Forgiven Much, Forgiving Much

In Matthew chapter 16, Peter confesses that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. And Jesus says, “Blessed are you, Simon bar-Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven. And upon this rock I will build My Church, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven.” In other words, the sins you forgive will be forgiven, and the sins you do not forgive will not be forgiven.

Skipping ahead to the beginning of Matthew chapter 18, the disciples are arguing about who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. I think we can use some holy imagination here: Peter is probably sitting there saying, “Hey, He told me I get to forgive or retain sins.” And his brother is thinking, “I don’t think that’s just for you, Peter. I think that’s for all of us.”

Jesus tells them, “Don’t get that into your minds—about who is greatest and who is least in the kingdom of heaven.” Then He teaches them about forgiveness and how to make things right with your brother if he sins against you. So Peter finally asks the question he’s probably been dying to ask for a couple of chapters: “How many times should I forgive my brother?”

If you grew up with siblings, that question hits you on a visceral level. You know how bad your siblings can be, and you know what they’ve done. In the Old Testament, you forgave someone seven times. So Peter asks, “If I go through this Matthew 18 process seven times, is that it?”

Jesus replies, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy times seven.” And you can almost see them starting to count tallies, making sure they get to 490. But that is not the point. The point in the parable is that you have been forgiven so much—and because you have been forgiven much, you can forgive the small things that happen to you.

The man in the parable owes ten thousand talents. This week, I Googled what ten thousand talents would be in today’s money. Depending on what kind of talents they were, it’s anywhere from $13.1 billion to over $100 billion. Basically, back then it was a national debt. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t have $13.1 million in my bank account, much less billions. A million seconds is a couple of days; a billion seconds is 37 years. That’s the difference. And this man is forgiven that debt.

Then he goes out and finds a man who owes him a hundred denarii—about a hundred days’ wages, basically a couple thousand dollars. The man begs for more time, but instead of showing mercy, he throws him in jail.

When the master finds out, he says, “I forgave you a hundred billion dollars, and you couldn’t have mercy on someone who owed you a couple thousand? What does that say about your heart?”

The Psalm tells us, “O Lord, if You should mark iniquities, who could stand? But with You there is forgiveness; therefore You may be feared.” And that phrase “may be feared” in Hebrew has a continual sense—“that You may always be feared.” Why do we fear the Lord? Because with Him there is forgiveness.

We see this reflected in the Gospel of John. Jesus repeatedly tells people, “My hour has not yet come.” He tells His mother this at the wedding at Cana. He tells the crowds in John 6, “You came today because I fed you yesterday, and I left because you were going to make Me king.” In the Gospel of John, the hour of glory is revealed at the cross. That is the greatness of God—that He takes our sin upon Himself and forgives us through the blood of the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world.

The fearful thing—the glorious thing—is that with the Lord there is forgiveness.

We understand vengeance. We’re sinners. That’s why teenagers read Othello—because the universal theme is vengeance. “I want my pound of flesh. I want my revenge. I want what is owed to me. I’ve been wronged, and you’re going to pay me back.” If the Lord treated us this way, we would have no hope, no peace, no future. We can’t begin to pay back the wrongs we have done to God. It started at our conception: “In sin did my mother conceive me.” You’ve been a mess-up since before you had conscious thought—so have I.

You can’t make it right. You can’t buy off God. You can’t barter with Him. It’s all or nothing. And so God takes the punishment upon Himself. He says, “It’s all or nothing—and I take the nothing. I take the sin. And I give you the all. I give you eternal life. I give you salvation. I make you right.”

You go from being screw-ups to saints, perfected in the love of Christ—not because you worked it, not because you earned it, but because He loves you, because He has compassion on His creation.

And that is terrifying—because you cannot manipulate a God who simply forgives. You cannot barter with Him. You cannot pay Him off. The only way to deal with a God of grace is with grace—to confess, “I am a sinner, and I have been forgiven much.”

If you approach this with the mindset of “I must now live a perfect life,” the yoke is heavy. But if you approach it with the eyes of faith—the eyes of the publican—“Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner”—the response is: “Your sins are forgiven,” and the yoke is easy and the burden light.

I no longer need vengeance on my behalf. I no longer need revenge. Because I have hope, life, faith, and forgiveness, I get to interact with others the same way. I get to be a light of Christ and the salt of the earth. I get to show them a better way—a way that is free, because it is the gospel itself. It is the way of life, the way of truth, and the only way to the Father.

It is a narrow way. It is a hard way. It tells us to take up our cross and follow Him, to deny ourselves—not in some detached sense, but to recognize our place as creatures under the grace of God.

So now, in dealing with my brother’s sin, I get to deal with my brother with grace and mercy.

I saw my brothers yesterday at a family birthday gathering. Of course the TV was on, so what did we do? We argued about football—because that’s so important, right? Doesn’t matter if our team wins or loses; it literally changes nothing, except that we let it make us happy or sad. So we argued about sports because that’s “important.” And of course, they were wrong—but I forgive them for their wrongness.

But in the serious things, we can say, “You have sinned against me, and I forgive you.” There may still be temporal consequences. They may still need to make restitution—as Jesus told the woman caught in adultery, “Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more,” and as Zacchaeus said, “Whatever I have taken unrighteously, I will repay fourfold.” But they do this in response to the grace and mercy of God that flows from forgiveness.

And when you treat people this way—in your home, at work, in your community—you show them there is something greater than themselves. Something greater than the nihilism and materialism of the world. It is the cross of Christ and the resurrection. He comes again, and He comes to them every day in His mercy—the same way He comes to you.

He wants them to live in forgiveness. He wants them to know that, yes, they are sinners as we are—but He died for them just as He died for us. And so we, who have been forgiven much, can forgive little.

Now, I gave the kids homework this week, but I’m giving you homework for the next six weeks—because the holiday season is coming, which means you’ll be with family, which means you’ll argue. Treat each other with forgiveness. Extend the forgiveness of God. Live in His mercy as we prepare to celebrate His first coming. Be salt and light in your homes, for you have been forgiven all your sins.

And in Christ, all who believe are forgiven children of God—living in His peace, His grace, and His mercy. Amen.