Forgiven and forgiving
Commentary
The Passover and the passage through the Red Sea are inseparably linked. As future generations looked back on this stage of their history, the two are seen as one single act of God on behalf of a chosen people.
God gives signs as a visible help to those whose faith falters. Here it is a cloud, separating the Israelites from the Egyptians during the hours of the night. Later another cloud would lead them on their daytime walk through the wilderness. Rainbow, cloud, pillar of fire, star, bread, wine, cross, and spire -- God gives signs of hope, especially when they are most needed.
Possibly the most interesting element in this text is the absence of rancor and complaint when the people of Israel are in crisis and face probable extermination. They had complained when Moses came to lead them to freedom; and they will complain again as soon as they have passed safely through the sea. But for now, there is silence and respect.
It should not surprise us. During times of disaster we see uncommon concern for others and heroic efforts to help the needy. On a visit to Namibia prior to independence I noted how Christians and others opposed to South African rule were intimately joined in common opposition to their cruel oppressors. On a subsequent visit, when they enjoyed independence, I found dissension and disagreement, even among Christians of the same denomination. Again, it should not surprise us. In a small congregation we see unusual unanimity when faced with closure. But when the crisis passes old rivalries often surface again. We tend to forget that beneath all our human differences is the grace of God.
Romans 14:1-12
Jesus warns us against the danger of judgment of others. We normally think of the strong in faith as those most susceptible to this sin. But as Paul continues to explore the dimensions of Christian love -- started in 12:1 -- he reminds the believers in Rome that it cuts both ways. That is to say, both the so-called "strong" and "weak" are tempted to make judgments of others.
Most pastors could look at the membership list of the congregation and divide it into the "strong" and the "weak." For more mature believers -- the "strong" -- temptation to judge is a matter of taking pride in their freedom to do as they please. "Since we are forgiven and made children of God by grace alone, we no longer need to be so concerned about the details of the law. We are free from the restrictions that once bound us. It's too bad our 'weak' brothers and sisters do not have this same freedom." Paul warns the "strong" that the price of freedom is that we must voluntarily discipline ourselves so that we do not cause others to stumble.
For the "weak," it is a matter of recognizing their habits of behavior, though innocent in themselves, have become the foundation for their confidence, rather than trust in God's grace. Oddly enough, the "weak" are often more judgmental than the "strong." They look at specific behaviors -- abstention from certain food or drink, or observance of certain days -- and depend on them as a basis for their confidence.
Paul is saying to both the "strong" and the "weak" that there is only one basis for our confidence -- God's grace. Therefore we must not judge, but rather conduct ourselves in a way that shows we are sensitive to our neighbor.
What keeps us from being judgmental? More than anything else, it is the longer vision -- the promise that "whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's." The placement of these words about future judgment in the midst of this lengthy passage (12:1--15:13) about love for brother and sister is important. Though we Christians claim to be involved in the greatest and highest mission one can imagine, we are sinful. And among the most enervating sins in the family of faith is pettiness. A doctoral student who studied the history of church divisions came to the sobering conclusion that when measured from the longer perspective, most schisms were the result, not of major theological difference, but of personal pride and envy. The only antidote is to keep going back to the cross, where the ground is level and where both "strong" and "weak" are on equal footing.
Matthew 18:21-35
The point of this text is seen best by comparing the amounts the two men owed. The first is in debt to the tune of "ten thousand talents." That is the equivalent of fifteen years of common labor, multiplied by 10,000! In other words, the debt is far beyond any hope of repayment. Complete forgiveness or life in prison, those are the only alternatives. Fortunately for the man in debt, he is forgiven. And that, says Jesus, is how God acts. We cannot even discuss the possibility of repaying the debt. It is either grace or judgment. Nothing between.
In contrast, the second debt, though considerable (about 100 days' wages), might be paid by sacrifice and hard work. But the difference between the two debts is beyond comparison. That is what makes it so unthinkable that the first man will not forgive the second. No wonder the first debtor has been called "the world's meanest man."
We need to be careful, however, in making judgment against him. Would we not agree that to forgive is the most difficult task we face -- yes, even those of us who claim to know something about forgiveness? God has the capacity, not only to forgive, but to do what is beyond human comprehension: "I will not remember your sins" (Isaiah 43:25). That is like the king who forgives what cannot even be calculated. By nature, we have no such capacity. We remember. We count. We calculate. We measure. We want full retribution. Only by God's grace are we able to forgive.
All of this discussion about forgiveness began with Peter's question, "How often should I forgive?" The contrast is with Genesis 4:15 where there is a seventy-seven-fold pronouncement of judgment against those who have wronged one of God's people. In many other places in the Old Testament there are similar calculations of how vengeance will be meted out against those who have sinned against God or God's chosen. In the rabbinic tradition there were definitive rules regarding how often one should forgive.
Now with Jesus comes a new age, a time when the questions are reversed. No longer does one ask, "How little can I do and get by?" Rather, "How much can I do to show my gratitude for God's love?" The parable drives home the point -- whoever counts does not really understand grace and forgiveness at all. There is no way to measure forgiveness.
Suggestions For Preaching
The linkage between the texts is the theme of divine grace and our response to it. Whether it be the opening of the sea from Exodus, or the promise in Romans 14 of eternal life that reaches beyond this world, or the good news of God's unfathomable mercy from Matthew 18, the message is uniform: "Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive" (Colossians 3:13). Forgiveness is sometimes seen as an act of weakness, or as conditional -- "I will forgive you, if you do thus and so." On the contrary, it is an act of strength, with no conditions attached. It begins, as the songwriter suggests, in the heart of God:
Could I with ink the ocean fill,And were the skies of parchment made;Were every stalk on earth a quill,And every one a scribe by trade;To write the love of God aboveWould drain the ocean dry;Nor could the scroll contain the whole,Though stretched from sky to sky.
Only with that perspective can we begin to love and forgive.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By James A. Nestingen
Exodus 14:19-31
One of the defining events of the Exodus, the miraculous crossing of the Red Sea, may now get slogged down in offense. If you can wade through it, however, there's a promise here -- enough to start another kind of flood.
The problem is the good Lord, again. Instead of behaving like a well-mannered Greek deity, self-possessed, passive, distant, the God of the Hebrews is up to his elbows in history, messing with the eternal harmonies to turn things in Israel's favor. It isn't just a pillar of cloud in front and behind, neither the wind -- such forces are powerful enough but perhaps a little too ethereal. More, the Lord of the exodus gets right down to the Egyptian wagon wheels, as though the normal soak of sea bottom wouldn't be sufficient to slow them down (v. 25).
And then there is the carnage. A ragtag assembly of slaves on the run finds itself on the far side of impassibility, watching as Moses, hand extended, lets the waters return to drown all of Pharaoh's army, from the picked assault troops to the last supply private. Having wiped out the firstborn, child or beast, now the good Lord has cleaned up on Egypt's defense.
Since the enlightenment, as it is called, made its vision of the human the measure of all things back in the eighteenth century, there has been a steady run at the miracles of the Red Sea. It was a fortunate convergence of winds, German scholars opined: it just happened that as the Hebrews stood waiting, a unique but predictable weather system opened a path across the waters for them. Or, nowadays far more likely, the whole story gets put aside as the projection of a downtrodden people who thought -- like every people does, of course -- that God was on their side and offered this as an obviously exaggerated justification for their claim. Anything, no matter how hypothetical or tendentious, to keep the Lord out of the wagon wheels -- they might be ours!
There's another way of hearing the story, however. That assembly of the oppressed, clutching their castoffs and plunder, had stood with their backs to the sea watching as every armed man the Pharaoh could mount or send had come bearing down on them, bent on recovering the system of privilege the slaves' departure had undermined. The sight had so terrified them that the Hebrews had been willing to surrender -- better to accept the system, making the bricks, than to enter oblivion (v. 12).
But the good Lord wouldn't have it, even if the people were willing. God opened the sea as he had opened the doors of their slavemasters' houses, bringing the children of Abraham and Sarah out of bondage into freedom. That may be the ultimate offense. But it is also the promise. The God who delivered the Hebrews from the Red Sea is the Lord God of freedom who is willing to attack even the wagon wheels to turn us loose in the flood of grace that is the marvelous liberty of the children of God.
God gives signs as a visible help to those whose faith falters. Here it is a cloud, separating the Israelites from the Egyptians during the hours of the night. Later another cloud would lead them on their daytime walk through the wilderness. Rainbow, cloud, pillar of fire, star, bread, wine, cross, and spire -- God gives signs of hope, especially when they are most needed.
Possibly the most interesting element in this text is the absence of rancor and complaint when the people of Israel are in crisis and face probable extermination. They had complained when Moses came to lead them to freedom; and they will complain again as soon as they have passed safely through the sea. But for now, there is silence and respect.
It should not surprise us. During times of disaster we see uncommon concern for others and heroic efforts to help the needy. On a visit to Namibia prior to independence I noted how Christians and others opposed to South African rule were intimately joined in common opposition to their cruel oppressors. On a subsequent visit, when they enjoyed independence, I found dissension and disagreement, even among Christians of the same denomination. Again, it should not surprise us. In a small congregation we see unusual unanimity when faced with closure. But when the crisis passes old rivalries often surface again. We tend to forget that beneath all our human differences is the grace of God.
Romans 14:1-12
Jesus warns us against the danger of judgment of others. We normally think of the strong in faith as those most susceptible to this sin. But as Paul continues to explore the dimensions of Christian love -- started in 12:1 -- he reminds the believers in Rome that it cuts both ways. That is to say, both the so-called "strong" and "weak" are tempted to make judgments of others.
Most pastors could look at the membership list of the congregation and divide it into the "strong" and the "weak." For more mature believers -- the "strong" -- temptation to judge is a matter of taking pride in their freedom to do as they please. "Since we are forgiven and made children of God by grace alone, we no longer need to be so concerned about the details of the law. We are free from the restrictions that once bound us. It's too bad our 'weak' brothers and sisters do not have this same freedom." Paul warns the "strong" that the price of freedom is that we must voluntarily discipline ourselves so that we do not cause others to stumble.
For the "weak," it is a matter of recognizing their habits of behavior, though innocent in themselves, have become the foundation for their confidence, rather than trust in God's grace. Oddly enough, the "weak" are often more judgmental than the "strong." They look at specific behaviors -- abstention from certain food or drink, or observance of certain days -- and depend on them as a basis for their confidence.
Paul is saying to both the "strong" and the "weak" that there is only one basis for our confidence -- God's grace. Therefore we must not judge, but rather conduct ourselves in a way that shows we are sensitive to our neighbor.
What keeps us from being judgmental? More than anything else, it is the longer vision -- the promise that "whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's." The placement of these words about future judgment in the midst of this lengthy passage (12:1--15:13) about love for brother and sister is important. Though we Christians claim to be involved in the greatest and highest mission one can imagine, we are sinful. And among the most enervating sins in the family of faith is pettiness. A doctoral student who studied the history of church divisions came to the sobering conclusion that when measured from the longer perspective, most schisms were the result, not of major theological difference, but of personal pride and envy. The only antidote is to keep going back to the cross, where the ground is level and where both "strong" and "weak" are on equal footing.
Matthew 18:21-35
The point of this text is seen best by comparing the amounts the two men owed. The first is in debt to the tune of "ten thousand talents." That is the equivalent of fifteen years of common labor, multiplied by 10,000! In other words, the debt is far beyond any hope of repayment. Complete forgiveness or life in prison, those are the only alternatives. Fortunately for the man in debt, he is forgiven. And that, says Jesus, is how God acts. We cannot even discuss the possibility of repaying the debt. It is either grace or judgment. Nothing between.
In contrast, the second debt, though considerable (about 100 days' wages), might be paid by sacrifice and hard work. But the difference between the two debts is beyond comparison. That is what makes it so unthinkable that the first man will not forgive the second. No wonder the first debtor has been called "the world's meanest man."
We need to be careful, however, in making judgment against him. Would we not agree that to forgive is the most difficult task we face -- yes, even those of us who claim to know something about forgiveness? God has the capacity, not only to forgive, but to do what is beyond human comprehension: "I will not remember your sins" (Isaiah 43:25). That is like the king who forgives what cannot even be calculated. By nature, we have no such capacity. We remember. We count. We calculate. We measure. We want full retribution. Only by God's grace are we able to forgive.
All of this discussion about forgiveness began with Peter's question, "How often should I forgive?" The contrast is with Genesis 4:15 where there is a seventy-seven-fold pronouncement of judgment against those who have wronged one of God's people. In many other places in the Old Testament there are similar calculations of how vengeance will be meted out against those who have sinned against God or God's chosen. In the rabbinic tradition there were definitive rules regarding how often one should forgive.
Now with Jesus comes a new age, a time when the questions are reversed. No longer does one ask, "How little can I do and get by?" Rather, "How much can I do to show my gratitude for God's love?" The parable drives home the point -- whoever counts does not really understand grace and forgiveness at all. There is no way to measure forgiveness.
Suggestions For Preaching
The linkage between the texts is the theme of divine grace and our response to it. Whether it be the opening of the sea from Exodus, or the promise in Romans 14 of eternal life that reaches beyond this world, or the good news of God's unfathomable mercy from Matthew 18, the message is uniform: "Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive" (Colossians 3:13). Forgiveness is sometimes seen as an act of weakness, or as conditional -- "I will forgive you, if you do thus and so." On the contrary, it is an act of strength, with no conditions attached. It begins, as the songwriter suggests, in the heart of God:
Could I with ink the ocean fill,And were the skies of parchment made;Were every stalk on earth a quill,And every one a scribe by trade;To write the love of God aboveWould drain the ocean dry;Nor could the scroll contain the whole,Though stretched from sky to sky.
Only with that perspective can we begin to love and forgive.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By James A. Nestingen
Exodus 14:19-31
One of the defining events of the Exodus, the miraculous crossing of the Red Sea, may now get slogged down in offense. If you can wade through it, however, there's a promise here -- enough to start another kind of flood.
The problem is the good Lord, again. Instead of behaving like a well-mannered Greek deity, self-possessed, passive, distant, the God of the Hebrews is up to his elbows in history, messing with the eternal harmonies to turn things in Israel's favor. It isn't just a pillar of cloud in front and behind, neither the wind -- such forces are powerful enough but perhaps a little too ethereal. More, the Lord of the exodus gets right down to the Egyptian wagon wheels, as though the normal soak of sea bottom wouldn't be sufficient to slow them down (v. 25).
And then there is the carnage. A ragtag assembly of slaves on the run finds itself on the far side of impassibility, watching as Moses, hand extended, lets the waters return to drown all of Pharaoh's army, from the picked assault troops to the last supply private. Having wiped out the firstborn, child or beast, now the good Lord has cleaned up on Egypt's defense.
Since the enlightenment, as it is called, made its vision of the human the measure of all things back in the eighteenth century, there has been a steady run at the miracles of the Red Sea. It was a fortunate convergence of winds, German scholars opined: it just happened that as the Hebrews stood waiting, a unique but predictable weather system opened a path across the waters for them. Or, nowadays far more likely, the whole story gets put aside as the projection of a downtrodden people who thought -- like every people does, of course -- that God was on their side and offered this as an obviously exaggerated justification for their claim. Anything, no matter how hypothetical or tendentious, to keep the Lord out of the wagon wheels -- they might be ours!
There's another way of hearing the story, however. That assembly of the oppressed, clutching their castoffs and plunder, had stood with their backs to the sea watching as every armed man the Pharaoh could mount or send had come bearing down on them, bent on recovering the system of privilege the slaves' departure had undermined. The sight had so terrified them that the Hebrews had been willing to surrender -- better to accept the system, making the bricks, than to enter oblivion (v. 12).
But the good Lord wouldn't have it, even if the people were willing. God opened the sea as he had opened the doors of their slavemasters' houses, bringing the children of Abraham and Sarah out of bondage into freedom. That may be the ultimate offense. But it is also the promise. The God who delivered the Hebrews from the Red Sea is the Lord God of freedom who is willing to attack even the wagon wheels to turn us loose in the flood of grace that is the marvelous liberty of the children of God.
