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January 15, 2006
Forgiveness?
Psalm 32 / Genesis 50: 15-21
Matthew 6: 7-15
January 15th, 2006
One of you asked me some weeks ago if I would preach on forgiveness. Every one of us knows the pain of not being forgiven. Every one of us knows the difficulty of forgiving. Lurking beneath the surface of most people is the sense of having fallen short, and yet it’s so hard to forgive. I risk preaching about forgiveness when I too find it hard to forgive. Some of you will think I’m talking about you this morning. I hope that all of you will feel God nudging you.
The well-known psychiatrist, Karl Menninger begins one of his books telling about a stern-faced, plainly dressed man who stood in Chicago’s loop on a sunny day in September 1972. As pedestrians hurried by on their way to lunch or business, he would solemnly lift his right arm, and pointing to the person nearest him, intone loudly the single word, ‘GUILTY!’ Then without any change of expression, he would resume his stiff stance for a few moments, before repeating the gesture. Then, again, the inexorable raising of his arm, the pointing, and the solemn pronouncing of the one word, ‘GUILTY!’
The effect of this strange pantomime on the people passing by was extraordinary, almost eerie. They would stare at him, hesitate, look away, look at each other, and then at him again, then hurriedly continue on their way. Some mumbled about this “kook.” One man, turning to another—who told this story—exclaimed, ‘How did he know?’
Guilty of what? Over-parking? Lying? Arrogance? Hubris before God? Of “borrowing” from the company, that is, embezzling? Of cheating on my wife, my husband—or planning to with that one I linger with at the water fountain? Guilty of bigotry? Of that last remark I made to a fellow worker that put him in his place before I left work? Guilty of passing along choice gossip? Guilty of neglecting my family to get ahead at work?
There are many unsolved crimes, which means there are people who walk the streets who are guilty of murder, of theft, of sexual abuse of children—and every one of these carries inside the burden of what he has done.
“Guilty!” The man pointed his finger and said sternly, looking at this person, then at that person. The antidote to this vast fund of guilt that underlies our society is massive forgiveness, convincingly offered. But where is this to be found?
Forgiveness is found in Jesus Christ, but I know many Christians who linger with evidence of being under the weight of guilt. How to apply to ourselves the forgiveness offered by Jesus? Bishop Westcott remarked of forgiveness that “the paradox of the Gospel [is] that we are forgiven when we believe that we are forgiven. Forgiveness justifies itself because we are bidden by faith to take to ourselves by faith that which God has already done.”
Three passages of Scripture leaped out at me not long after I was asked to preach on this topic. In fact, I was torn to know which of these three I should focus on this morning. Each one is so illuminating.
The 32nd Psalm lays bare the psychological effects of guilt. King David wrote, “When I declared not my sin, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.”
King David sagged into deep depression. His conscience tormented him. He thought of what he had done. He doesn’t say what he has in mind that caused his body to waste away, to find his strength drying up. Perhaps he lingered with guilt over his great sin with Bathsheba and the murder of her husband.
Maybe his conscience did what ours do; he remembered the various stages of his sinking to this crime. He got used to unlimited power while forgetting his responsibility to God in exercising this power. He recognized that he thought of women as all the other kings of his day did, as objects of his pleasure. Great sins have a long introduction. As David’s memory came alive, he loathed the person he saw inside.
But then he writes, “I acknowledged my sin to thee, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,’ then thou didst forgive the guilt of my sin.”
Here David did not preach to others. He spoke of his own experience. “I admitted what I did. I stopped hiding my sin. And God forgave me.”
We often talk about God’s forgiveness. But we talk far less often about our need to admit our sin. We plunge on in life perhaps more inclined to justify our sin than to confess them. “I can’t just let her off the hook after she’s done me so wrong!” “I did this because you did that.” I did it because that’s how I am.” We live in a day advertising self-affirmation. This doesn’t leave much place for honest introspection. Confession of sin seems at odds with the general feeling many folk have, even many who believe in Jesus.
“I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,” is good testimony to hear. “Then You forgave me of the guilt of my sin.”
The second lesson Lonni read to us this morning is the concluding episode of the longest family saga in the Bible that begins with Abraham and ends with Joseph.
The first book in the Bible tells of the tragic effects of the first sin. It ends with the remarkable effects of forgiveness.
Joseph says to his brothers who years before had sold him into slavery, “You intended to do harm to me; God intended it for good . . . Have no fear, I myself will provide for you and your little ones.”
The sin of our first parents is often referred to as the Great Fall. But we read the story and see that what Eve and Adam did was pretty ordinary. They only ate forbidden fruit. What they did was like what you and I do every time we choose to do something we know we should not. Usually our sins are what are considered minor. I spoke out of turn, but who doesn’t? I didn’t tell of my income quite like it is on my tax return. But of course, the government wastes a lot of my money so why shouldn’t I?
Some offenses cause a momentum that is tragic. I let loose and tell off my fellow worker, my wife, my son, my daughter when I got mad. The trust between us took a blow.
Every great embezzlement begins with taking a few dollars. How gradually I discovered I’d stolen thousands from the company; and then when I was caught, Oh what embarrassment. “I’m not a bad person,” I told the judge.
Every family feud begins with something small. And Eve’s disobedience was small. She saw that the fruit looked good to eat. God said, “Don’t!” She did it. Genesis 3 does not tell us that God forgave Adam and Eve. They were cast out of Eden.
But then in the final saga of the Genesis we see the long-range effects of human sin, the family kind. But the story ends with unexpected consequences. Joseph, who was sold into slavery by his brothers, had the chance to get even big-time. He played with them as a cat with a mouse—or so the story seems to tell us. Read the story in Genesis 37 to the end of the book. It’s a great tale. Joseph could have tormented his guilty brothers and then brought the weight of his power against them. But when he reveals himself to his brothers, now as the second most powerful man in Egypt, it is with tears of affection and forgiveness—even before they confessed their wrong. Indeed, they never do really apologize; instead they seem to squirm in embarrassment. In the face of grace their kind of human smallness flew up before them as disgrace. But Joseph was larger of soul than they were small.
His brothers felt safe so long as their dad is alive. “Joseph won’t disappoint his revered father, Jacob,” they said among themselves.
But then comes this deathbed scene that Lonni read. Their father is about to die. They knew that now Joseph would get even. They sent a message to Joseph, “Dad said you’re supposed to forgive us.” And Joseph might very well have responded as we are tempted to respond when we feel we have been greatly wronged and are in a position to do something about it.
But not Joseph. Instead, Joseph wept and asked them a big theological question, “Fear not, for am I in the place of God?” And then follows that remarkable statement, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.” And so Genesis ends with a huge act of forgiveness. Joseph stands before history as an example of greatness, in deed a type of Christ.
This was many years before Moses gave to Israel God’s Ten Commandments. There was no commandment even in them to forgive. But Joseph displayed a magnanimity that was in keeping with his awareness that it is only God’s right to take vengeance. The great Scottish novelist, Sir Walter Scott once said, “revenge is the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.”
The third passage from Holy Scripture we read this morning is very familiar to us. Jesus’ disciples asked Him to teach them to pray. We repeat this prayer every week. But in this simple prayer Jesus made plain that the forgiveness of God comes to us on condition.
We pray, “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,” because Jesus taught us this. And He backed up that condition, “For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father also will forgive you; but if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
In some churches the wording of the prayer is, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” But Jesus did not teach that. He taught, “Forgive us our debts (opheilemata).” And then went on to tell us if we don’t forgive others their trespasses (paraptomata) neither will our heavenly Father forgive us our trespasses. Maybe debts and trespasses mean the same thing. But maybe not.
A debt is something that must be paid. The Greek word here is very correctly translated “debts;” it points to what is owed. So long as we linger with the memory of an offense, it is a debt that must be paid.
A trespass is very different. The Greek word found in Matthew describes the kind of offense into which we stumble, rather than the deep sin of the will. It is a blundering offense. Keep off my property; no trespassing; the sign says. You walk on my property; you didn’t even see the sign; nonetheless, that’s trespassing. Get off and you’re no longer trespassing.
Customarily when we hold someone in bondage to the debt of their offense, we justify our clinging to the offense by saying, “I can forgive but not forget.” Thus the debt is never payable. It has become common to say, “I can forgive but not forget,” and so we may reasonably wonder if any forgiveness has happened.
Forgiveness is at the very heart of our relationship with God. And we cannot relate to God while ignoring our relationship to each other. I can’t love God if I don’t love you. And I can’t have God’s forgiveness if I don’t forgive you.
This morning we will be ordaining and installing to sacred office some of you as deacons and elders. It is your task with me to maintain the proclamation of the Gospel here, and to live before the congregation in accordance with this Gospel. The Gospel consists of ideas we believe we must believe. But the Gospel consists as well of a life that we must live.
I delight to quote I John 1: 9, “If we confess our sin God is gracious and just to forgive us our sin and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” And so it is. But there is that which Jesus taught us, You are forgiven if you forgive others their debt of offense against you. Of course I tell you nothing you don’t know.
After many years of ministry, Bishop Westcott of Durham Cathedral, remarked painfully on the danger of things that we all know very well, that have become the slogans, the truisms, the clichés of the Christian community—but which we are used to ignoring.
The Divine command to us to forgive one another is like the 55 mile an hour speed limit. Last week as my wife, our son and I drove to Brown County we were going through Indianapolis. I saw behind me the flashing lights of a State Police car. I thought for sure that the intention of the state trooper was to pull over someone else, some conspicuous speeder—since cars were zipping by me. But his car zoomed up behind me, the lights flashing. I pulled over to the side of the road. Out stepped this tall, well built, and very serious trooper. Bonnie and Stu were puzzled what motivated this interruption of our day. The trooper asked me if I knew the speed limit. I frankly didn’t. But he told me it was 55 MPH and I was exceeding it. I might well have said, “Nobody drives 55 MPH along here.”
Indeed, isn’t this why we don’t forgive? We don’t forgive because everybody treats the command to forgive like the 55 MPH speed limit. And isn’t this why we feel justified in not forgiving—because nobody else is doing it. We cruise along at 70 MPH, holding on to our grudges, our memories of what he did and she did, of what he said and she said—because everyone does this. And thus families live in shambles of mutual hostility. And thus every kind of community lives tragically, remembering offenses as debts that cannot be paid.
So how can we forgive—and forget? I heard the president of Gonzaga University, a Jesuit institution give a helpful answer to that question. He said if you will give to God the offense you feel, to let God handle it, you will be relieved of the duty of getting even. You and I don’t have the duty of balancing the scale of justice by making sure others get what they deserve. That’s God’s job. It is a wonderful truth.
You remember Joseph asked his brothers, “Am I in the place of God?” In other words, “Is it my duty to get revenge.” Paul reminds us in Romans 12, “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, says the Lord.”
And so leave it to God. Remember this is the God before whom you and I stand too. And we remember that we want His forgiveness. We confess our sin expecting not vengeance, not what we deserve by rights—but forgiveness.
Jesus bore in His body my sin and yours. I envision a day when there will be those of us who will stand before God at a final judgment aware of that host of unkind and untrue words, of spiteful thoughts, of deceitful intents, perhaps even of criminal acts we have done. We will spread them helplessly before God. Our smallness will loom large before us as we remember the host of small things we have maintained in our hearts as a burden of debt others owe us. And we will feel ashamed and in a great plight.
I remember that the Gospels tell us Jesus did not automatically and indiscriminately fling forgiveness to all wrong doers. The parable of the sheep and goats ends with Jesus casting some people into hell. In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, the rich man doesn’t get pulled out of his hot place and seated in Abraham’s bosom with the poor man. Jesus was not soft on hypocrites; He called them “whited sepulchers.” We should not assume that the character of God suddenly changes to suit our preferences when we feel offended by other people.
The Gospel you and I profess and which you deacons and elders preserve with me is that not only can we claim God’s forgiveness when we confess our sin, but that we must actually forgive others their indebtedness to us—debts incurred by offending us.
Perhaps there are those of us here today who need to ask God to grant us the grace to live more nearly as we say we believe, as we boldly and rightly claim that the Gospel is God’s Good News of forgiveness in Christ.
Let us pray: O Lord, thank you for forgiveness. We ask for Your help to forgive the debts we hold in our hearts. Help me to live by the Gospel I profess. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
Pastor Stuart D. Robertson
Faith Presbyterian Church
West Lafayette, IN 47906
Posted by faithpres at January 15, 2006 09:30 AM