“Lord, how often must I forgive my brother if he wrongs me? As often as seven times?”
Readiness to forgive is taught by many of the great philosophies and religions of the world. Why? Because you can’t be happy, or have any sort of inner peace, far less inner joy, if you refuse to forgive. Dwelling on past hurts, nurturing resentment, indulging simmering anger: these things can blight or embitter a person’s whole life. Unfortunately though, as all of us know: sometimes forgiveness can seem very difficult indeed, even impossible. Perhaps this is so nowadays more than ever, because contemporary secular culture encourages us to think of ourselves as victims, who have a right to demand compensation and redress.
Today’s reading from Sirach strikingly shows how our duty to forgive is taught also in the Old Testament. But Peter then asks a typically Rabbinical question. “I know God’s law teaches us to forgive: but how many times? At what point can I reasonably decide to refuse my forgiveness?”
The response of Jesus is completely radical. For his disciples, for those who follow his way, there can be no limit whatever to forgiveness. This is not just because we want peace of heart, nor just because forgiveness is somehow a moral duty: but because only in this way can we live worthily as children of God.
In various places in St. Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus had already outlined his doctrine. Turn the other cheek, he said in the Sermon on the Mount. Love your enemies... When you pray, say: Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. Now with this parable Our Lord underlines all that in the strongest possible terms. Not just: do this if you want to be good. But: if you fail to do this, you cannot be saved.
I suppose that the debtor before the King in our parable today must represent Everyman before God. The sum he owes is astronomically high. He cannot possibly pay it off. So also, none of us can pay God what we owe. All we have and all we are comes from him. But in addition: by our sin we have broken our relationship with God, and forfeited his love. This has created a gulf between us and God that in principle we are utterly unable to cross. In strict justice, all we deserve is punishment.
So the promise of the man in the story to pay, given sufficient time, is sheer nonsense. As a matter of fact his delivery into slavery together with his whole family can’t begin to measure up to the debt either. But then he pleads with the King, who against every expectation has compassion on him, and cancels the debt outright.
Here we need to be careful not to press the details of the story too far. In reality, the mercy of God is from eternity, and so comes before the plea of the sinner. And salvation doesn’t consist simply in being let off and sent away, as it were unchanged. Rather, it involves God reaching out in Christ to reconcile us with himself; drawing us to himself; raising us to share in Christ the status of beloved sons.
In strict theological terms, all of us who are sinners have received divine mercy in Christ as a free gift. This gift we did not deserve and could never earn. And it was not easily given, as if by a careless stroke of a pen. On the contrary: to continue with the scriptural metaphor, the infinitely precious price of our redemption was paid by God himself, in the Blood of Christ.
At the end of today’s parable, the King is angry, and hands the debtor over to the torturers. Here also we need to interpret with some care. God is never literally angry, nor does he arbitrarily punish those who fail to meet his moral demands. But if we ignore the teaching of the Gospel; if we harden our hearts; if by cruel, selfish and proud acts we become cruel, selfish and proud people, then we make ourselves incapable of entering into the light and love that Christ has won for us. The terrible truth is that God will not over-rule our freedom. The possibility remains that we can reject mercy, and so cast ourselves forever outside its scope.
All of us here, maybe especially we consecrated religious, need to be clear that the lesson of today’s parable applies also to us. We need to read it with open hearts, and if necessary, squirm. Unfortunately we all know that it’s only too easy to slip into wholly unchristian attitudes of mind about those we live with.
Does that mean that Christians must always passively tolerate all unreasonable behaviour from others? The context in Matthew’s Gospel shows that this is not at all the mind of Jesus. In Chapter 18 of St. Matthew he sets out a procedure for dealing with offenses, which includes both rebuke and punishment. The Rule of St. Benedict, faithful to the Gospel, is also full of measures for the correction of bad behaviour. Nevertheless: as Christians, if we hope for forgiveness, we must always forgive. The Saints indeed thanked God whenever anyone offended against them. They saw such occasions as blessed opportunities to repay, in some measure, the mercy they themselves have received; to grow in likeness to Christ.
What though if we find it too hard? What if my brother really hurts or upsets me, and ever continues to do so? What if I have been so deeply wounded by someone that my life is effectively ruined? In that case, let us simply admit the impossibility of our task, and turn to God for help. O God come to my aid, we cry. “Lord, help me to let go of this. If I can’t forgive, then do you forgive in my place. Bless us both, Lord, so that each of us is able to receive the gift of your forgiveness.”
We pray, we go to confession, and we come to Mass. Here the love and mercy of Jesus that flows from his sacrificial death are made present, and received in sacramental form. Here supremely we find the grace and strength we need, in order to let go of the debt we are owed: we, who have been redeemed from our own incomparably greater debt, through the blood of Jesus Christ our Lord.