Sermon Preached by the Rev. Harold T. Lewis, Rector
Calvary Episcopal Church, Pittsburgh
The Sixteenth Sunday After Pentecost, 12 September, 1999
"Jesus said to Peter, I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven " (Matthew 21:22)
Twenty-eight years ago, when I took the canonical examinations required for ordination, I vaguely remember that the Prayer Book exam had a question about excommunication -- specifically, whether it existed in the Episcopal Church, and under what circumstances. The answer, surprising to many, is that a) it existed; and that b) according to a relatively obscure rubric, it was within the power ofthe parish priest to carry out the sentence. The only stipulation was that the priest had to determine that a member of the flock was "a notorious and evil liver" and a cause of public scandal. On the basis of such evidence, the parishioner could be barred from holy communion until such time as a public confession were made. But let not your hearts be troubled. It is not the intention of the clergy of this parish to reintroduce this practice.
For some reason, this old rubric came to mind as I was reading the passages on church discipline from Matthew's gospel that we have been looking at these past weeks. Last week, the evangelist seemed to suggest a more reasonable approach to reconciliation than that in the old Prayer Book: first, speaking to the offender in private; then, if that didn't work, trying to win the offender over by bringing in a few "witnesses"; and finally, when all else fails, a public airing of the member's sins before the whole church. Only then, and if the offender showed no contrition at all, would the matter result in excommunication.
But the entire disciplinary procedure is put into context in today's Gospel, which makes it clear that the last word on the subject is mercy -- limitless, boundless mercy. Our good friend, the impetuous, foot-in-mouth Peter, asks Jesus just how far a Christian ought to go in the forgiveness department. Knowing that the rabbis placed the limit at three pardons, Peter thought he would magnanimously suggest seven, which after all, is a perfect number: 'Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?" Peter, you see, wanted the law to have clearly delineated limits. But Jesus simply won't go along with such thinking: "I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.'' (Or as the NRSV translation puts it, "seventy-seven times.") Either way, it is not a mathematical formula. By speaking symbolically, Jesus wants Peter and us to know that true Christian forgiveness has no limits.
To drive this point home, Jesus, as is his custom, tells a parable. A high official is brought before his king and is convicted of owing an unimaginable "Ten thousand talents" is a hyperbole. Even King Herod's salary was only 900 talents a year.) When the king figured out that the official could not possibly pay the debt, he commanded him to be sold into slavery -- along with his wife and children -- tantamount to a life sentence, since the debt was far too great ever to be Paid off. When the official hears the sentence, he throws himself -- literally -- on the mercy of the court, and this act of desperation moves the king to show mercy. He wipes out the entire debt as a sovereign act of grace, and the official goes free.
Unfortunately, while the master's mercy changes the official's situation, it does not change his heart. No sooner is he out the royal presence than he comes upon a fellow servant who owes him a comparative pittance. ("Two hundred denarii" was equivalent to a few months' wages.) Although the fellow servant pleads for the opportunity to repay the debt, even using the very words our friend the official had just used when the shoe was on the other foot, he is merciless. He even grabs his fellow servant by the throat, and then throws him into jail. When the king gets wind of this, he reverses his decision and delivers the now wicked servant to the torturers.
You see, we cannot, as Christians, win God's forgiveness, but we can certainly lose it. We exist as a Christian community because of an act of mercy, Jesus' death on the Cross, and because of that fact we are duty bound to continue to exchange that mercy among ourselves. But as we look around, it would appear that we haven't quite mastered this lesson. Our unwillingness to forgive is just part and parcel of human nature, isn't it? And since it is, I thought I would end this sermon with a few pointers on how we can be just like the wicked servant in the parable.
First, only forgive those people whom you like. Make sure your forgiveness is selective. Make allowances for the egregious transgressions of your friends, but be unstinting in decrying the peccadillos of your enemies. Make sure that your attitude toward drug use and the punishment for it depends on whether the user is a Presidential candidate or an inner-city youth.
Second, set an arbitrary limit to the number of times you forgive. Like Peter, calculate and nit-pick. Set yourself up as judge and jury.
Third, despite the blessings that God has bestowed on you, make sure to begrudge others when they possess even a fraction of those blessings. Rail against affirmative action policies. Refuse to understand that they are but attempts to level the playing field, which if level in the first place, would have made affirmative action unnecessary. Condemn everybody on welfare, and conveniently forget the fact that welfare exists for the rich in the form of a tax structure far more favorable to the haves than the have-nots.
Fourth, give the church five dollars a week when you pull down a hundred thousand a year. Justify your pittance by choosing one of the following excuses: It pays for the coffee I consume at coffee hour. It will keep my name on the parish rolls. Let the really rich people (dead or alive) pay the bills.
Finally, and most important, repeat over and over again, "I will forgive, but I,will never forget." Make sure, when you mouth words of absolution to your spouse, your child, or fellow parishioner, that deep down under, you harbor the memory of the sin, and remember every jot and tittle of it so that you can throw it, at will, at some opportune time, in the offender's face.
My sisters and brothers in Christ, Calvary is not a perfect community, but it is certainly a special one. Often former parishioners who have left town write to say that it takes them the better part of a year to find a parish in their new place of residence that comes close to the loving and caring community that Calvary is. I would like to suggest that a reason for this is that we are a forgiving lot. Were that not the case, we would not rejoice in the phenomenon that all sorts and conditions of men and women find a place, a happy home, at the altar at which we refresh ourselves, and at which we find God's forgiveness, week by week.
Let us pray:
Come, ye disconsolate, where 'er ye languish,
Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel;
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish;
Earth has no sorrow that heav 'n cannot heal.Joy of the desolace, light of the straying,
Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure!
Here speaks the comforter, tenderly saying,
"Earth has no sowow, that heav n cannot cure. "(1)
(1)Thomas Moore, "Come, ye disconsolate," Hymn 147, Lift Every Voice and Sing II
Please feel free to contact Dr. Lewis
if you have questions or comments about this or any sermon.