How Many Times Is That?

The question in my primary gospel reading for this Sunday seems to be about math (Matthew 18:21-35). How many times must I forgive someone, seven? Peter thinks he has the right answer and is being even more generous than Jewish teaching requires. Perhaps he was even trying to show off.

Haven’t we all done that to some extent? We’re proud of what we know, what we’ve committed to memory, what skills we’ve gained, what ministry we’ve done that has made a difference. Peter’s question seems to indicate that he’s seeking an upper limit of having done enough, of offering a reasonable amount of mercy. When that same jerk neighbour blasts music late at night, after the seventh time I’ve had it and it’s no more mister nice guy! We all have our limits, after all.

I’m sure that Jesus’ response sets Peter back. No, not seven times but seventy times seven. Now, not even chanting times tables in my grade four class did we go that high. It takes some figuring to come up with 490, almost too many to count or to remember how many of them you’ve gotten to before needing to start all over again. I don’t believe that 490 is a magic number, just a large one to illustrate the point that we shouldn’t be keeping score to reach a limit of grace that shows how much we have tolerated.

And Jesus being Jesus tells a parable, a story pointing to a deeper meaning. A king is merciful to a servant begging for patience to repay a massive debt and lets it go, forgiving the whole amount rather than enslaving the man’s whole family. But that same servant immediately demands instant payment from a fellow servant owing him a much smaller amount. He puts that servant into prison for not coughing up the cash on the spot. The king, on hearing this, berates the man he had forgiven and then sends him to prison as well until he could pay up, his ‘debt forgiveness’ gone.

Jesus is very clear on the exact meaning of this parable. God will do the same to us as the king did in the story. We are the ones owing far more to God than what others owe us. We are in no place to make demands on others without making amends with God and recognizing the extent of our own faults and messes. If we don’t forgive from our hearts, then God won’t forgive us.

Presbyterian tradition includes confession as part of prayers in worship, often near the beginning of the service and followed by an Assurance of Pardon, or absolution or writing off of the burden of our guilt because of Jesus’ action on the cross and God’s grace. Many churches also include a Passing of the Peace as a physical expression of that forgiveness we’ve been offered and our desire to reconcile with the community of faith as well. That goodwill of healing and setting aside grievances and offering each other mercy happens on a weekly basis.

Some people find this idea of confession dreary. Presbyterians in particular can be labeled as both the ‘chosen frozen’ and being all about guilt and feeling bad. Where is the joy and the fun and levity in that? It’s a drag to have to think about how you’ve messed up through the week. Many struggle to recognize their sin, an unpopular word in our hyper-positive and hedonistic culture. An Anglican prayer mentions as sins those things we knew we should have done or said and didn’t, and those we did or said that we shouldn’t have, with all of them having had an impact on our relationships to God and with each other.

While baptism washes us clean and publicly gives us a new lease on life as a child of God brought into the family, that’s not the end of our need for forgiveness. It’s not a one and done. And I say, thank God for that. I couldn’t imagine the pressure to be absolutely perfect the entire rest of my life (and this from a recovering perfectionist). But that opportunity each week reminds me that only God is perfect, and because of Christ I don’t have to be. I can mess up, even willfully, and as I name it and acknowledge my regret about it in front of God Almighty, Jesus picks up the tab and my slate is cleaned again.

The gift of confession is a constant reminder of God’s grace in my life. I don’t have to wait until Sunday to acknowledge my mess-ups and to be kept humble as my burden is lifted. And I certainly don’t have to wait until Sunday to forgive someone whatever they did to me after my pile of dirty laundry has been washed and returned to dazzling white garments. My reassurance of God’s awareness of me and mercy reminds me of the strength I have to make amends with others and give them a piece of what I’ve been given, even when the pain runs deep and it’s not a simple process of letting go.

I wonder if we as a society can ever stop counting and quantifying and justifying ourselves. Because God doesn’t do that with us. This story is about us recognizing that we are small and unworthy, but raised up and honoured and made worthy with our hearts whole and healthy and flowing with love because of God. What a gift.

How amazing is the grace of God that will never run out but will keep blessing us. May we never lose perspective on just how much we have been given without deserving it. And may we never feel above sharing the gift.