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Rev. Dr. Jan Gregory-Charpentier
United Parish of Upton
Upton, MA
Matthew 18:21-35
Stop Counting, or, It’s Not the Economy, Stupid!
Our calendar of readings, the lectionary, has us hanging with Jesus and his
disciples these next few weeks in the latter half of Matthew’s gospel. You might call this
the “thick” part of the book, chock full of parables, the little story lessons Jesus is famous
for, but unlike earlier chapters, these are parables with an edge on them. Parables
meant to make us think, make us wrestle, maybe make us just little uncomfortable. The
parable for this week, of the unforgiving servant, does all that and more. The theme is again - forgiveness. If you were here last week you might remember that the verses right
before these had Jesus teaching about how to handle bad behavior between
disciples, fallings out between brothers and sisters in the faith. Peter follows up that little
lesson with question. “So, I get it Jesus that we’re supposed to forgive each other, but
I’m just wondering, what’s a good cap on forgiveness? Three strikes and you’re out?
Four, five? I know, seven, how about seven?” It’s really a good stab at an answer.
Seven is a generous number. Peter had been hanging around with Jesus long enough
to know Jesus tends to go above and beyond the expected norms. Seven was an
aggressive bid. Worthy of Jesus’ prodigal kind of love. His over-the-top grace.
I mean, how many chances do we offer people? You’ve probably heard the
phrase, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” We might not
get beyond the number two. If we’re talking about loved ones, especially children,
we’re apt to be more generous. But Peter and Jesus are talking about “brothers and
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sisters,” specifically brothers and sisters in the faith. I have to admit I’m hard pressed to
get to three sometimes. And even when I have forgiven, ostensibly moved beyond it –
whatever the “it” was – “it” is never far from my mind. Yeah, I’d have to say, seven was
a generous number. I’d be out of there before we got to five.
So when Jesus replies to Peter with, “No, not seven. Try seventy-seven,” I think
he’s saying something more than “wrong number.” His message is more like, “Stop
counting.” And then he goes on to tell this prickly parable to back up his point.
Servant A has somehow racked up an outrageous amount of debt to his master,
ten thousand talents. One talent was by itself a very large amount, equal to the pay of
about 20 years’ wages for a common laborer. Ten thousand talents, then, was equal to
200,000 years of wages. In other words, beyond any imaginable possibility of
repayment, more than one person could ever work off in their lifetime. Servant B owed
Servant A, a hundred denarii, not a pittance, a significant debt, equal to about 3
months’ wages, but within reason, within the scope of a payment plan. The King
forgives Servant A his outrageous shortfall. Servant A then turns around and has Servant
B thrown into prison for his real but manageable debt. The King, upon hearing from
others how Servant A handled himself, reneges on his leniency big time, skipping
debtors’ prison altogether and moving straight to the torture chamber. The King didn’t
even make it to seven. Let alone seventy-seven. Which is just one of the clues among
several that we best not take this parable literally. Or even allegorically, if allegories
mean assigning definitive, one-to-one interpretations to each element of the story.
We’re tempted to want to cast the characters in this story simplistically, saying, “The
King is God and we’re the servants, and – woah! – we better start forgiving each other
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because otherwise we’re going to hell.” But Jesus’ parables are rarely that simplistic.
Not easily reduced to a formula.
And that, to me, seems to be the main point. If we’re looking at forgiveness like
an equation, like a balance sheet, like a scorecard, then we’ve missed the point
altogether. No, not seven. Try seventy-seven. Or, better yet, just stop counting.” Could it
be Jesus is inviting us to move from quantitative living into qualitative loving? A life less
measured by numbers and more influenced by immeasurable things like love,
compassion, mercy, generosity, and forgiveness, for which there are no simple
formulas? It’s a whole other way to be in the world. Really, it’s a whole other world in
which to live. Jesus calls it the Kingdom of God, or in Matthew’s preferred wording, the
Kingdom of Heaven.
Over twenty years ago when Bill Clinton was first running for president his
campaign manager, James Carville, famously posted a sign on the campaign office
wall, meant to focus the candidate’s and his staff’s attention on one message and one
message only: “It’s the economy, stupid.” I hear the opposite message in this parable of
Jesus. It’s a little confusing because Jesus keeps using economic metaphors and
images to talk about unquantifiable things. But maybe that’s exactly the point: it’s not
the economy, stupid. It’s not a numbers game. It’s not about scorecards or tally sheets.
Rather, it’s about the condition of your heart, it’s about the quality of your relationships,
it’s about which reality you’re going to choose to live in. Jesus invites us to live with him
in the Kingdom of God, a place where impossible debts are forgiven and outrageous
shortfalls are redeemed.
I don’t know about you but I have a few outrageous shortfalls myself. Things it
would take more than just one lifetime to undo, relationships I’ve injured, trust I
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betrayed, words I’ve spoken that will never stop hurting. And I’ve been on the receiving
end of those injuries, betrayals and hurtful words, too. And it’s tempting to want to
come up with formulas or simple explanations for why forgiving isn’t reasonable. It was
too much, it was too long ago, they never said sorry, they don’t deserve it. We’ve
derived the simple answer to our equation. But love – real love – love of neighbor,
stranger and even enemies – is so much more complicated than that. Or maybe so
much less complicated. It’s not the economy, stupid. It’s not about keeping score or
measuring worthiness. It’s about how you live and love, which kingdom you want
belong to, and whether you want follow to Jesus, who refused to play the blame game.
As another preacher points out, even from the cross when he could rightly have
condemned, blamed and held his false accusers to account, he instead said, “Father,
forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.”
Mind you, this is not easy advice. If you want easy advice, go read one of those
books with numbers in their titles, “Seven Steps…” or “Five Rules…” or “Six Principles…” If
you want truth – good but not easy news – listen to Jesus. It’s not the economy, stupid.
It’s the kingdom. It’s love, and compassion, and mercy, and generosity and, yes, again
and again and again, forgiveness.
I wonder if we shouldn’t hear Jesus’ “seventy-seven times” like this: How many
times should you forgive? Forgive until it works. Forgive until your heart is finally free.
Forgive until you can say your forgiveness has taken hold. Does that mean there’s no
redress of harm, no justice, no accountability? If you hear that in Jesus’ words, you’re
not reading very far. Just last week he gave pretty detailed instructions on how to
lovingly hold your brother or sister “who has sinned against” you to account. Jesus isn’t
saying, “Close your eyes and imagine it never happened.” But he is saying, here’s the
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bottom line: it is not a numbers game. You want to talk economics, but I’m talking
empathy. You’re handing me a scorecard, I’m handing you a love letter. You’re
pointing to a tally sheet, I’m pointing to the cross. With holy math, one plus one equals
Jesus.
So, what then do we do with these unsettled accounts, these lingering injuries,
these ragged edges? All I can say is I find prayer helps. It isn’t an easy or a quick fix, but
it works its way into your heart slowly but surely. You might want to try Desmond Tutu
and his daughter, Mpho’s, prayer titled “A Call to Forgiveness.”
I want to be willing to forgive
But I dare not ask for the will to forgive
In case you give it to me
And I am not yet ready
I am not yet ready for my heart to soften
I am not yet ready to be vulnerable again
Not yet ready to see that there is humanity in my tormentor’s eyes
Or that the one who hurt me may also have cried
I am at the prayer before the prayer of forgiveness
I am not yet ready for the journey
I am not yet interested in the path
Grant me the will to want to forgive
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Grant it to me not yet but soon
Can I even form the words
Forgive me?
Dare I even look?
Do I dare to see the hurt I have caused?
I can glimpse all the shattered pieces of that fragile thing
That soul trying to rise on the broken wings of hope
But only out of the corner of my eye
I am afraid of it
And if I am afraid to see
How can I not be afraid to say
Forgive me?
Is there a place where we can meet?
You and me
The place in the middle
The no man’s land
Where we straddle the lines
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Where you are right
And I am right too
Can we meet there?
And both of us are wrong and wronged
And look for the place where the path begins
The path that ends when we forgive.
Amen.