, and for four I will not revoke the punishment,” meaning (as I understand it) that forgiveness is available, but only three times. After that, no more.

It’s a reasonable approach, really. I mean, how many times can one forgive someone who insists on hurting someone over and over again? How many times can one release from debt the one who continues to dig themselves into a pit? How many times? Up to seven? Peter is being generous with his estimate. I mean, Amos said no more than three. Peter bumps it all the way up to seven! A number of completeness.

But Jesus says no. Seventy-seven times. Or Seventy times seven. The actual number doesn’t matter. Jesus is pointing out something we tend to forget when it comes to forgiveness. Forgiveness means starting back at ‘one’—every time. If we’re busy counting how many times we forgive, then we’ve not forgiven.

It doesn’t mean we forget—no matter what the adage says (or our sign out front). We don’t forget. But we release ourselves from the anger tied to it. To withhold forgiveness is to drink poison and expect the other person to die. Forgiveness is, first and foremost, for our own well-being. Being bound to the anger tied to another person’s action only weighs us down. And it is unnecessary. Anger is important and healthy, but not as a weight.

Forgiveness also doesn’t mean that we automatically trust the person again. It doesn’t mean we return to the previous relationship. This is why it doesn’t mean to forget. Often, safety is in remembering and taking precautions. Remembering and establishing healthy boundaries. Remembering and releasing that person from our lives. Reconciliation comes after a lot of work—long after forgiveness has taken place. And sometimes, never.

Forgiveness also doesn’t necessarily mean pardon. It’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card. Not for us, not for God. We still expect consequences for our actions. When we’ve hurt another, we have a lot of work to do, reparations to make, and trust to foster if we are ever to establish a healthy relationship again. But forgiveness breaks the bond that rips our wound open over and over again.

Forgiveness doesn’t require repentance. It makes it easier, but it’s not required. In fact, sometimes repentance is impossible. The person who hurt you may never admit or understand what they did; or it’s too dangerous to engage with them; or perhaps they are dead. If we withhold forgiveness until we receive an apology, we only continue to hurt ourselves.

Finally, forgiveness is incredibly uncomfortable. Because it means refusing to eliminate the wound but, instead, drawing closer to it. Opening it up. Exposing it to air and light. It means feeling all the feelings that come with it—the hurt, the betrayal, the fear. It means getting comfortable with the discomfort. And just as a wound takes time to heal, forgiveness takes time. It’s a process. You may feel like you have forgiven someone, only to be triggered by an event that brings up the hurt and exposes the wound anew. And so you begin again.

As I said, I have learned well the practice of holding grudges. I know how to ignore a problem. I know how to pretend that nothing has happened. I know how to just walk away and never address the elephant in the room. What I don’t know how to do—though I can tell you all about based on what I have read and what I understand but have rarely practiced—is the gift of forgiveness. And yet, I trust in the promise that God has forgiven me far more than seventy-seven times; far more than 490 times; far more times than I can count. Because God refuses to keep count. God refuses to tally up our sins. It’s inconsequential in kingdom math. And so we pray, as in heaven, so on earth.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE