Don't do the math!
Commentary
Two of the top women's tennis players in the world are the sisters Venus and Serena Williams. In the span of less than a year, they have faced each other in the finals of two of the four major professional tournaments, the 2001 U.S. Open and the 2002 French Open. These two African-American women were born to play tennis -- literally.
Back in 1979, their father, who already had three daughters, told his wife they had to have two more daughters and had to teach them to play tennis. Why? Because that year he saw that the winner of the Women's U.S. Open claimed a prize of $48,000, compared to the $52,000 he was earning each year. As one sportswriter once put it in writing about the Williams family, "He did the math."
"Doing the math" -- it is a catch phrase in our culture that expresses the idea of taking careful stock of the situation and determining just exactly what one should do. "Doing the math" means getting just what is coming to you, giving up no more than you have to, and "balancing the books" as it were to the last decimal place.
I don't believe that the figure of speech was around in the first century, but Peter's question to Jesus in this Sunday's Gospel Lesson makes it clear that at least the mindset was already well established. "Lord, if another sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Let's "do the math" on this one Jesus. I mean, after all, if someone keeps doing the same thing over and over to harm me, and keeps immediately asking for forgiveness, then at some point I've got to assume that they are not really sorry, right? I do want to be fair, and to give them the benefit of the doubt -- so how about I forgive them seven times? That should make the math come out about right, shouldn't it?
Exodus 14:19-31
The "war texts" of the scriptures can always be difficult because of the range of responses they evoke among modern readers and hearers. For some people war is so objectionable that they reject any moral or ethical system that would condone it or even countenance its imagery. For others not only is war between nations justifiable, but the struggles of the religious life are best conceived as a "battle between good and evil." On this Sunday so close to the first anniversary of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on the United States, a story that describes God setting a trap for a nation's destruction is especially difficult.
The Old Testament Lesson is just such a text. The lectionary committee has recast the story somewhat as a story of divine deliverance by beginning at Exodus 14:19, omitting the references to God's again "harden[ing] Pharaoh's heart" so that he will take actions that ultimately will lead to the deaths of his own people (14:4). Yet the descriptions of the entire Egyptian army drowning in the sea (14:26-28) and of Israel looking back on "the Egyptians dead on the seashore" (14:30b) are horrific enough.
When we encounter such texts in our preaching, we should be careful not to sugarcoat them. That doesn't mean, however, that we should assume a stance of moral superiority toward them either. What is required is a judicious balance. One's perspective for viewing this story makes all the difference, and it is by shifting perspective that we can find that point of balance.
Notice that God's actions against the Egyptians are clearly cast in the scriptural tradition as a form of divine judgment. It is because of their actions in oppressing and enslaving the Israelites that God draws them out to defeat in the wilderness. And the same wilderness that is death to the Egyptians is simultaneously life to the Israelites. They are given new birth as they pass through the waters of the sea (a point I will return to in a moment).
Naturally enough, our inclination is to assume the perspective of the Israelites. We believe that a just God will judge evil and will act on behalf of those who have been its victims. We see ourselves as God's people, and so we take a vested interest in God's judgment of those who have oppressed us. It is both natural and appropriate that we should celebrate God's ability to deliver us and to judge evil.
What we must be careful to avoid is the self-righteousness that not uncommonly attaches to those who see themselves as the beneficiaries of God's deliverance. As is reinforced by the parable in today's Gospel Lesson, simply having received grace does not assure that one will act with similar grace towards others. Before we celebrate too jubilantly our victory over those who have oppressed us we need to ask ourselves whether there are others who would celebrate judgment brought against us for our oppression of them. In the broad scheme of the world, those of us in the American church are at least as likely to fulfill the roles of the Egyptians in this story as we are to fulfill the role of those being delivered from official state oppression.
Returning to the passing through the waters as a type of new birth, one need not (but certainly may) import the Christian doctrine of baptism to find this imagery in the Exodus passage. There are clear echoes in this passage of the Priestly creation account from Genesis 1. Note how that God "drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land" because "the waters were divided" (cf. Genesis 1:2, 9-10). Just as God created the world through the division of the waters, so God here creates a new nation through divided waters.
These echoes of creation also reverberate through the "Song of the Sea" in Exodus 15 (the alternate psalm for this Sunday). The traditional rendering of the identification of the sea (going back to the Septuagint) is the "Red Sea." Most modern translations include a footnote indicating the alternate translation of Hebrew yam suph (pronounced "yom-soof") as "Reed Sea" (see NRSV at Exodus 15:4). But yet another translation is linguistically possible: "Sea of the End" (i.e., the sea at the end of the world). In this rendering the reference would be less geographical and more mythological. God has once again defeated the evil power of chaos and brought into being a world in accord with divine justice.
Romans 14:1-12
There may be several reasons why Jesus makes his injunction in this day's Gospel Lesson about the limitlessness that should characterize our forgiveness of others. Paul offers his own reasons in this reading from the letter to the Romans.
First off, many of the things that we carefully keep score of don't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Paul's two specific examples may take a little clearing up after 2,000 years of dust have accumulated on them; even things we think we understand we may not have quite right.
For instance, Paul observes that "some believe in eating anything, while [others] eat only vegetables." Sounds like arguments over what constitutes a healthy diet, doesn't it? -- or maybe even a conflict between those who eat meat and animal products and those who are vegetarians or vegans. But for Paul, such eating was a religious issue. Since all readily available meat in a city like ancient Rome or Athens had been slaughtered before one idol or another as something of a sacrifice, the disagreement in Paul's churches was over whether eating meat was thus an act of worship to false gods.
Likewise, "judg[ing] one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike" was a reflection of disagreements regarding observing Jewish or Roman holy days. Yet even though these issues had religious implications, Paul says in effect, "It's all small stuff, and don't sweat the small stuff!"
And why is it all small stuff? Because ultimately none of us answers either to only ourselves or to any other person for that matter. Ultimately we answer to God, and in that calculus the only analysis that really matters is God's. And so Paul asks rhetorically, "Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? ... For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God ... So then, each of us will be accountable to God." If God may in the final analysis offer forgiveness for someone's actions, who am I to withhold my forgiveness from them?
The second reason Paul offers here for a predisposition to forgiveness likewise arises from our place as humans before God. In verses 5-6, Paul rejects both a wishy-washy subjectivism that says anything goes and an arrogance that insists that one's own positions must be objectively and universally correct. Against the view that "everything is relative," Paul insists, "Let all be fully convinced in their own minds." Against the view that we possess absolute, universal truth, he likewise insists that both those who eat and those who abstain, those who keep the days and those who do not, follow their respective practices "in honor of the Lord."
Now logically those who are engaged in opposite behaviors cannot both be correct that their firmly held convictions are universal norms. Thus, Paul must be calling for a humility regarding the correctness of others' ethical convictions while admonishing a consistent commitment to fulfilling one's own ethical convictions. This stance is required even regarding standards of conduct (dietary standards, observance of religious festivals) that are explicitly treated in the scriptures. We may have no place on which to stand to make universal pronouncements with regard to others, but that does not give us license to be lax with regard to living out the requirements of our understanding of what God desires of us to bring honor to the Lord. Such humility will also result in the forgiveness, or better the acceptance, of those whose conduct is different than our own.
We who are utterly and completely dependent upon God's grace for what we know of the divine will, for our ability to live in accord with that (limited) understanding, and for forgiveness when we nevertheless fail because of our sinfulness have no ground on which to stand to withhold forgiveness from others.
Matthew 18:21-35
Jesus responds to Peter's mental calculus by answering with a math problem of his own, although to be perfectly candid, we need to acknowledge that the Greek of Matthew's Gospel is a bit ambiguous at this point. Literally, the Greek text reads, "seventy times seven." The phrase may either mean, "forgive seventy times seven times" (i.e., seventy multiplied by seven, as in older translations), or more likely "seventy times [and] seven" (i.e., seventy times plus Peter's original seven).
But however you understand the Greek, Jesus is not saying that you should carefully keep track up to either 490 or 77, and then withhold forgiveness the 491st or 78th time. No, his point in introducing the math problem is to say don't do the math! Stop counting! Stop keeping track of offenses and simply forgive.
To underscore his injunction to Peter, Jesus relates the parable of the unforgiving servant. There is a king who is attempting to settle accounts with his stewards. In the process, he comes across one whose account is short by "ten thousand talents." Now, that is simply an unimaginable sum of money in terms of our normal experience. To appreciate fully Jesus' story, we are going to have to do the math.
A talent was roughly equal to 15 years' wages of a common laborer. Assuming just our minimum wage of $5.15 per hour, ten thousand talents would be roughly equal to two billion dollars. Amazingly, the steward promised he could make good on the debt if just given some time. Yet the king took pity on him and forgave the whole two billion dollar debt.
And what did the steward do immediately afterward? He went and located someone who owed him one hundred denarii. Using the same relative exchange rates as before, this sum would be approximately $4,120 -- not exactly "chicken feed," unless of course you are comparing it to two billion dollars as Jesus is here. This person likewise promised to make good on the debt if only given some time, but the steward refused and had him thrown into debtors' prison until the total amount was worked off.
When word of this got back to the king, he summoned the steward and castigated him for failing to show the same mercy to another that had been bestowed upon him. And beyond the tongue-lashing, the king withdrew his earlier debt-relief and ordered that the steward "be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So [the] heavenly Father will also do to every one of you," Jesus concluded, "if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart."
Now if Jesus had meant that God acts just like the king in this parable in every detail, then we would have a very unflattering picture of God presented here. But fortunately the story is a parable and not an allegory, and so we are not meant to press the details into a one-to-one correspondence. Jesus' point is that our personal experience of God's forgiveness should shape our attitude of forgiveness toward others. Do we really want God "doing the math" on our offenses? So why are we so quick to "do the math" with regard to others? If God has forgiven the tremendous debt we owe to the Divine, how can we continue to be so stingy in meting out forgiveness to others -- especially if the offenses are nit-picky by comparison?
Application
Part of the problem we have, of course, is that the offenses committed by others are not always nit-picky by any measure. There are of course the grand, almost impossible to conceive, evils that we have inflicted on one another. There was the Nazi Holocaust against the Jews, and the "ethnic cleansing" not only in the Balkans but far more disastrously in Rwanda. Nor do we have to look to atrocities against millions to find such offenses. There have been untold individuals who have been abused physically, emotionally, and sexually by trusted friends and family members, and even by priests and ministers who have taken advantage of the trust placed in them. There are demands of justice upon those who commit such grievous offenses, but there is also a demand of forgiveness upon those who have suffered the offense.
Forgiveness isn't easy. But it is the only way to move beyond the past, through the present, and into the future. Forgiveness is not saying, "Aw shucks, think nothing of it." Genuine forgiveness is not denying or glossing over the offense; it is refusing to allow the past offense to determine and control the future. And there are all kinds of ways that we can be trapped in the past if we do not open ourselves to begin anew through repentance.
Certainly the problems in the Middle East are multi-faceted and complex, but it also cannot be denied that a lack of forgiveness for recent and ancient offenses is a contributing factor. The Jews of Europe suffered a horrible injustice in the Holocaust, and no one should fault them for seeing the deliverance of a remnant and the founding of a Jewish state as an act of divine deliverance for them on a par with the Exodus itself. But failing to forgive, living lives defined by the injustice that they suffered, may blind them to the injustices that Israeli occupation is inflicting on the Palestinians. By the same token, Palestinians cannot build a future on the illusion that "the Catastrophe" will be reversed. Both Israelis and Palestinians must learn to forgive the ancient and modern wrongs they have suffered if they are to build a future not held hostage to cycles of violence and revenge rooted in the past.
Yet even that is probably not the most important reason we must learn to forgive. Jesus links our forgiveness from God to our ability to forgive others -- not only in this parable, but in the Lord's Prayer itself: "Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us." It is not that we earn God's forgiveness by forgiving others. The linkage is much more intimate and personal than that. If we cannot bring ourselves to forgive others, and perhaps even ourselves, how are we ever going to genuinely believe that we have been forgiven by God? So -- for the sake of the future, for the sake of breaking the cycles of recrimination and revenge, for the sake of your own assurance of God's pardon -- don't do the math!
An Alternate Application
Most mainline denominations in the United States have been embroiled in controversies over cultural issues for the past several decades. These intra-denominational battles have been waged over such issues as women's ordination, abortion, and most notably sexuality. Both liberals and conservatives have been absolutely convinced that only their ethical responses to these issues can possibly bring "honor to the Lord."
Perhaps it is time for more humility and less universal certainty on both sides of these debates. As Paul makes clear in Romans, such a stance does not require that either side sacrifice its convictions. On the contrary, a genuine acceptance of one another as servants of God in the humility of the knowledge that we are all servants rather than masters requires that both sides hold fast to the strength of their convictions. God will ultimately judge who has more closely heard the leading of the Spirit on these issues. And no doubt we will all find that in some ways we have failed to live according to the fullness of divine wisdom and so finally be reliant upon the fullness of divine grace.
First Lesson Focus
Exodus 14:19-31
We come now to God's central redemptive act on behalf of Israel, according to the Old Testament, paralleling the act of God on the cross of Jesus Christ. Indeed, when Jesus talks of his crucifixion in terms of his "departure" in Luke 9:31, the Greek word he uses is "exodus." In both cases, God is redeeming his people from slavery -- the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, you and I and all people from slavery to sin and death.
After the Lord caused Pharaoh Ramesses II to let Israel go, the Pharaoh's heart was hardened and he ordered his troops to pursue the fleeing Israelites to the edge of the Reed Sea, thus trapping the Hebrews between the sea and the pursuing warriors. The Hebrews were sure that they were lost, and they cried out against Moses. But Moses replied to them, "Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today; for the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be still" (14:13). In other words, the exodus was the merciful redemptive act of God alone, and Israel was but the passive recipient of it. She had done nothing to deserve her redemption, any more than we have done anything to deserve Christ's redemption of us by his cross. Exodus and cross are both unmerited gifts of God's overwhelming grace and love.
There is no doubt that the exodus happened. It is recalled in almost all of the books of the Old Testament, and it is celebrated yearly at the Passover. But we have to say that we do not know historically exactly what happened. Our text is made up of the interweaving of four different accounts, and some contradictions are to be found within it. For example, verse 21 says that the Lord drove back the sea by a strong east wind, while verses 22 and 29 depict walls of water piled up on each side. In verse 27, the terrified Egyptians rush into the sea and drown, but in verse 28, the Egyptians are in the midst of the sea when the waters return to engulf them. As in all multiple accounts of an historical event, some of the details differ. But what we should not doubt is that the Lord delivered his people from slavery, and from the time of the exodus on, which took place about 1280 B.C., the Lord God of Israel was identified by this mighty act. "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage" (Exodus 20:1; Deuteronomy 8:14, many references). That was God's identifying act, and only the God who did that act could be true God, just as in the New Testament only the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ is identified as true God.
To understand the exodus event as fully as possible, we need to note how the Old Testament itself interprets it, and we can say that its exegesis of the event is threefold. First, the exodus is understood as an act of God's love. God sees the Hebrews' afflictions and sufferings, and he comes down to deliver them in their need. Thus, Deuteronomy 7:7-8 can say that God delivered Israel, not because they were a great people, but because he loved them. But second, God also delivered them because he wanted to lead them toward the land that he had promised them (Deuteronomy 7:8; Exodus 2:24).
Further, the Old Testament understands that God's redemption of his people gave them a new status. The prophets of the Old Testament consider that in the exodus, God adopted Israel as his son (Hosea 11:1). Just as our redemption by Jesus gives us the totally new status of children of God and heirs of all his promises (Galatians 4:1-7), so the Hebrews' redemption made them members of God's family and his adopted children, and from the time of the exodus on, Israel's love for God was to be like that of a faithful son for his father (Jeremiah 3:19).
Finally, it was the exodus event that first made Israel a people. They had no communal structure when they were enslaved in Egypt. They were a mixed multitude (cf. Exodus 12:38) of Semites and foreigners, from varying backgrounds and clans and regions. And what finally bound them all together was the fact that they had all been redeemed together. The event of their deliverance became their binding tie (cf. Deuteronomy 26:5-9), and as long as they remembered that act of God, they could be a united people. But if they forgot what God had done for them, they became "no people" (cf. Hosea 1:9), without a common foundation, just as we in the Christian church become "no people," and "no church" if we forget that it was God's redemption of us all in Jesus Christ that made us one community (cf. Ephesians 2:14-22).
Lutheran Option -- Genesis 50:15-21
The stated Lutheran texts have a way of jumping about in the Old Testament, without any sense of tracing God's work of salvation through Israel's beginnings and subsequent history. As a result, this particular passage sets the congregation down at the end of the Joseph stories. To make the text understandable, the preacher will probably briefly have to tell the story of Joseph up to this point.
Obviously, Joseph's brothers, who sold him to Midianite traders, who in turn sold him to Potiphar, the captain of Pharaoh's guard in Egypt, still suffer under the burden of their guilt. Joseph, risen to prominence in Egypt as vizier of the Pharaoh, has saved the brothers' lives and those of his father and relatives during the time of the seven-year famine. But when the father, Jacob, dies, the brothers are sure that Joseph will take delayed vengeance upon them. They therefore make up the story that Jacob wished for Joseph to forgive his siblings. And in the final touch of irony, the brothers bow down before Joseph, in fulfillment of the dream that he had as a youth (37:7).
Joseph, however, will not play the role of God. Rather, he knows that behind and through the brothers' hatred and attempt to kill him, the Lord God has been at work to send him ahead of his family into Egypt. Why? Because if the forebears of Israel died during the famine, God would be unable to keep his promise to Abraham (Genesis 12:1-3) to give his descendants a land and to make of them a medium of blessing for all the families of the earth. All that the brothers did to him was evil, Joseph knows. But God used the evil to bring good.
The remarkable fact about the Joseph stories is the way God works to accomplish his purpose. The Lord does everything in secret, and he does it through the machinations of the human heart. He uses the young Joseph's bratty pride, just as he uses the hatred of the brothers, the griefs of Jacob, the lust of Potiphar's wife, the fortunes of the butler and baker in prison, the beliefs of the Pharaoh. He uses them all to further his purpose of preserving the lives of his people to whom he has made a promise. Joseph is so sure that God will fulfill his promise to give Israel a land that he asks that at his death, his bones be carried up to Canaan to be buried there.
I wonder if God is not similarly working in our lives, hidden and unknown, to use the events of our days, good and bad, to fulfill his purpose of saving the world. Certainly, many of the things that we do, like the acts of Joseph's brothers, are meant for evil, but always, God means good for us, and he is fulfilling his will accordingly.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 114
This psalm falls into four cantos. Verses 1-2 refer to Israel's foundation story and most importantly, to how God selected that nation to be his dwelling place. Verses 3-4 explain that God's presence with Israel had an effect on the actual workings of nature. Verses 5-6 revel in the wonder of how the earth responded obediently to God's presence in Israel. Verse 7-8 is a summons for the rest of creation and the other nations to feel the power of God's presence as well.
Obviously then, the presence of God is a dominant theme in this psalm, and that presence is of first importance. A certain father went to visit his son's preschool on a day when dads were invited. He was surprised that only a handful of fathers had come. Later, all the children and those fathers who had come were sitting on the floor in a circle, and the teacher asked the children to tell the group something about their fathers, something that was special. One little boy said, "My daddy is a lawyer. He makes a lot of money and we live in a big house." Another child said, "My father is very smart. He teaches at the college and a lot of important people know him." When it was time for this father's son to say something, the little boy looked up at his father, and then he just smiled and proudly said, "My dad ... my dad is here!"
So what does it mean that our heavenly Father is here with us? For one thing, it means that we cannot sin in peace. We can sometimes do things wrong and get away with them as far as other people are concerned. But the reality of God's presence means that our attitudes and deeds are open knowledge to God. In those circumstances, there may be times when we'd just as soon not have God present. But think about the times when we've benefited from someone else's knowledge of God's presence. Perhaps they've been angry with us, and inclined to do something hateful against us, but their knowledge that God was present would not let them sin in peace.
Of course, it also means that God is with us through trouble. In the scriptures, deep water is often a metaphor for serious trouble and extreme danger. So this psalm celebrates the "turning back" of the Red Sea and of the Jordan as evidence of God's presence with Israel.
I talked once to a young woman who survived a terrible car crash -- a "deep water" experience. She was alone in her car when a large truck went out of control and careened toward her. I asked her what she did. She said that in the split second when it was clear that she was going to be hit, she threw herself down on the front seat. And she added, "I think I screamed, 'Oh, my God.' "
"Oh, my God." What is that? A throwaway phrase? Mild profanity? I don't think so. In its barest form, it's a prayer. And what is there within us that causes such words to leap to our lips in moments of pure terror? For many, it is the conviction deep down that God really is present and is the only one who can confront the terror with us.
Back in 1979, their father, who already had three daughters, told his wife they had to have two more daughters and had to teach them to play tennis. Why? Because that year he saw that the winner of the Women's U.S. Open claimed a prize of $48,000, compared to the $52,000 he was earning each year. As one sportswriter once put it in writing about the Williams family, "He did the math."
"Doing the math" -- it is a catch phrase in our culture that expresses the idea of taking careful stock of the situation and determining just exactly what one should do. "Doing the math" means getting just what is coming to you, giving up no more than you have to, and "balancing the books" as it were to the last decimal place.
I don't believe that the figure of speech was around in the first century, but Peter's question to Jesus in this Sunday's Gospel Lesson makes it clear that at least the mindset was already well established. "Lord, if another sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Let's "do the math" on this one Jesus. I mean, after all, if someone keeps doing the same thing over and over to harm me, and keeps immediately asking for forgiveness, then at some point I've got to assume that they are not really sorry, right? I do want to be fair, and to give them the benefit of the doubt -- so how about I forgive them seven times? That should make the math come out about right, shouldn't it?
Exodus 14:19-31
The "war texts" of the scriptures can always be difficult because of the range of responses they evoke among modern readers and hearers. For some people war is so objectionable that they reject any moral or ethical system that would condone it or even countenance its imagery. For others not only is war between nations justifiable, but the struggles of the religious life are best conceived as a "battle between good and evil." On this Sunday so close to the first anniversary of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on the United States, a story that describes God setting a trap for a nation's destruction is especially difficult.
The Old Testament Lesson is just such a text. The lectionary committee has recast the story somewhat as a story of divine deliverance by beginning at Exodus 14:19, omitting the references to God's again "harden[ing] Pharaoh's heart" so that he will take actions that ultimately will lead to the deaths of his own people (14:4). Yet the descriptions of the entire Egyptian army drowning in the sea (14:26-28) and of Israel looking back on "the Egyptians dead on the seashore" (14:30b) are horrific enough.
When we encounter such texts in our preaching, we should be careful not to sugarcoat them. That doesn't mean, however, that we should assume a stance of moral superiority toward them either. What is required is a judicious balance. One's perspective for viewing this story makes all the difference, and it is by shifting perspective that we can find that point of balance.
Notice that God's actions against the Egyptians are clearly cast in the scriptural tradition as a form of divine judgment. It is because of their actions in oppressing and enslaving the Israelites that God draws them out to defeat in the wilderness. And the same wilderness that is death to the Egyptians is simultaneously life to the Israelites. They are given new birth as they pass through the waters of the sea (a point I will return to in a moment).
Naturally enough, our inclination is to assume the perspective of the Israelites. We believe that a just God will judge evil and will act on behalf of those who have been its victims. We see ourselves as God's people, and so we take a vested interest in God's judgment of those who have oppressed us. It is both natural and appropriate that we should celebrate God's ability to deliver us and to judge evil.
What we must be careful to avoid is the self-righteousness that not uncommonly attaches to those who see themselves as the beneficiaries of God's deliverance. As is reinforced by the parable in today's Gospel Lesson, simply having received grace does not assure that one will act with similar grace towards others. Before we celebrate too jubilantly our victory over those who have oppressed us we need to ask ourselves whether there are others who would celebrate judgment brought against us for our oppression of them. In the broad scheme of the world, those of us in the American church are at least as likely to fulfill the roles of the Egyptians in this story as we are to fulfill the role of those being delivered from official state oppression.
Returning to the passing through the waters as a type of new birth, one need not (but certainly may) import the Christian doctrine of baptism to find this imagery in the Exodus passage. There are clear echoes in this passage of the Priestly creation account from Genesis 1. Note how that God "drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land" because "the waters were divided" (cf. Genesis 1:2, 9-10). Just as God created the world through the division of the waters, so God here creates a new nation through divided waters.
These echoes of creation also reverberate through the "Song of the Sea" in Exodus 15 (the alternate psalm for this Sunday). The traditional rendering of the identification of the sea (going back to the Septuagint) is the "Red Sea." Most modern translations include a footnote indicating the alternate translation of Hebrew yam suph (pronounced "yom-soof") as "Reed Sea" (see NRSV at Exodus 15:4). But yet another translation is linguistically possible: "Sea of the End" (i.e., the sea at the end of the world). In this rendering the reference would be less geographical and more mythological. God has once again defeated the evil power of chaos and brought into being a world in accord with divine justice.
Romans 14:1-12
There may be several reasons why Jesus makes his injunction in this day's Gospel Lesson about the limitlessness that should characterize our forgiveness of others. Paul offers his own reasons in this reading from the letter to the Romans.
First off, many of the things that we carefully keep score of don't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Paul's two specific examples may take a little clearing up after 2,000 years of dust have accumulated on them; even things we think we understand we may not have quite right.
For instance, Paul observes that "some believe in eating anything, while [others] eat only vegetables." Sounds like arguments over what constitutes a healthy diet, doesn't it? -- or maybe even a conflict between those who eat meat and animal products and those who are vegetarians or vegans. But for Paul, such eating was a religious issue. Since all readily available meat in a city like ancient Rome or Athens had been slaughtered before one idol or another as something of a sacrifice, the disagreement in Paul's churches was over whether eating meat was thus an act of worship to false gods.
Likewise, "judg[ing] one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike" was a reflection of disagreements regarding observing Jewish or Roman holy days. Yet even though these issues had religious implications, Paul says in effect, "It's all small stuff, and don't sweat the small stuff!"
And why is it all small stuff? Because ultimately none of us answers either to only ourselves or to any other person for that matter. Ultimately we answer to God, and in that calculus the only analysis that really matters is God's. And so Paul asks rhetorically, "Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? ... For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God ... So then, each of us will be accountable to God." If God may in the final analysis offer forgiveness for someone's actions, who am I to withhold my forgiveness from them?
The second reason Paul offers here for a predisposition to forgiveness likewise arises from our place as humans before God. In verses 5-6, Paul rejects both a wishy-washy subjectivism that says anything goes and an arrogance that insists that one's own positions must be objectively and universally correct. Against the view that "everything is relative," Paul insists, "Let all be fully convinced in their own minds." Against the view that we possess absolute, universal truth, he likewise insists that both those who eat and those who abstain, those who keep the days and those who do not, follow their respective practices "in honor of the Lord."
Now logically those who are engaged in opposite behaviors cannot both be correct that their firmly held convictions are universal norms. Thus, Paul must be calling for a humility regarding the correctness of others' ethical convictions while admonishing a consistent commitment to fulfilling one's own ethical convictions. This stance is required even regarding standards of conduct (dietary standards, observance of religious festivals) that are explicitly treated in the scriptures. We may have no place on which to stand to make universal pronouncements with regard to others, but that does not give us license to be lax with regard to living out the requirements of our understanding of what God desires of us to bring honor to the Lord. Such humility will also result in the forgiveness, or better the acceptance, of those whose conduct is different than our own.
We who are utterly and completely dependent upon God's grace for what we know of the divine will, for our ability to live in accord with that (limited) understanding, and for forgiveness when we nevertheless fail because of our sinfulness have no ground on which to stand to withhold forgiveness from others.
Matthew 18:21-35
Jesus responds to Peter's mental calculus by answering with a math problem of his own, although to be perfectly candid, we need to acknowledge that the Greek of Matthew's Gospel is a bit ambiguous at this point. Literally, the Greek text reads, "seventy times seven." The phrase may either mean, "forgive seventy times seven times" (i.e., seventy multiplied by seven, as in older translations), or more likely "seventy times [and] seven" (i.e., seventy times plus Peter's original seven).
But however you understand the Greek, Jesus is not saying that you should carefully keep track up to either 490 or 77, and then withhold forgiveness the 491st or 78th time. No, his point in introducing the math problem is to say don't do the math! Stop counting! Stop keeping track of offenses and simply forgive.
To underscore his injunction to Peter, Jesus relates the parable of the unforgiving servant. There is a king who is attempting to settle accounts with his stewards. In the process, he comes across one whose account is short by "ten thousand talents." Now, that is simply an unimaginable sum of money in terms of our normal experience. To appreciate fully Jesus' story, we are going to have to do the math.
A talent was roughly equal to 15 years' wages of a common laborer. Assuming just our minimum wage of $5.15 per hour, ten thousand talents would be roughly equal to two billion dollars. Amazingly, the steward promised he could make good on the debt if just given some time. Yet the king took pity on him and forgave the whole two billion dollar debt.
And what did the steward do immediately afterward? He went and located someone who owed him one hundred denarii. Using the same relative exchange rates as before, this sum would be approximately $4,120 -- not exactly "chicken feed," unless of course you are comparing it to two billion dollars as Jesus is here. This person likewise promised to make good on the debt if only given some time, but the steward refused and had him thrown into debtors' prison until the total amount was worked off.
When word of this got back to the king, he summoned the steward and castigated him for failing to show the same mercy to another that had been bestowed upon him. And beyond the tongue-lashing, the king withdrew his earlier debt-relief and ordered that the steward "be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So [the] heavenly Father will also do to every one of you," Jesus concluded, "if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart."
Now if Jesus had meant that God acts just like the king in this parable in every detail, then we would have a very unflattering picture of God presented here. But fortunately the story is a parable and not an allegory, and so we are not meant to press the details into a one-to-one correspondence. Jesus' point is that our personal experience of God's forgiveness should shape our attitude of forgiveness toward others. Do we really want God "doing the math" on our offenses? So why are we so quick to "do the math" with regard to others? If God has forgiven the tremendous debt we owe to the Divine, how can we continue to be so stingy in meting out forgiveness to others -- especially if the offenses are nit-picky by comparison?
Application
Part of the problem we have, of course, is that the offenses committed by others are not always nit-picky by any measure. There are of course the grand, almost impossible to conceive, evils that we have inflicted on one another. There was the Nazi Holocaust against the Jews, and the "ethnic cleansing" not only in the Balkans but far more disastrously in Rwanda. Nor do we have to look to atrocities against millions to find such offenses. There have been untold individuals who have been abused physically, emotionally, and sexually by trusted friends and family members, and even by priests and ministers who have taken advantage of the trust placed in them. There are demands of justice upon those who commit such grievous offenses, but there is also a demand of forgiveness upon those who have suffered the offense.
Forgiveness isn't easy. But it is the only way to move beyond the past, through the present, and into the future. Forgiveness is not saying, "Aw shucks, think nothing of it." Genuine forgiveness is not denying or glossing over the offense; it is refusing to allow the past offense to determine and control the future. And there are all kinds of ways that we can be trapped in the past if we do not open ourselves to begin anew through repentance.
Certainly the problems in the Middle East are multi-faceted and complex, but it also cannot be denied that a lack of forgiveness for recent and ancient offenses is a contributing factor. The Jews of Europe suffered a horrible injustice in the Holocaust, and no one should fault them for seeing the deliverance of a remnant and the founding of a Jewish state as an act of divine deliverance for them on a par with the Exodus itself. But failing to forgive, living lives defined by the injustice that they suffered, may blind them to the injustices that Israeli occupation is inflicting on the Palestinians. By the same token, Palestinians cannot build a future on the illusion that "the Catastrophe" will be reversed. Both Israelis and Palestinians must learn to forgive the ancient and modern wrongs they have suffered if they are to build a future not held hostage to cycles of violence and revenge rooted in the past.
Yet even that is probably not the most important reason we must learn to forgive. Jesus links our forgiveness from God to our ability to forgive others -- not only in this parable, but in the Lord's Prayer itself: "Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us." It is not that we earn God's forgiveness by forgiving others. The linkage is much more intimate and personal than that. If we cannot bring ourselves to forgive others, and perhaps even ourselves, how are we ever going to genuinely believe that we have been forgiven by God? So -- for the sake of the future, for the sake of breaking the cycles of recrimination and revenge, for the sake of your own assurance of God's pardon -- don't do the math!
An Alternate Application
Most mainline denominations in the United States have been embroiled in controversies over cultural issues for the past several decades. These intra-denominational battles have been waged over such issues as women's ordination, abortion, and most notably sexuality. Both liberals and conservatives have been absolutely convinced that only their ethical responses to these issues can possibly bring "honor to the Lord."
Perhaps it is time for more humility and less universal certainty on both sides of these debates. As Paul makes clear in Romans, such a stance does not require that either side sacrifice its convictions. On the contrary, a genuine acceptance of one another as servants of God in the humility of the knowledge that we are all servants rather than masters requires that both sides hold fast to the strength of their convictions. God will ultimately judge who has more closely heard the leading of the Spirit on these issues. And no doubt we will all find that in some ways we have failed to live according to the fullness of divine wisdom and so finally be reliant upon the fullness of divine grace.
First Lesson Focus
Exodus 14:19-31
We come now to God's central redemptive act on behalf of Israel, according to the Old Testament, paralleling the act of God on the cross of Jesus Christ. Indeed, when Jesus talks of his crucifixion in terms of his "departure" in Luke 9:31, the Greek word he uses is "exodus." In both cases, God is redeeming his people from slavery -- the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, you and I and all people from slavery to sin and death.
After the Lord caused Pharaoh Ramesses II to let Israel go, the Pharaoh's heart was hardened and he ordered his troops to pursue the fleeing Israelites to the edge of the Reed Sea, thus trapping the Hebrews between the sea and the pursuing warriors. The Hebrews were sure that they were lost, and they cried out against Moses. But Moses replied to them, "Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today; for the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be still" (14:13). In other words, the exodus was the merciful redemptive act of God alone, and Israel was but the passive recipient of it. She had done nothing to deserve her redemption, any more than we have done anything to deserve Christ's redemption of us by his cross. Exodus and cross are both unmerited gifts of God's overwhelming grace and love.
There is no doubt that the exodus happened. It is recalled in almost all of the books of the Old Testament, and it is celebrated yearly at the Passover. But we have to say that we do not know historically exactly what happened. Our text is made up of the interweaving of four different accounts, and some contradictions are to be found within it. For example, verse 21 says that the Lord drove back the sea by a strong east wind, while verses 22 and 29 depict walls of water piled up on each side. In verse 27, the terrified Egyptians rush into the sea and drown, but in verse 28, the Egyptians are in the midst of the sea when the waters return to engulf them. As in all multiple accounts of an historical event, some of the details differ. But what we should not doubt is that the Lord delivered his people from slavery, and from the time of the exodus on, which took place about 1280 B.C., the Lord God of Israel was identified by this mighty act. "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage" (Exodus 20:1; Deuteronomy 8:14, many references). That was God's identifying act, and only the God who did that act could be true God, just as in the New Testament only the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ is identified as true God.
To understand the exodus event as fully as possible, we need to note how the Old Testament itself interprets it, and we can say that its exegesis of the event is threefold. First, the exodus is understood as an act of God's love. God sees the Hebrews' afflictions and sufferings, and he comes down to deliver them in their need. Thus, Deuteronomy 7:7-8 can say that God delivered Israel, not because they were a great people, but because he loved them. But second, God also delivered them because he wanted to lead them toward the land that he had promised them (Deuteronomy 7:8; Exodus 2:24).
Further, the Old Testament understands that God's redemption of his people gave them a new status. The prophets of the Old Testament consider that in the exodus, God adopted Israel as his son (Hosea 11:1). Just as our redemption by Jesus gives us the totally new status of children of God and heirs of all his promises (Galatians 4:1-7), so the Hebrews' redemption made them members of God's family and his adopted children, and from the time of the exodus on, Israel's love for God was to be like that of a faithful son for his father (Jeremiah 3:19).
Finally, it was the exodus event that first made Israel a people. They had no communal structure when they were enslaved in Egypt. They were a mixed multitude (cf. Exodus 12:38) of Semites and foreigners, from varying backgrounds and clans and regions. And what finally bound them all together was the fact that they had all been redeemed together. The event of their deliverance became their binding tie (cf. Deuteronomy 26:5-9), and as long as they remembered that act of God, they could be a united people. But if they forgot what God had done for them, they became "no people" (cf. Hosea 1:9), without a common foundation, just as we in the Christian church become "no people," and "no church" if we forget that it was God's redemption of us all in Jesus Christ that made us one community (cf. Ephesians 2:14-22).
Lutheran Option -- Genesis 50:15-21
The stated Lutheran texts have a way of jumping about in the Old Testament, without any sense of tracing God's work of salvation through Israel's beginnings and subsequent history. As a result, this particular passage sets the congregation down at the end of the Joseph stories. To make the text understandable, the preacher will probably briefly have to tell the story of Joseph up to this point.
Obviously, Joseph's brothers, who sold him to Midianite traders, who in turn sold him to Potiphar, the captain of Pharaoh's guard in Egypt, still suffer under the burden of their guilt. Joseph, risen to prominence in Egypt as vizier of the Pharaoh, has saved the brothers' lives and those of his father and relatives during the time of the seven-year famine. But when the father, Jacob, dies, the brothers are sure that Joseph will take delayed vengeance upon them. They therefore make up the story that Jacob wished for Joseph to forgive his siblings. And in the final touch of irony, the brothers bow down before Joseph, in fulfillment of the dream that he had as a youth (37:7).
Joseph, however, will not play the role of God. Rather, he knows that behind and through the brothers' hatred and attempt to kill him, the Lord God has been at work to send him ahead of his family into Egypt. Why? Because if the forebears of Israel died during the famine, God would be unable to keep his promise to Abraham (Genesis 12:1-3) to give his descendants a land and to make of them a medium of blessing for all the families of the earth. All that the brothers did to him was evil, Joseph knows. But God used the evil to bring good.
The remarkable fact about the Joseph stories is the way God works to accomplish his purpose. The Lord does everything in secret, and he does it through the machinations of the human heart. He uses the young Joseph's bratty pride, just as he uses the hatred of the brothers, the griefs of Jacob, the lust of Potiphar's wife, the fortunes of the butler and baker in prison, the beliefs of the Pharaoh. He uses them all to further his purpose of preserving the lives of his people to whom he has made a promise. Joseph is so sure that God will fulfill his promise to give Israel a land that he asks that at his death, his bones be carried up to Canaan to be buried there.
I wonder if God is not similarly working in our lives, hidden and unknown, to use the events of our days, good and bad, to fulfill his purpose of saving the world. Certainly, many of the things that we do, like the acts of Joseph's brothers, are meant for evil, but always, God means good for us, and he is fulfilling his will accordingly.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 114
This psalm falls into four cantos. Verses 1-2 refer to Israel's foundation story and most importantly, to how God selected that nation to be his dwelling place. Verses 3-4 explain that God's presence with Israel had an effect on the actual workings of nature. Verses 5-6 revel in the wonder of how the earth responded obediently to God's presence in Israel. Verse 7-8 is a summons for the rest of creation and the other nations to feel the power of God's presence as well.
Obviously then, the presence of God is a dominant theme in this psalm, and that presence is of first importance. A certain father went to visit his son's preschool on a day when dads were invited. He was surprised that only a handful of fathers had come. Later, all the children and those fathers who had come were sitting on the floor in a circle, and the teacher asked the children to tell the group something about their fathers, something that was special. One little boy said, "My daddy is a lawyer. He makes a lot of money and we live in a big house." Another child said, "My father is very smart. He teaches at the college and a lot of important people know him." When it was time for this father's son to say something, the little boy looked up at his father, and then he just smiled and proudly said, "My dad ... my dad is here!"
So what does it mean that our heavenly Father is here with us? For one thing, it means that we cannot sin in peace. We can sometimes do things wrong and get away with them as far as other people are concerned. But the reality of God's presence means that our attitudes and deeds are open knowledge to God. In those circumstances, there may be times when we'd just as soon not have God present. But think about the times when we've benefited from someone else's knowledge of God's presence. Perhaps they've been angry with us, and inclined to do something hateful against us, but their knowledge that God was present would not let them sin in peace.
Of course, it also means that God is with us through trouble. In the scriptures, deep water is often a metaphor for serious trouble and extreme danger. So this psalm celebrates the "turning back" of the Red Sea and of the Jordan as evidence of God's presence with Israel.
I talked once to a young woman who survived a terrible car crash -- a "deep water" experience. She was alone in her car when a large truck went out of control and careened toward her. I asked her what she did. She said that in the split second when it was clear that she was going to be hit, she threw herself down on the front seat. And she added, "I think I screamed, 'Oh, my God.' "
"Oh, my God." What is that? A throwaway phrase? Mild profanity? I don't think so. In its barest form, it's a prayer. And what is there within us that causes such words to leap to our lips in moments of pure terror? For many, it is the conviction deep down that God really is present and is the only one who can confront the terror with us.
