Good Grace
Commentary
The Black Angel. That’s what Michael Christopher calls Herman Engel in his play. Herman Engel is a cruel man, an “angel” by name, but darkest black in his Nazi soul. During World War II, he led his army in a horrible massacre of French villages. And after the war, justice catches up with him at the Nuremberg trials. He is sent to jail.
But not long enough, according to Morrieaux. Morrieaux is a French journalist whose family lived in one of those villages. Only he survived the hand of the Black Angel. After thirty years in prison, Engel is released from prison. Morrieaux says that’s too good for him. He begins his plotting.
Engel rejoins his wife. They buy a little cottage in the mountains near Alsace and try to get away from it all for their few remaining years. But they can’t get away from Morrieaux. He searches for survivors of other families slaughtered by Engel’s army. He tells them of Engel’s release and stirs within them the burning of revenge. He organizes them into a lynch mob. They plan to await the cover of darkness before they shoot and burn the horrid man who lives in the mountains.
But vengeance from a distance is not enough for Morrieaux. He must see the horror and pain in Engel’s eyes. He will go to the general under the guise of friendship. He will get the old fellow to talk about the war. He will open up about all the crimes of the past and then turn on Engel as his comrades join him in balancing the scales of justice more equitably. They will dance around the Black Angel together as they send him to hell!
When Engel invites Morrieaux in, Morrieaux is a bit shaken. This is no monster, no demon from the dark side! This is an old man, confused about the past, lonely and heartbroken by the years of prison, wanting only to spend a short while with his wife and then die in peace. Morrieaux’s revenge begins to turn sour in his stomach. He came for the Black Angel of death, but meets only a troubled man, a human like himself.
Dusk catches them still deep in conversation. And then they hear the sounds of the mob, circling for the kill. Morrieaux hesitates. What should he do? Vengeance tastes bitter. So, he opens himself up. He tells Engel of his plan, of the lynching plot, of the death that waits outside the door.
“Let me help you!” he begs. “Let me get you away from here! Let me save your life!”
But now Engel hesitates. Yes, he says, I will let you save me. But on one condition. Will you forgive me? Will you release me from the burden of guilt that weighs me down, that floods my soul, that overwhelms my sleepless nights? Will you forgive me?
Save a life? That Morrieaux can do. That he wants to do. That he has to do. But release a soul? Let go of the bitterness, the burning hatred, the consuming passion for vengeance? Forgive Engel? Never!
Morrieaux leaves. Engel dies. And everyone loses.
Life without forgiveness is hell. Hell is the place where justice is never tempered by mercy, where relationships are never mended, where grudges grow, and grace has taken a holiday. Hell is eternity apart from God’s forgiving love. And hell is the prison of unforgiveness into which we lock our enemies with no parole.
Hell. Unforgiveness. They’re both the same thing. That’s why our lectionary readings today tie life with love, faith with forgiveness, and goodness with grace. George Herbert: “He who cannot forgive others destroys the bridge over which he himself must pass!”
Too often we have made a mess of things with others, and the bridge to God’s grace is gone. Like Morrieaux, like ancient Israel, like the religious leaders that wanted to push Jesus into a legalistic corner, our attitudes and actions have turned sour. Like Engel, we wither in a prison that traps our souls. And only some power bigger than himself can put it all right again. Only some grace from outside, some compassion that goes beyond justice can open the door and let him live again. Only God.
1 Samuel 3:1-10 (11-20)
There are a number of key issues which emerge through the first half of 1 Samuel, as this new figure takes center stage. For one thing, the covenant theocracy with Yahweh as Israel’s unseen king begins to seem inadequate to the people. This is so for at least two reasons: On the one hand, Yahweh’s voice is hard to hear, unlike the days of Moses and Joshua, when it was quickly apparent what God desired or decreed. On the other hand, the urgent military threats from neighboring nations seem to demand a readily visible and immediate leadership that is not dependent on lengthy rituals of ceremony and sacrifice before Yahweh might or might not put in an appearance. Precisely because of these concerns, Samuel stands as the transition figure between the judges (who gave quick military leadership and then faded away without establishing ongoing royal courts or dynasties) and the monarchy, as it will emerge in part through Saul and to its full extent by way of David and his family. Samuel, as his name indicates, was a new communication link between the people and their God, and also a mighty general in battle. But his appearance on the scene was too brief to nurture public confidence in long-range national stability without a clearly identified temporal rule and an expectation of solid succession plans.
The clues to Samuel’s special gifts and leadership role are scattered throughout the initial seven chapters of 1 Samuel. First, there seem to be injustice and lack of divine blessing in the land. Elkanah’s first wife, Hannah, is barren, a typical sign of divine displeasure or even curse. His second wife, Peninnah, bears a number of children, but acts rudely toward Hannah about their contrasting situations. In short, the good wife is punished, and the bad wife is blessed. Things are definitely wrong in this upside-down world!
Second, the official representative for Yahweh, a priest named Eli (“My God”), neither recognizes true need and absolute devotion in Hannah’s silent praying, nor is able to intercede on her behalf with Yahweh. At first, he rudely accosts Hannah, calling her a drunkard. Then, when she pours out her deep frustrations, all he can do is wish her well. He does not have Yahweh’s ear, and Yahweh’s voice does not speak through him, even though he is a priest.
Third, the writer uses one telling event during Samuel’s childhood as the defining image of both the times and the man. “In those days the word of the Lord was rare,” he tells us (1 Samuel 3:1). Then, simply, the story of Samuel hearing his name called in the night is told. Samuel does not know who is calling him, and at first, Eli does not either. But soon it becomes apparent to the older man that, while he has neither the ear nor the voice of Yahweh, this young child certainly does. The nation quickly learns the same, as the writer notes in his closing comments on this episode: “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beersheba recognized that Samuel was attested as a prophet of the Lord. The Lord continues to appear at Shiloh, and there he revealed himself to Samuel through his word. And Samuel’s word came to all Israel” (1 Samuel 3:19--4:1)
2 Corinthians 4:5-12
The letter we call 1 Corinthians was not well received by its original readers. Their relations with Paul apparently deteriorated rapidly after it arrived, and many more among them began to call into question Paul’s presumed ongoing authority. In response, Paul decided that he needed to make a personal visit, both to address the immoral behaviors to, and renew his pastoral ties with, the church as a whole. Paul’s return to Corinth was anything but triumphant, however, and actually turned out to be a bust. Later, he would call it a “painful visit” (2 Corinthians 2:1).
After this debacle, Paul limped back to Ephesus, confused and hurt. In anger, he wrote a “severe letter” of reproof that later caused him regret because of its caustic tone and content (2 Corinthians 7:8). Although we might wish to know more specifically what Paul said in that correspondence, no copies have survived. Still, Paul’s strongly worded pastoral medicine apparently worked, at least to a degree, for when Titus made his report after delivering the letter, he told of great and pervasive repentance and sorrow among the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 7:6-16). Humility was breeding healing and hope.
About the same time that Titus was back in Corinth, Paul apparently has a near-death experience during a preaching trip to Troas (2 Corinthians 1-2). This scare seems to have been the trigger which initiated Paul’s fourth letter, a message of comfort and tenderness to the Corinthian congregation. Evidently, Paul needed to confirm the renewal of his relationship with the church, lest, if he should die soon, the lingering memories of their interaction would only be painful and etched by unresolved conflict. Paul’s last letter to Corinth survives as our 2 Corinthians.
It is a passionate, tender, personal and encouraging communication. Paul could hardly repeat the word “comfort” often enough in his opening paragraph (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Then he reminisced nostalgically, telling of his travel plans, his apostolic authority and how it came to him, the difficulties he had faced over the years of dedicated service to God and the church, and the ministry of reconciliation that continued to motivate him (2 Corinthians 1:12--7:16).
Key to all of this, for Paul, is the glory of God at work in a challenged and compromised world. We become, according to Paul, the containers of grace in often graceless form! Truly “cracked pots,” but still valuable because God fills us and spills out from us.
Mark 2:23-3:6
The first glimpse of Jesus in the Gospel according to Mark is found immediately in the introductory heading or title of 1:1 — “The beginning of the good news (gospel) about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Several things are important in this short statement. First, the author presumes there is much more to declare about Jesus than what will be contained in these proclamations; this is only “the beginning.” Second, whatever one might think about Jesus, even with the gruesome crucifixion story still ahead, the impact of his life and ministry is “good news.” This colors how one should receive the message that follows. Third, Jesus is already understood at the beginning of this story to be the Messiah foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament. The term “Christ”, appended to “Jesus”, is a title, not a name (although it would come to be used as such). Jesus is “the Christ,” meaning the one anointed to be the great deliverer of the Jews. This is why the baptism and divine commissioning of Jesus are told first (Mark 1:9-11) and are clearly expressed as a divine anointing (verse 10). Fourth, an additional designation is given to Jesus; he is called “the Son of God.” While Christianity has made this a common theological phrase, it was originally a very specific political term used to honor the Roman emperor. When Caesar Augustus died, the Roman senate declared him to be divine. All the rulers who came after him were, in turn, identified as the “Son of God” when they mounted the throne. For Mark to call Jesus the “Son of God” was a deliberate move to identify him as a rival to the Roman emperor of the day.
Our initial impressions about Jesus, as the narrative unfolds, are those showing him to be a man of action, healing, and power. In the first two chapters alone, Jesus is breathlessly busy, flitting all over Galilee, healing and teaching with such abandon that he is constantly followed (Mark 1:45), and always under urgent demand (Mark 3:7-8). While the gospel seems, at the start, to be merely a collection of stories about Jesus’ healings and brief teachings, it soon begins to take linear shape. In fact, its literary form will be copied by Matthew and Luke, who depend extensively on Mark’s record. This is why these three are together called the Synoptics (those who see similarly). In very broad outline, the gospel of Mark looks like this:
Second, the prophecy of Isaiah is recalled up front. That Old Testament spokesperson announced the coming of the great Day of the Lord, speaking of a time when Yahweh would break into human history to bring judgment against the nations of the world and the evil in Israel, save a remnant, and begin the new and transforming messianic age. In this way, Mark links the coming of Jesus directly to the Old Testament identity of God, and the actions of salvation history contained in it. This connection is further affirmed when Jesus opens his mouth to preach. His very first words are written by Mark as “the good news of God” (1:14) and commence as a staccato summary of the prophetic “Day of the Lord” theology: “The time has come. The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!” (1:15).
This is why, in our passage for today, Jesus clearly identifies himself as the source of the “law” that defines Judaism, and the meaning of it as well. The “law” was not so much a code of specific conduct as it was the parameters of life lived in close connection with the Creator of life. God wanted us to live and thrive, and the good grains of the fields are food on whatever day they nourish us. And the sabbath points to healing and restoration that too often eludes us here; yet if Jesus is the embodiment of life, he is also the meaning of the sabbath and restoration, and expressing these in healings is always appropriate, even if the local leaders want to press legalisms in his face.
Application
Professor Ed Dowey, retired from Princeton Seminary, used to talk about grace and its legalism imitator like this: “Suppose I’m walking down the street today, just minding my business, and I meet someone I don’t even know. Suppose that for some reason, out of the clear blue, she smiles at me. Now my heart is suddenly warmed. And what happens, but a smile pops out of my heart, and onto my lips too! That’s grace.
“But suppose that tomorrow I’m out there walking again, and I see her coming toward me. Do you know what happens? Before she even catches sight of my face today, I start wearing a smile. You know why? Because in my heart I’m hoping I can get her to smile at me again!”
Says Dowey, “That’s legalism!” Grace happens; legalism tries to make it work.
And so it is in our morality of behavior. Perfection keeps us toeing the line, while a relationship with Jesus Christ, and with others through him, gives us grace to keep our eyes on people, not the rulebook.
Alternative Application (Mark 2:923--3:6)
An angry man stormed into Abraham Lincoln’s office, when he was a lawyer practicing in Springfield, Illinois. The man demanded that Lincoln help him bring a lawsuit against an impoverished debtor who owed him $2.50. “Make him pay!”
Well, Lincoln didn’t want anything of the sort to happen. The debtor couldn’t pay the $2.50, the creditor didn’t need the $2.50, and society shouldn’t be run by either such greed or such insensitivity. So Lincoln declined the case.
Unfortunately, the man kept pressing, and since Lincoln was the only lawyer available, he was forced to serve the suit. First, though, he charged the man $10 for legal fees. Then he brought the defendant in, gave him $5.00 for his time, and asked if the charges were accurate. He readily agreed, and out of his newly gotten $5 paid the $2.50 he owed. Everyone was satisfied, including the irate plaintiff, who never realized that he spent $10 to collect $2.50!
Sometimes grace wins!
But not long enough, according to Morrieaux. Morrieaux is a French journalist whose family lived in one of those villages. Only he survived the hand of the Black Angel. After thirty years in prison, Engel is released from prison. Morrieaux says that’s too good for him. He begins his plotting.
Engel rejoins his wife. They buy a little cottage in the mountains near Alsace and try to get away from it all for their few remaining years. But they can’t get away from Morrieaux. He searches for survivors of other families slaughtered by Engel’s army. He tells them of Engel’s release and stirs within them the burning of revenge. He organizes them into a lynch mob. They plan to await the cover of darkness before they shoot and burn the horrid man who lives in the mountains.
But vengeance from a distance is not enough for Morrieaux. He must see the horror and pain in Engel’s eyes. He will go to the general under the guise of friendship. He will get the old fellow to talk about the war. He will open up about all the crimes of the past and then turn on Engel as his comrades join him in balancing the scales of justice more equitably. They will dance around the Black Angel together as they send him to hell!
When Engel invites Morrieaux in, Morrieaux is a bit shaken. This is no monster, no demon from the dark side! This is an old man, confused about the past, lonely and heartbroken by the years of prison, wanting only to spend a short while with his wife and then die in peace. Morrieaux’s revenge begins to turn sour in his stomach. He came for the Black Angel of death, but meets only a troubled man, a human like himself.
Dusk catches them still deep in conversation. And then they hear the sounds of the mob, circling for the kill. Morrieaux hesitates. What should he do? Vengeance tastes bitter. So, he opens himself up. He tells Engel of his plan, of the lynching plot, of the death that waits outside the door.
“Let me help you!” he begs. “Let me get you away from here! Let me save your life!”
But now Engel hesitates. Yes, he says, I will let you save me. But on one condition. Will you forgive me? Will you release me from the burden of guilt that weighs me down, that floods my soul, that overwhelms my sleepless nights? Will you forgive me?
Save a life? That Morrieaux can do. That he wants to do. That he has to do. But release a soul? Let go of the bitterness, the burning hatred, the consuming passion for vengeance? Forgive Engel? Never!
Morrieaux leaves. Engel dies. And everyone loses.
Life without forgiveness is hell. Hell is the place where justice is never tempered by mercy, where relationships are never mended, where grudges grow, and grace has taken a holiday. Hell is eternity apart from God’s forgiving love. And hell is the prison of unforgiveness into which we lock our enemies with no parole.
Hell. Unforgiveness. They’re both the same thing. That’s why our lectionary readings today tie life with love, faith with forgiveness, and goodness with grace. George Herbert: “He who cannot forgive others destroys the bridge over which he himself must pass!”
Too often we have made a mess of things with others, and the bridge to God’s grace is gone. Like Morrieaux, like ancient Israel, like the religious leaders that wanted to push Jesus into a legalistic corner, our attitudes and actions have turned sour. Like Engel, we wither in a prison that traps our souls. And only some power bigger than himself can put it all right again. Only some grace from outside, some compassion that goes beyond justice can open the door and let him live again. Only God.
1 Samuel 3:1-10 (11-20)
There are a number of key issues which emerge through the first half of 1 Samuel, as this new figure takes center stage. For one thing, the covenant theocracy with Yahweh as Israel’s unseen king begins to seem inadequate to the people. This is so for at least two reasons: On the one hand, Yahweh’s voice is hard to hear, unlike the days of Moses and Joshua, when it was quickly apparent what God desired or decreed. On the other hand, the urgent military threats from neighboring nations seem to demand a readily visible and immediate leadership that is not dependent on lengthy rituals of ceremony and sacrifice before Yahweh might or might not put in an appearance. Precisely because of these concerns, Samuel stands as the transition figure between the judges (who gave quick military leadership and then faded away without establishing ongoing royal courts or dynasties) and the monarchy, as it will emerge in part through Saul and to its full extent by way of David and his family. Samuel, as his name indicates, was a new communication link between the people and their God, and also a mighty general in battle. But his appearance on the scene was too brief to nurture public confidence in long-range national stability without a clearly identified temporal rule and an expectation of solid succession plans.
The clues to Samuel’s special gifts and leadership role are scattered throughout the initial seven chapters of 1 Samuel. First, there seem to be injustice and lack of divine blessing in the land. Elkanah’s first wife, Hannah, is barren, a typical sign of divine displeasure or even curse. His second wife, Peninnah, bears a number of children, but acts rudely toward Hannah about their contrasting situations. In short, the good wife is punished, and the bad wife is blessed. Things are definitely wrong in this upside-down world!
Second, the official representative for Yahweh, a priest named Eli (“My God”), neither recognizes true need and absolute devotion in Hannah’s silent praying, nor is able to intercede on her behalf with Yahweh. At first, he rudely accosts Hannah, calling her a drunkard. Then, when she pours out her deep frustrations, all he can do is wish her well. He does not have Yahweh’s ear, and Yahweh’s voice does not speak through him, even though he is a priest.
Third, the writer uses one telling event during Samuel’s childhood as the defining image of both the times and the man. “In those days the word of the Lord was rare,” he tells us (1 Samuel 3:1). Then, simply, the story of Samuel hearing his name called in the night is told. Samuel does not know who is calling him, and at first, Eli does not either. But soon it becomes apparent to the older man that, while he has neither the ear nor the voice of Yahweh, this young child certainly does. The nation quickly learns the same, as the writer notes in his closing comments on this episode: “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beersheba recognized that Samuel was attested as a prophet of the Lord. The Lord continues to appear at Shiloh, and there he revealed himself to Samuel through his word. And Samuel’s word came to all Israel” (1 Samuel 3:19--4:1)
2 Corinthians 4:5-12
The letter we call 1 Corinthians was not well received by its original readers. Their relations with Paul apparently deteriorated rapidly after it arrived, and many more among them began to call into question Paul’s presumed ongoing authority. In response, Paul decided that he needed to make a personal visit, both to address the immoral behaviors to, and renew his pastoral ties with, the church as a whole. Paul’s return to Corinth was anything but triumphant, however, and actually turned out to be a bust. Later, he would call it a “painful visit” (2 Corinthians 2:1).
After this debacle, Paul limped back to Ephesus, confused and hurt. In anger, he wrote a “severe letter” of reproof that later caused him regret because of its caustic tone and content (2 Corinthians 7:8). Although we might wish to know more specifically what Paul said in that correspondence, no copies have survived. Still, Paul’s strongly worded pastoral medicine apparently worked, at least to a degree, for when Titus made his report after delivering the letter, he told of great and pervasive repentance and sorrow among the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 7:6-16). Humility was breeding healing and hope.
About the same time that Titus was back in Corinth, Paul apparently has a near-death experience during a preaching trip to Troas (2 Corinthians 1-2). This scare seems to have been the trigger which initiated Paul’s fourth letter, a message of comfort and tenderness to the Corinthian congregation. Evidently, Paul needed to confirm the renewal of his relationship with the church, lest, if he should die soon, the lingering memories of their interaction would only be painful and etched by unresolved conflict. Paul’s last letter to Corinth survives as our 2 Corinthians.
It is a passionate, tender, personal and encouraging communication. Paul could hardly repeat the word “comfort” often enough in his opening paragraph (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Then he reminisced nostalgically, telling of his travel plans, his apostolic authority and how it came to him, the difficulties he had faced over the years of dedicated service to God and the church, and the ministry of reconciliation that continued to motivate him (2 Corinthians 1:12--7:16).
Key to all of this, for Paul, is the glory of God at work in a challenged and compromised world. We become, according to Paul, the containers of grace in often graceless form! Truly “cracked pots,” but still valuable because God fills us and spills out from us.
Mark 2:23-3:6
The first glimpse of Jesus in the Gospel according to Mark is found immediately in the introductory heading or title of 1:1 — “The beginning of the good news (gospel) about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Several things are important in this short statement. First, the author presumes there is much more to declare about Jesus than what will be contained in these proclamations; this is only “the beginning.” Second, whatever one might think about Jesus, even with the gruesome crucifixion story still ahead, the impact of his life and ministry is “good news.” This colors how one should receive the message that follows. Third, Jesus is already understood at the beginning of this story to be the Messiah foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament. The term “Christ”, appended to “Jesus”, is a title, not a name (although it would come to be used as such). Jesus is “the Christ,” meaning the one anointed to be the great deliverer of the Jews. This is why the baptism and divine commissioning of Jesus are told first (Mark 1:9-11) and are clearly expressed as a divine anointing (verse 10). Fourth, an additional designation is given to Jesus; he is called “the Son of God.” While Christianity has made this a common theological phrase, it was originally a very specific political term used to honor the Roman emperor. When Caesar Augustus died, the Roman senate declared him to be divine. All the rulers who came after him were, in turn, identified as the “Son of God” when they mounted the throne. For Mark to call Jesus the “Son of God” was a deliberate move to identify him as a rival to the Roman emperor of the day.
Our initial impressions about Jesus, as the narrative unfolds, are those showing him to be a man of action, healing, and power. In the first two chapters alone, Jesus is breathlessly busy, flitting all over Galilee, healing and teaching with such abandon that he is constantly followed (Mark 1:45), and always under urgent demand (Mark 3:7-8). While the gospel seems, at the start, to be merely a collection of stories about Jesus’ healings and brief teachings, it soon begins to take linear shape. In fact, its literary form will be copied by Matthew and Luke, who depend extensively on Mark’s record. This is why these three are together called the Synoptics (those who see similarly). In very broad outline, the gospel of Mark looks like this:
- 1-8 Jesus blasts the powers that harm human life by means of the greater power of the kingdom of God
- Transitional Event: Transfiguration in chapter 9
- 9-10 Jesus teaches his close companions about the cost and character of discipleship
- Transitional Event: Entry into Jerusalem in chapter 11
- 11-16 Jesus moves to the cross and beyond in a fulfillment of the cost of discipleship upon himself, and a paradoxical expression of the power of the kingdom of God
Second, the prophecy of Isaiah is recalled up front. That Old Testament spokesperson announced the coming of the great Day of the Lord, speaking of a time when Yahweh would break into human history to bring judgment against the nations of the world and the evil in Israel, save a remnant, and begin the new and transforming messianic age. In this way, Mark links the coming of Jesus directly to the Old Testament identity of God, and the actions of salvation history contained in it. This connection is further affirmed when Jesus opens his mouth to preach. His very first words are written by Mark as “the good news of God” (1:14) and commence as a staccato summary of the prophetic “Day of the Lord” theology: “The time has come. The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!” (1:15).
This is why, in our passage for today, Jesus clearly identifies himself as the source of the “law” that defines Judaism, and the meaning of it as well. The “law” was not so much a code of specific conduct as it was the parameters of life lived in close connection with the Creator of life. God wanted us to live and thrive, and the good grains of the fields are food on whatever day they nourish us. And the sabbath points to healing and restoration that too often eludes us here; yet if Jesus is the embodiment of life, he is also the meaning of the sabbath and restoration, and expressing these in healings is always appropriate, even if the local leaders want to press legalisms in his face.
Application
Professor Ed Dowey, retired from Princeton Seminary, used to talk about grace and its legalism imitator like this: “Suppose I’m walking down the street today, just minding my business, and I meet someone I don’t even know. Suppose that for some reason, out of the clear blue, she smiles at me. Now my heart is suddenly warmed. And what happens, but a smile pops out of my heart, and onto my lips too! That’s grace.
“But suppose that tomorrow I’m out there walking again, and I see her coming toward me. Do you know what happens? Before she even catches sight of my face today, I start wearing a smile. You know why? Because in my heart I’m hoping I can get her to smile at me again!”
Says Dowey, “That’s legalism!” Grace happens; legalism tries to make it work.
And so it is in our morality of behavior. Perfection keeps us toeing the line, while a relationship with Jesus Christ, and with others through him, gives us grace to keep our eyes on people, not the rulebook.
Alternative Application (Mark 2:923--3:6)
An angry man stormed into Abraham Lincoln’s office, when he was a lawyer practicing in Springfield, Illinois. The man demanded that Lincoln help him bring a lawsuit against an impoverished debtor who owed him $2.50. “Make him pay!”
Well, Lincoln didn’t want anything of the sort to happen. The debtor couldn’t pay the $2.50, the creditor didn’t need the $2.50, and society shouldn’t be run by either such greed or such insensitivity. So Lincoln declined the case.
Unfortunately, the man kept pressing, and since Lincoln was the only lawyer available, he was forced to serve the suit. First, though, he charged the man $10 for legal fees. Then he brought the defendant in, gave him $5.00 for his time, and asked if the charges were accurate. He readily agreed, and out of his newly gotten $5 paid the $2.50 he owed. Everyone was satisfied, including the irate plaintiff, who never realized that he spent $10 to collect $2.50!
Sometimes grace wins!
