Living as if faith matters
Commentary
Object:
When Eric Lomax was posted to Singapore in 1941 he knew nothing of the horror that lay ahead of him. With hundreds of other soldiers he was taken captive, and then declared a spy by the Japanese victors. They broke both his arms and smashed several ribs, and left him barely alive. Yet somehow he survived the death camps and returned home, albeit a damaged man. For fifty years his seething bitterness poisoned his relationships, first with his father and then with his wife. The former died and the latter was divorced.
In 1985 Lomax received a letter from a former Army chaplain who had made contact with Nagase Takashi, the man who had served as interpreter at Lomax's cruel interrogation. Nagase was deeply offended by his nation's treatment of war prisoners and had devoted the rest of his life to whatever restitution or recompense could be made. He even built a Buddhist temple near the place where Lomax and others had been severely beaten or killed.
Lomax felt the anger of boiling vengeance swell through him. He shared his frustrations with Patti, his second wife. She was indignant that Nagase could write about feeling forgiven and at peace, when she knew the troubles that had dogged her husband for decades. In irritation she wrote to Nagase about Eric's ongoing emotional pain.
To her surprise, she received a letter of response from Nagase. At first she was almost afraid to open it but with trembling curiosity she finally relented. What spilled into her lap was "an extraordinarily beautiful letter," as she put it. Even Lomax found himself moved deeply by its compassion and desire for reconciliation.
A year later Eric and Patti Lomax met Nagase at the location of the famous RiverKwaiBridge. In halting English Nagase repeated over and over, "I am very, very sorry."
Lomax, in tears, took him by the arm and said, "That's very kind of you to say so."
They met for hours, and Lomax gave Nagase a short letter. In it he said that he could not forget what happened in 1943 but that he had chosen to offer Nagase "total forgiveness." Nagase wept with emotion.
When interviewed later, Lomax said simply, "Sometime the hating has to stop."
There is no end to the hostilities that can erupt between good friends or neighbors or relatives when a slight is incurred or a tragedy can be laid to someone's blame. No end, that is, until someone chooses to say, "Sometime the hating has to stop." That is the very personal moment of forgiveness. It does not come easily. But if we live under the umbrella of God's mercy, it can come.
In today's gospel reading, Jesus steps outside of the numbers game of blame and negotiation and creates a new playing field which is so large that no scores can be kept. In effect, the message Jesus sends is not "You must try harder to learn the discipline of forgiving!" but rather "You must continually remember who you are!"
But forgiveness is only one dimension of acting as if faith matters. The Israelites faced a life-threatening challenge that tested the depths of their commitment to acting on faith. The apostle Paul challenges first-century Christians in Rome to take their beliefs even into the small choices of life.
Exodus 14:19-31
Exodus 1-19 forms an extended "historical prologue" to the Sinai covenant by declaring Israel's precarious situation in Egypt (chapter 1), the birth and training of the leader who would become Yahweh's agent for recovering Yahweh's enslaved people (chapter 2), the calling of this deliverer (chapters 3-4), and the battle of the superpowers (the Pharaoh and Yahweh) who each lay claim to suzerain status over this vassal nation (chapters 5-19). Exodus 20-24 is the original covenant document of the Old Testament, binding Israel to her God in a suzerain-vassal treaty. Exodus 25-40 focuses on the creation of a suitable residence for Israel's suzerain. Thus the whole of Exodus may be quickly outlined as Struggles (1-19), Stipulations (20-24), and Symbols (25-40) surrounding the Sinai covenant-making event.
The struggles of chapters 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that "Joseph" has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backward, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
Israel belongs to Yahweh both because of historic promises made to Abraham, and also by way of chivalrous combat in which Yahweh won back the prize of lover and human companion from the usurper who had stolen her away from the divine heart. Furthermore, Yahweh accomplished this act without the help of Israel's own resources (no armies, no resistance movements, no terrorist tactics, no great escape plans), and in a decisive manner that announced the limitations of the Egyptian religious and cultural resources.
This is why the final plague is paired with the institution of the Passover festival (Exodus 12). The annual festival would become an ongoing reminder that Israel was bought back by way of a blood-price redemption, and that the nation owed its very existence to the love and fighting jealousy of its divine champion. In one momentous confrontation, Egypt lost its firstborn and its cultural heritage, while Israel became Yahweh's firstborn and rightful inheritance.
Related to this divinely-initiated ownership theme is the miraculous deliverance of Israel through the Red Sea, coupled with the annihilation of the Egyptian army and its national military prowess in the same incidents. While Exodus 14 narrates the episode in the nail-biting urgency of a documentary, chapter 15 is given over largely to the ancient song of Moses, which unmistakably identifies the entire exodus event as divine combat against Pharaoh over the possession of Israel. Furthermore, the victory ballad also clearly anticipates the effect of this battle on the other Near Eastern nations, with the result that Yahweh is able to march the Israelites through many hostile territories and eventually settle the nation in Canaan as an ongoing testimony to Yahweh's rightful prestige. So it is that the exodus itself is not the divine goal, but only the first stage toward something else.
Romans 14:1-12
The matter of dietary choices in the early church, as probed by Paul in Romans 14, is very interesting. Paul spent the winter of 53-54 AD in Corinth, and it might well have been this setting that prompted the inclusion of this ethical discussion in his letter to the Roman church. After all, only a year or so earlier Paul had been required to address this same issue for the Corinthian congregation (see 1 Corinthians 8-10). What makes this discussion particularly compelling is that it arises from confusion about the instructions issued by the Jerusalem council several years before (Acts 15). Gentiles were told that they did not have to first become practicing Jews in order to become believing Christians. But some social and dietary suggestions were offered so that Gentiles and Jews might be able to share table fellowship, particularly when commemorating the Last Supper together. The brief instruction issued by the Jerusalem council several years before was to "abstain from food sacrificed to idols" (Acts 15:29).
Already now that command was being interpreted in various ways. When animal sacrifices were made at cultic shrines, particularly on well-attended public occasions, there was often too much flesh either for burning or for eating at the time. Without refrigeration, since the meat was destined to spoil quickly, much of the excess was dumped into the markets at bargain-basement prices. Because many of the Christians in Rome were slaves or from lower classes this inexpensive meat offered a lot of meal for the money. And that is where the controversy began.
Some folks, who had taken a strong hold on the freedoms offered by Christ, knew that idols were not rival gods and therefore any meat purchased in this way was simply a wise use of funds. Others, however, who had emerged into Christianity from prior work at the shrines and former participation in the cultic practices of these non-Christian religions, found it scandalous for Christians to buy and eat such meat. Another group remembered the instructions of the Jerusalem council, and thought it a matter of principle not to engage in this act that had specifically been prohibited by the church leaders.
Paul's response sorts through these differing reflections on Christian freedoms and interpersonal responsibilities and leaves the final decisions up to maturing believers who are wise enough to understand how their behavior can impact others. Once again, as with his instructions in his letters to the Corinthians and earlier the Galatians, Paul places the goal of a loving response to Jesus as primary in the making of all moral and ethical choices and follows that closely with a sense of obligation to serve and help others. In effect, Paul's ethical code is essentially that which Jesus espoused: love God above all, and love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37-40).
Matthew 18:21-35
Several themes emerge from Jesus' story. First, it becomes obvious that forgiveness is always personal because pain is personal. Peter asks about what he should do when his "brother" sins against him. That makes sense to us, even if we don't want to admit it. It is far easier to pretend to deal with people and matters that are at a distance. We can choose to hate terrorists and then choose to talk with politically correct understanding about them because few of us have ever actually been terrorized firsthand. But if a murder has happened in our family, or if a drunk driver has destroyed our property or our health or the life of a loved one, things become highly personal and our glib forgiving spirit runs away.
A second thing Jesus teaches us in his parable is that forgiveness is essentially one-sided. While we hope for reconciliation -- a two-sided outcome -- in matters of hurt and broken relationships, forgiveness is not the same thing. Forgiveness is initiated by one party and is often rebuffed or rejected by the other. That does not undo forgiveness, but it does remind us that forgiveness is essentially one-sided. Forgiveness is what I do or he does or she does. If it leads to mutual restoration, only then does the one-sided forgiveness become two-sided reconciliation.
Jesus emphasizes this in his teaching by showing that when the rich creditor chose to cancel the initial debt, it was neither required nor expected. It happened only because of the choice made by the king. The outcome of the debt cancellation was two-sided, to be sure, but it was initiated as a one-sided movement on the part of the king.
This is a very important point to remember. If we can't have our way in some matter, we often want to make sure that at least the other person can't have her way either. If I hurt, he has to hurt. If I have been wronged, at minimum the other person should be required to make a public show of sorrow. Tit for tat. We want the scales to be balanced somehow, even if it is by way of some kind of mutual expressions that hurt has been caused.
But Jesus is not asking us to be fair people. He is asking that we become excessively unfair in mercy, in the same way that our Father in heaven is merciful with us. It begins as a one-sided initiative.
There is a third element of meaning to note in Jesus' teaching parable and that is that forgiveness is not merely a one-time event but rather a growing disposition of graciousness. Matthew makes this clear by placing the parable in the middle section of his gospel. Those events leading up to the Transfiguration in chapter 17 show Jesus focusing most of his attention on the crowds who gather around, and emphasizing the character of the kingdom of heaven. Later, following the entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday (chapter 21), most of Jesus' teachings will anticipate his death and resurrection and the Messianic Age that these usher in. But here, in between, Jesus spends most of his time with his disciples and tries to help them understand the character of a committed spiritual lifestyle. We call it discipleship.
Jesus makes it clear in his story to Peter that there are others looking on as they practice their piety. It is a group of otherwise undescribed folks who notice how the forgiven debtor treats the man who owes him a little. These people also report the man's actions to the king, who had originally laid aside the huge obligation that could never have been paid.
In telling this part of the story Jesus reminds his disciples and us that the goal of any spiritual formation in our lives is not merely to make us feel good or to give us a sense of accomplishment. This is quite important, since it was Peter's question that sparked the teaching in the first place. Peter had come asking what it would take for him to know that he had done enough, he was good enough, and he had arrived at some new level of spiritual graduation.
But accomplishments that become self-serving and occasions for self-congratulations are not the goal of discipleship. Jesus, in fact, had said earlier in the Sermon on the Mount, that those who pray in public and make a big show of giving to the poor have their immediate gratification, but it holds no heavenly value. The goal of spiritual growth is transformation, not arrival. We are to be engaged in a process whereby we become different people and through which our world begins to look more like the kingdom God intended it to be.
So forgiveness is not merely an act that is repeated on occasion to make us feel good in our accomplishments. Rather, it is a growing disposition of graciousness that is an unfolding process of discipleship identity and lifestyle. Peter ought not to think about how many times he forgives one person or a hundred. Instead, the question is whether his character is continually evolving to become more reflective of God.
Application
Michael Christopher probed the actions of faith well in his play The Black Angel. He told of Hermann Engel, a German general who was sentenced to thirty years in prison by the Nuremberg court for war crimes. Nearly forgotten by the time he was released, Engel escaped from society and built a small mountain cabin near Alsace to live out his final years in obscurity.
But a journalist named Morrieaux would not let the story die so easily. After all, it had been his village and his family who were destroyed by Engel's brutality. Working carefully by spreading rumor and stirring up old feelings of bitterness, Morrieaux fomented a plot to burn the man's house down around him and sear him painfully to death.
Even this, though, was not enough. Morrieaux had a thirst for revenge. He wanted to hear a confession from Engel. Then he wanted Engel to understand what was about to happen to him. Morrieaux desired to watch the horror invade Engel's eyes at the moment when his destruction was assured.
So Morrieaux sneaked ahead of the mob he had stirred up and connived to enter the general's cottage on pretense. But the person he met there was not at all what he expected. There was no gruesomeness about him; he held no monster-like qualities. This was just a feeble old man. In fact, as Morrieaux tried to draw out from him the awful details of his war experiences and crimes, Engel was halting and confused. He could not fully remember all that took place. Dates had blurred and incidents were lost or rewoven.
Morrieaux began to realize that his vengeance would not be sweet, and that the plot he had instigated against the old man was a terrible act of murder. In desperation he revealed himself and his intentions to Engel, begging that the general escape quickly with him. Even as they spoke there were distant sounds of the mob climbing to do the nasty deed.
Engel finally understood what was going on. But before he would leave with Morrieaux he required one condition. "What is it?" asked Morrieaux.
"Forgive me," replied Engel.
The journalist was frozen. What should he do?
As the lights come down Morrieaux slipped out of the cottage alone. The mob did its work and the horrible war criminal died. But the journalist remained forever locked in his own prison of unforgiveness.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 18:21-35. In February of 1982 Max Lindeman and Harold Wells were sentenced to modest prison terms by a New York judge. Police had booked the pair on rape and assault charges in a highly publicized case. Four months earlier they had entered a convent in New York City and had brutally victimized a thirty-year-old nun. Not only had they repeatedly raped her, they had also beaten her and then used a nail file to carve 27 crosses into her body. It was a crime that brought even the insensitive to tears.
But when it came time to press charges, the nun refused. She was fully aware that these were the men who attacked her. Nor did she deny that something evil had happened to her at their hand. Yet when it came time to overtly accuse the men of their crimes, she chose instead to tell the police and the reporters that after the model of Jesus, she forgave them. She hoped, she said, that they would learn something from this act of one-sided forgiveness and change their ways.
The police were almost livid. Here were two rotten scoundrels who needed to be punished, yet the nun had tied their hands. Social outrage mounted as the two were tried on lesser charges and jailed for significantly shorter sentences than their basest crimes really demanded.
Did it work? Did the nun's forgiving spirit soften the hearts of Lindeman and Wells? Did they change?
The nun believes that is the wrong question to ask. In her heart, forgiveness works. She is more like Christ and lives in greater harmony with the Spirit of God than if she had followed through on the requests to press charges.
We cannot know, of course, whether the nun's actions are better or worse for the men or for society generally. We probably could not endure a world where no justice was meted and where the fabric of social responsibility became a mockery through expectations of convenient unilateral forgiveness.
Nevertheless, the wisdom of Jesus' words is found precisely in their unusual instruction. Jesus himself would die upon a cross that he did not deserve, and while hanging there would breathe words of divine forgiveness. It is the very contrary nature of forgiveness that requires of us respect. To forgive is an unusual way of life that cuts across our otherwise jaded senses and renegotiates the character of power in our world.
Forgiveness is a choice and a unilateral one at that. It cannot go on the bargaining block or it becomes something other than its essential character. Forgiveness is not fair. It is mercy offered and that act alone sets aside certain demands of justice. It does not negate justice, but it says that a higher power will be entered to trump the ordinary scheme of things for extraordinary purposes.
In 1985 Lomax received a letter from a former Army chaplain who had made contact with Nagase Takashi, the man who had served as interpreter at Lomax's cruel interrogation. Nagase was deeply offended by his nation's treatment of war prisoners and had devoted the rest of his life to whatever restitution or recompense could be made. He even built a Buddhist temple near the place where Lomax and others had been severely beaten or killed.
Lomax felt the anger of boiling vengeance swell through him. He shared his frustrations with Patti, his second wife. She was indignant that Nagase could write about feeling forgiven and at peace, when she knew the troubles that had dogged her husband for decades. In irritation she wrote to Nagase about Eric's ongoing emotional pain.
To her surprise, she received a letter of response from Nagase. At first she was almost afraid to open it but with trembling curiosity she finally relented. What spilled into her lap was "an extraordinarily beautiful letter," as she put it. Even Lomax found himself moved deeply by its compassion and desire for reconciliation.
A year later Eric and Patti Lomax met Nagase at the location of the famous RiverKwaiBridge. In halting English Nagase repeated over and over, "I am very, very sorry."
Lomax, in tears, took him by the arm and said, "That's very kind of you to say so."
They met for hours, and Lomax gave Nagase a short letter. In it he said that he could not forget what happened in 1943 but that he had chosen to offer Nagase "total forgiveness." Nagase wept with emotion.
When interviewed later, Lomax said simply, "Sometime the hating has to stop."
There is no end to the hostilities that can erupt between good friends or neighbors or relatives when a slight is incurred or a tragedy can be laid to someone's blame. No end, that is, until someone chooses to say, "Sometime the hating has to stop." That is the very personal moment of forgiveness. It does not come easily. But if we live under the umbrella of God's mercy, it can come.
In today's gospel reading, Jesus steps outside of the numbers game of blame and negotiation and creates a new playing field which is so large that no scores can be kept. In effect, the message Jesus sends is not "You must try harder to learn the discipline of forgiving!" but rather "You must continually remember who you are!"
But forgiveness is only one dimension of acting as if faith matters. The Israelites faced a life-threatening challenge that tested the depths of their commitment to acting on faith. The apostle Paul challenges first-century Christians in Rome to take their beliefs even into the small choices of life.
Exodus 14:19-31
Exodus 1-19 forms an extended "historical prologue" to the Sinai covenant by declaring Israel's precarious situation in Egypt (chapter 1), the birth and training of the leader who would become Yahweh's agent for recovering Yahweh's enslaved people (chapter 2), the calling of this deliverer (chapters 3-4), and the battle of the superpowers (the Pharaoh and Yahweh) who each lay claim to suzerain status over this vassal nation (chapters 5-19). Exodus 20-24 is the original covenant document of the Old Testament, binding Israel to her God in a suzerain-vassal treaty. Exodus 25-40 focuses on the creation of a suitable residence for Israel's suzerain. Thus the whole of Exodus may be quickly outlined as Struggles (1-19), Stipulations (20-24), and Symbols (25-40) surrounding the Sinai covenant-making event.
The struggles of chapters 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that "Joseph" has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backward, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
Israel belongs to Yahweh both because of historic promises made to Abraham, and also by way of chivalrous combat in which Yahweh won back the prize of lover and human companion from the usurper who had stolen her away from the divine heart. Furthermore, Yahweh accomplished this act without the help of Israel's own resources (no armies, no resistance movements, no terrorist tactics, no great escape plans), and in a decisive manner that announced the limitations of the Egyptian religious and cultural resources.
This is why the final plague is paired with the institution of the Passover festival (Exodus 12). The annual festival would become an ongoing reminder that Israel was bought back by way of a blood-price redemption, and that the nation owed its very existence to the love and fighting jealousy of its divine champion. In one momentous confrontation, Egypt lost its firstborn and its cultural heritage, while Israel became Yahweh's firstborn and rightful inheritance.
Related to this divinely-initiated ownership theme is the miraculous deliverance of Israel through the Red Sea, coupled with the annihilation of the Egyptian army and its national military prowess in the same incidents. While Exodus 14 narrates the episode in the nail-biting urgency of a documentary, chapter 15 is given over largely to the ancient song of Moses, which unmistakably identifies the entire exodus event as divine combat against Pharaoh over the possession of Israel. Furthermore, the victory ballad also clearly anticipates the effect of this battle on the other Near Eastern nations, with the result that Yahweh is able to march the Israelites through many hostile territories and eventually settle the nation in Canaan as an ongoing testimony to Yahweh's rightful prestige. So it is that the exodus itself is not the divine goal, but only the first stage toward something else.
Romans 14:1-12
The matter of dietary choices in the early church, as probed by Paul in Romans 14, is very interesting. Paul spent the winter of 53-54 AD in Corinth, and it might well have been this setting that prompted the inclusion of this ethical discussion in his letter to the Roman church. After all, only a year or so earlier Paul had been required to address this same issue for the Corinthian congregation (see 1 Corinthians 8-10). What makes this discussion particularly compelling is that it arises from confusion about the instructions issued by the Jerusalem council several years before (Acts 15). Gentiles were told that they did not have to first become practicing Jews in order to become believing Christians. But some social and dietary suggestions were offered so that Gentiles and Jews might be able to share table fellowship, particularly when commemorating the Last Supper together. The brief instruction issued by the Jerusalem council several years before was to "abstain from food sacrificed to idols" (Acts 15:29).
Already now that command was being interpreted in various ways. When animal sacrifices were made at cultic shrines, particularly on well-attended public occasions, there was often too much flesh either for burning or for eating at the time. Without refrigeration, since the meat was destined to spoil quickly, much of the excess was dumped into the markets at bargain-basement prices. Because many of the Christians in Rome were slaves or from lower classes this inexpensive meat offered a lot of meal for the money. And that is where the controversy began.
Some folks, who had taken a strong hold on the freedoms offered by Christ, knew that idols were not rival gods and therefore any meat purchased in this way was simply a wise use of funds. Others, however, who had emerged into Christianity from prior work at the shrines and former participation in the cultic practices of these non-Christian religions, found it scandalous for Christians to buy and eat such meat. Another group remembered the instructions of the Jerusalem council, and thought it a matter of principle not to engage in this act that had specifically been prohibited by the church leaders.
Paul's response sorts through these differing reflections on Christian freedoms and interpersonal responsibilities and leaves the final decisions up to maturing believers who are wise enough to understand how their behavior can impact others. Once again, as with his instructions in his letters to the Corinthians and earlier the Galatians, Paul places the goal of a loving response to Jesus as primary in the making of all moral and ethical choices and follows that closely with a sense of obligation to serve and help others. In effect, Paul's ethical code is essentially that which Jesus espoused: love God above all, and love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37-40).
Matthew 18:21-35
Several themes emerge from Jesus' story. First, it becomes obvious that forgiveness is always personal because pain is personal. Peter asks about what he should do when his "brother" sins against him. That makes sense to us, even if we don't want to admit it. It is far easier to pretend to deal with people and matters that are at a distance. We can choose to hate terrorists and then choose to talk with politically correct understanding about them because few of us have ever actually been terrorized firsthand. But if a murder has happened in our family, or if a drunk driver has destroyed our property or our health or the life of a loved one, things become highly personal and our glib forgiving spirit runs away.
A second thing Jesus teaches us in his parable is that forgiveness is essentially one-sided. While we hope for reconciliation -- a two-sided outcome -- in matters of hurt and broken relationships, forgiveness is not the same thing. Forgiveness is initiated by one party and is often rebuffed or rejected by the other. That does not undo forgiveness, but it does remind us that forgiveness is essentially one-sided. Forgiveness is what I do or he does or she does. If it leads to mutual restoration, only then does the one-sided forgiveness become two-sided reconciliation.
Jesus emphasizes this in his teaching by showing that when the rich creditor chose to cancel the initial debt, it was neither required nor expected. It happened only because of the choice made by the king. The outcome of the debt cancellation was two-sided, to be sure, but it was initiated as a one-sided movement on the part of the king.
This is a very important point to remember. If we can't have our way in some matter, we often want to make sure that at least the other person can't have her way either. If I hurt, he has to hurt. If I have been wronged, at minimum the other person should be required to make a public show of sorrow. Tit for tat. We want the scales to be balanced somehow, even if it is by way of some kind of mutual expressions that hurt has been caused.
But Jesus is not asking us to be fair people. He is asking that we become excessively unfair in mercy, in the same way that our Father in heaven is merciful with us. It begins as a one-sided initiative.
There is a third element of meaning to note in Jesus' teaching parable and that is that forgiveness is not merely a one-time event but rather a growing disposition of graciousness. Matthew makes this clear by placing the parable in the middle section of his gospel. Those events leading up to the Transfiguration in chapter 17 show Jesus focusing most of his attention on the crowds who gather around, and emphasizing the character of the kingdom of heaven. Later, following the entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday (chapter 21), most of Jesus' teachings will anticipate his death and resurrection and the Messianic Age that these usher in. But here, in between, Jesus spends most of his time with his disciples and tries to help them understand the character of a committed spiritual lifestyle. We call it discipleship.
Jesus makes it clear in his story to Peter that there are others looking on as they practice their piety. It is a group of otherwise undescribed folks who notice how the forgiven debtor treats the man who owes him a little. These people also report the man's actions to the king, who had originally laid aside the huge obligation that could never have been paid.
In telling this part of the story Jesus reminds his disciples and us that the goal of any spiritual formation in our lives is not merely to make us feel good or to give us a sense of accomplishment. This is quite important, since it was Peter's question that sparked the teaching in the first place. Peter had come asking what it would take for him to know that he had done enough, he was good enough, and he had arrived at some new level of spiritual graduation.
But accomplishments that become self-serving and occasions for self-congratulations are not the goal of discipleship. Jesus, in fact, had said earlier in the Sermon on the Mount, that those who pray in public and make a big show of giving to the poor have their immediate gratification, but it holds no heavenly value. The goal of spiritual growth is transformation, not arrival. We are to be engaged in a process whereby we become different people and through which our world begins to look more like the kingdom God intended it to be.
So forgiveness is not merely an act that is repeated on occasion to make us feel good in our accomplishments. Rather, it is a growing disposition of graciousness that is an unfolding process of discipleship identity and lifestyle. Peter ought not to think about how many times he forgives one person or a hundred. Instead, the question is whether his character is continually evolving to become more reflective of God.
Application
Michael Christopher probed the actions of faith well in his play The Black Angel. He told of Hermann Engel, a German general who was sentenced to thirty years in prison by the Nuremberg court for war crimes. Nearly forgotten by the time he was released, Engel escaped from society and built a small mountain cabin near Alsace to live out his final years in obscurity.
But a journalist named Morrieaux would not let the story die so easily. After all, it had been his village and his family who were destroyed by Engel's brutality. Working carefully by spreading rumor and stirring up old feelings of bitterness, Morrieaux fomented a plot to burn the man's house down around him and sear him painfully to death.
Even this, though, was not enough. Morrieaux had a thirst for revenge. He wanted to hear a confession from Engel. Then he wanted Engel to understand what was about to happen to him. Morrieaux desired to watch the horror invade Engel's eyes at the moment when his destruction was assured.
So Morrieaux sneaked ahead of the mob he had stirred up and connived to enter the general's cottage on pretense. But the person he met there was not at all what he expected. There was no gruesomeness about him; he held no monster-like qualities. This was just a feeble old man. In fact, as Morrieaux tried to draw out from him the awful details of his war experiences and crimes, Engel was halting and confused. He could not fully remember all that took place. Dates had blurred and incidents were lost or rewoven.
Morrieaux began to realize that his vengeance would not be sweet, and that the plot he had instigated against the old man was a terrible act of murder. In desperation he revealed himself and his intentions to Engel, begging that the general escape quickly with him. Even as they spoke there were distant sounds of the mob climbing to do the nasty deed.
Engel finally understood what was going on. But before he would leave with Morrieaux he required one condition. "What is it?" asked Morrieaux.
"Forgive me," replied Engel.
The journalist was frozen. What should he do?
As the lights come down Morrieaux slipped out of the cottage alone. The mob did its work and the horrible war criminal died. But the journalist remained forever locked in his own prison of unforgiveness.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 18:21-35. In February of 1982 Max Lindeman and Harold Wells were sentenced to modest prison terms by a New York judge. Police had booked the pair on rape and assault charges in a highly publicized case. Four months earlier they had entered a convent in New York City and had brutally victimized a thirty-year-old nun. Not only had they repeatedly raped her, they had also beaten her and then used a nail file to carve 27 crosses into her body. It was a crime that brought even the insensitive to tears.
But when it came time to press charges, the nun refused. She was fully aware that these were the men who attacked her. Nor did she deny that something evil had happened to her at their hand. Yet when it came time to overtly accuse the men of their crimes, she chose instead to tell the police and the reporters that after the model of Jesus, she forgave them. She hoped, she said, that they would learn something from this act of one-sided forgiveness and change their ways.
The police were almost livid. Here were two rotten scoundrels who needed to be punished, yet the nun had tied their hands. Social outrage mounted as the two were tried on lesser charges and jailed for significantly shorter sentences than their basest crimes really demanded.
Did it work? Did the nun's forgiving spirit soften the hearts of Lindeman and Wells? Did they change?
The nun believes that is the wrong question to ask. In her heart, forgiveness works. She is more like Christ and lives in greater harmony with the Spirit of God than if she had followed through on the requests to press charges.
We cannot know, of course, whether the nun's actions are better or worse for the men or for society generally. We probably could not endure a world where no justice was meted and where the fabric of social responsibility became a mockery through expectations of convenient unilateral forgiveness.
Nevertheless, the wisdom of Jesus' words is found precisely in their unusual instruction. Jesus himself would die upon a cross that he did not deserve, and while hanging there would breathe words of divine forgiveness. It is the very contrary nature of forgiveness that requires of us respect. To forgive is an unusual way of life that cuts across our otherwise jaded senses and renegotiates the character of power in our world.
Forgiveness is a choice and a unilateral one at that. It cannot go on the bargaining block or it becomes something other than its essential character. Forgiveness is not fair. It is mercy offered and that act alone sets aside certain demands of justice. It does not negate justice, but it says that a higher power will be entered to trump the ordinary scheme of things for extraordinary purposes.
