Sunday, January 28: Practicing Forgiveness

Matthew 18:21-35

Then Peter came and said to him, ‘Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’ Jesus said to him, ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.
The Parable of the Unforgiving Servant

‘For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.” And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow-slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, “Pay what you owe.” Then his fellow-slave fell down and pleaded with him, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you.” But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he should pay the debt. When his fellow-slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, “You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow-slave, as I had mercy on you?” And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he should pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.’ (NRSV)

Ever since the Sunday of Epiphany, we've been spending some time considering the central practices of the Christian faith. I'm a firm believer that being a Christian isn't just about having a moment of conversion. Being Christian means living our lives in response to God's grace revealed in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ. There are beliefs, for sure—the journey starts with the confession that Jesus is our Lord and Savior. But Jesus didn't leave the fishermen in their boats. He didn't leave them floating on the water with little more than a good story of encountering the Son of God. He challenged them to be his followers, his Disciples. Their lives would never be the same, not just because of the moment that Jesus called them, but because Jesus continued to call them in every moment that followed.


So in these weeks between the seasons of Christmas and Lent we're looking at the Holy Scriptures and church tradition that teach us how to respond to the call to discipleship. We're rehearsing what it means to live a Christian life. So far we've considered the practices of worship, healing, and hospitality, and we will yet ponder the work of evangelism and compassion. But today we wrestle with one of the most difficult Christian practices of all: forgiveness.

We're following Jesus up a steep slope today. Forgiveness is irrational. A psychologist will tell you that human beings aren't wired to forgive. When our loved ones or we are wronged, our impulses tend toward vengeance, bitterness, hatred. Mahatma Gandhi wisely observed that an "eye for an eye and soon the world is blind" – but the last time we think to quote Gandhi is when we've been wounded – intentionally or not —by another human being.


It may clash with our natural instincts, but forgiveness is fundamental to Christian spirituality. Each week we pray the words that Jesus taught us—forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. There are records from a church council in sixteenth-century Switzerland that preserve the story of a man who took that prayer quite seriously— so seriously he pretended didn't know the words. He knew that if joined his congregation in speaking them, he would have to forgive the man who had swindled him at the marketplace.

We are a forgiven people called to be a forgiving people. When Jesus taught his followers to forgive—not seven times, but seventy times seven times—it wasn't a footnote to our salvation. Forgiveness is the heart of redemption. Instead of letting his beloved creation remain shackled and suffering, God acted. God poured himself into the person of Jesus Christ. Jesus revealed the mercy of God and absorbed the evil of the world. Instead of condemnation or punishment, Jesus preached the vastness of God's love – a love that overcomes sin in all its forms.

The forgiveness of God is paving the way to a reconciled and restored Creation, one sinner at a time. But when we accept the gift of God's forgiveness, we become beholden to grace. Like the slave whose debts were pardoned by the king in the parable, we must share the gift of forgiveness. It has been said that once we have received the grace of God, we no longer "live for [ourselves]. We live instead as God's servants on behalf of a world that lives too deeply in alienation, bitterness, and various states of war. At our best, we who make up Christ's body in this world offer to this world a new model of handling the sins that grow profusely as crabgrass."

We witnessed a Christian community at its best this past year—and in the midst of the worst this world has to offer. Most of us heard about the tragedy that occurred in Lancaster County Pennsylvania last October, when five schoolgirls were killed in a random and unthinkable act of violence.


Instead of responding in the language of retribution, the girls' Amish community quietly but firmly let it be known that they forgave the man who was responsible. They even made sure that the man's widow would receive a portion of the donations that poured in from sympathetic neighbors. Baffled reporters described their dignity and humanity, and many an editorial echoed the sentiment that the world would be a better place if only more communities could summon that spirit of goodwill.

Yet in the days after the incident, the Jewish writer John Podhoretz, argued that "anger can be as righteous as forgiveness." After all, God cares passionately for justice, too. Without justice, the damage of wrongdoings cannot be restored. But damage cannot be restored without forgiveness, too. Pursuing justice without practicing forgiveness puts us in danger of being overwhelmed by rage and consumed by bitterness. And then we are simply chained to whatever or whoever has hurt us, unable to heal or to imagine any other future but the one imposed by pain.

So I've managed to talk for some time about forgiveness without actually considering how we, as individuals and as a community, might practice forgiveness. We know it's the basis of our relationship with God, we know it is something we are called to do—but how? In my reading this week, I spent a lot of time with an article by L. Gregory Jones on the Christian practice of forgiveness. He manages to address all the complexity and impossibility of forgiveness yet is also practical and hopeful. I want to share some of his suggestions for practicing forgiveness when we have been wronged.

First, we have to become willing to speak truthfully and patiently about the conflict. Tertullian, an early Christian writer, called patience the "mother of mercy." Once we have that measure of calm, its time to acknowledge our anger. I think this is the difference between authentic forgiveness and sweeping transgressions under a rug.


It does no good to pretend that you aren't furious about a thoughtless remark or intentional cruelty. But in the work of forgiveness, the other side of recognizing anger and bitterness is desiring to overcome them. We have to want to let our animosity dissolve. The next piece is to accept that the person who has wronged us is a child of God. We cannot simply paint the ones who have hurt us as soulless enemies. God breathed his spirit into every one of us, even the most egregious sinners. As we consider that the one who has hurt is a beloved child of God, we must remember that we too are loved by God. We have received God's grace and forgiveness, and most likely continue to stand in need of mercy. Strengthened by the grace we ourselves have received, the practice of forgiveness calls us to make a commitment to struggle to change whatever caused the conflict or injury. I think this is where forgiveness makes true justice possible. Many victims become powerful advocates for change, channeling their pain into helping others.


It was only after I read this process of forgiveness a few times that I realized a familiar understanding of forgiveness was missing. Nowhere are we encouraged to "accept an apology." The practice of Christian forgiveness is rooted in God's love, not whether or not the one who has hurt us has repented. The condition for forgiveness is that God has forgiven us.

The reality is that this is profoundly difficult work. Sometimes all we can do is confess to God that we’re working on it, and keep praying that that He will keep working on us. Ultimately, forgiving isn’t something we do in a breath or a day. It’s a way of life that requires a whole lot of prayer. C.S. Lewis wrote this in his journal: “Last week, while at prayer, I suddenly discovered—or felt as if I did—that I had really forgiven someone I have been trying to forgive for over thirty years. Trying, and praying that I might.”

May God give us the strength, the honesty, the patience, and the mercy to be a forgiven and forgiving people. Amen.

January 14, 2007: Practicing Healing

Matthew 9:18-26

A Girl Restored to Life and a Woman Healed

While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader of the synagogue came in and knelt before him, saying, ‘My daughter has just died; but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.’ And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from haemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she said to herself, ‘If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.’ Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, ‘Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.’ And instantly the woman was made well. When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute-players and the crowd making a commotion, he said, ‘Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.’ And they laughed at him. But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. And the report of this spread throughout that district. (NRSV)

What do you think of when you think of healing? Do you think of doctors and nurses? Their vocation is certainly about healing. In medical centers in our neighborhood and throughout the world, trained professionals diagnose sicknesses, treat injuries, research diseases, and work to prevent the onset of pain and illness. Whether in a state-of-the-art cardiac unit or a traveling free clinic, medical workers routinely participate in the physical healing of men, women, and children.

So what do you think of when you think of Christian healing? Does your mind automatically switch channels to the worst of what religious broadcasting has to offer? There are a lot of hucksters out there, dangling the promise of miraculous cures to those who would just summon the faith to buy them. There is never a lack of suffering in this world, and with the right balance of illusion and charisma, con artists can make big bucks by exploiting it.

There is a deep need for and interest in healing. You might even say that healing is one of the most relevant topics of the day. The airwaves are constantly full of talk about how to improve healthcare. The cost of insurance and prescription drugs is a hot-button issue. The AIDS pandemic in Africa is a medical and moral emergency. Our home, the earth, is bruised from centuries of misuse. And without a doubt, each and every one of us has longed for healing, for ourselves and for our families, our friends, and our neighbors—the ones that are right next door, and the ones that are on the other side of the world. John Koenig writes that "Though we sometimes try to deny it, illness, injury, and psychological distress dog virtually every step of our daily walk through life. They grip us and the people we love with pain, touching every thought and motion by their presence, often briefly but sometimes for years on end" (Practicing Our Faith, 149). We are hungry for healing.

Our culture is mostly comfortable defining healing as the work that happens in the operating room and the doctor's office. A healthy understanding of healing will include the gift of medical treatment. But for Christians, healing is also more than pills and procedures.

I want to talk about healing today— healing as it is practiced in our Christian tradition. But before we go any further, we have to recognize that healing as a Christian practice needs to be healed. I want to change the channel on the faith healers that do more harm than good to the hopeful believers who seek their services, pull the plug on the so-called healing that is all spectacle and corruption. Today we celebrate and explore the practice of healing that is sacred and compassionate and real.

At the heart of Christian healing is this simple truth: God wants us to be whole. God wants us to be restored, redeemed, reborn into the fullness of who He created us to be. God wants this for each of us, and God wants this for all of us, for all of Creation. We know this for the same reason we know who God is: because his Son, Jesus Christ, revealed it through his life and ministry.

Jesus was a preacher, a teacher, and a healer. Jesus challenged demons to flee and commanded wounds to close. He empowered the eyes of blind men to open and the skin of lepers to be restored. Jesus had a God-given authority to heal through words and touch, and for a very important reason. Though Jesus' reputation as a healer was like a magnet for the suffering people of Galilee, he resisted that easy fame.

Jesus healed for the same reason he shared parables with the people: he was showing them the nature of God's gracious Kingdom. Just as the Kingdom of Heaven is like the smallest seed that grows into the largest tree, so is the Kingdom of Heaven like a woman who touched the hem of Jesus' garment.

Jesus healed the woman. Or rather, her faith healed her. The blood that had flowed from her body for twelve years slowed and stopped, freeing her from a life of physical and social anemia. For the woman's affliction affected much more than her body. Her Jewish culture had strict guidelines for cleanliness. A bleeding woman was considered unclean. She could not participate in the religious life of her community. What's more, anyone who came into contact with her would also be considered ritualistically unclean.

She had been living in the margins for twelve years. Barred from religious expression, denied any human touch, and always on the brink of death, the chronic hemorrhage had literally drained the life of out of the woman. And then she was caught in a radical act: her hand reached out, clutching the edge of Jesus' cloak. Her bold move posed a terrible threat to Jesus. Because he had been touched by an untouchable, the very Son of God could be labeled unclean. But the power of the Holy Spirit flowed from him to her, and in the twinkling of an eye, the woman's life was saved. Jesus made her whole, restoring her body as well as her place within her community.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a woman who touched the hem of Jesus' garment.

When theologians talk about the Kingdom of God, they often lament that it is "already but not yet." Through his life and ministry, Jesus planted seeds of God's reign and expected his followers to nurture those seeds. We see glimpses of the Kingdom of God in the scriptures, as Jesus moved among the people. We see glimpses of the Kingdom of God when faithful Disciples embody the compassionate wisdom of Christ. And we see glimpses of the Kingdom when we discern God's work in the world. Already, but not yet.

The promise of the gospels, the promise of this text witnessing to not one but two miraculous healings, is that we will be healed: body, mind, and spirit. The human community will be made whole. Suffering will cease, and sins will be wiped away. Creation will be restored to a realm of justice and beauty. This is the great work that God began through the incarnation of his Son, Christ Jesus. And in the fullness of time, this vision of shalom will be a reality.

As Christian people endeavoring to live a way of life shaped by our Savior, we have work to do. We are called to participate in the unfolding of God's great plan. We are called to be healers, even as we are still wounded by loss and pain ourselves.

The practice of Christian healing is not about magic. Not every disease can be cured. Not every life can be preserved. The kind of healing revealed by Jesus is bigger than life, and claims victory over death.

Healing isn't about cultivating false hope. One of the most humble healers I've ever encountered is a pediatrician at a local hospital whose specialty is hospice care for children. Every young patient he treats has been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and his job is to find ways to alleviate their physical pain.

It is grueling work that could easily scour away all hope. Yet even in a context where physical cures are out of the question, healing happens. Healing happens when a devastated mother witnesses her child's pain diminish long enough for him to enjoy a visit with his siblings.

Moments of healing take place every day, in ordinary and extraordinary ways. "When we embody God's healing presence to others through touch, concern, or liturgy, we take part in God's activity of healing the world" (quote from John Koenig: couldn't figure out how to acknowledge that without losing momentum). Sharing a plate of cookies with a grieving family. Listening to a stranger in crisis. Comforting a feverish grandchild. Praying for a friend fighting cancer. This is all holy work, healing work. And these healing ministries, woven with the power of the Holy Spirit, invite the Kingdom of Heaven to blossom in the soil of Creation.

When faced with the possibility of healing, the mourners gathered around the dead girl's house laughed. They laughed at Jesus. I can only think of one other time in the gospels when Jesus was so blatantly mocked—when he himself was on the edge of death, when his own body and spirit seemed a million miles from wholeness. And yet the wounds of the cross were healed. Jesus was made whole again, restored, resurrected into new life.

Our God is a lover of life. He will transform every tear of grief into a tear of joy. He will forge a new beginning out of every ending. The good news of Jesus Christ is that we will be redeemed, we will be saved, we will be healed. And so we must hope and pray and work for God’s gracious will to be done on earth as it is in the Kingdom of Heaven. Amen.

January 7, 2007

This is the first in a sermon series on the practices of the Christian faith; we focused on the practice of worship, and also celebrated epiphany.

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” (NRSV)

When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.





Magi from the East came to Jerusalem. That little phrase has fertilized the imagination of the church ever since Matthew first jotted down his version of Jesus’ birth. The details we adore about this tale were mostly conjured up in the centuries to follow. Matthew doesn’t tell us how many Magi made the journey— but tradition has assigned one wise man to each of the three gifts presented to the Christ child. Directors of Christmas pageants doled out camels for them to ride, and the British poet, Longfellow, christened them Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar. It’s easy to forget which of these details are rooted in biblical text, and which were added by faithful storytellers who spun a more vibrant yarn about the great journey to Bethlehem. Indeed, when I went to find the particular bible translation that inspired the title of my sermon, Home by Another Way, my search led me not to the King James Version or the New International Version, but the gospel according to James Taylor, the folksinger. His song by the same name begins: “Those magic men the magi/ Some people call them wise/ Or oriental, even kings/ Well anyway, those guys/ They visited with jesus/ They sure enjoyed their stay/ Then warned in a dream of king herods scheme/ They went home by another way.” But I’m not so sure the difference between what is in the text and what we see in our mind’s eye when we hear this scripture is of much concern in this case. The songs and stories about the Three Kings of the Orient—fanciful though they may be— do a fine job of pointing to the path the Magi cleared. The path that leads us to Jesus.

The reason this story draws us in so very much is that it is so very rich. It is a true adventure story: a journey marked by danger, a tale of good and evil, a drama filled with magical stars, uncontainable joy, precious gifts, and profound worship. And it is a story marked by transformation, for the wise men go home by another way.

Today marks the first Sunday of a sermon series I have been working on for some time, a series based in the book of Matthew and focusing on the vital practices of the Christian faith, the way we live in response to God’s grace. The first practice is worship. The first act of the Magi upon encountering the Christ child was to worship him—to kneel and adore the gift of Light into the world.

In this and many stories, worship happens while on a journey. There’s the classic allegory Pilgrim’s Progress, in which a Christian suffers the distracting influence of characters such as Mr. Worldly Wiseman and Mr. Legality on his harrowing journey from a sin-sick world to the gates of the Celestial City. Even our ordinary Sunday worship begins with a little pilgrimage. What is the simple act of driving a car or walking a few blocks any other day of the week takes a different meaning on Sunday morning. For all our other reasons for showing up, our central purpose is to gather as a community to praise God, to rejoice in the light of Christ, to bask in the fellowship of the Holy Spirit— and that makes the simple act of walking out your front door the first step of a holy journey.

Of course, journeys toward worship can be much more roundabout. The first time I left home—really left home—for my freshman year of college was also the only year of my life that I did not regularly attend a worship service. I was there, but not, as a teenager, so when I had my first taste of freedom, the last thing on my mind was looking up a local congregation. But I was on a spiritual journey. That year I joined a student organization with a lofty title. We were the Spiritual Truth Seekers. Each week, we met up in the student lounge to talk about religion and philosophy. We also heard from different speakers. A faithful Unitarian. A convert to Buddhism. A Christian pastor who had lost his faith only to rediscover it in new and unexpected form. Our meetings were more about seeking than finding, though. I’m not sure we ever landed on the capital T truth we were searching for. But something shifted, something changed in me during that year I went to school in Northwest Ohio. I transferred to a university close to home, but I did not simply retrace my steps. I went home by another way, so that at my new school I didn’t join the philosophy club, but found myself at church every Sunday morning, worshipping. The journey had changed me from a person who wanted to search for truth to a person who wanted to stand in awe of it, and pray.

It has been said that the deep wisdom of the Magi is this: “The Magi represent forever and for all of us the wisdom that recognizes human life to be a journey taken in search of the One who calls us beyond ourselves and into faithful service—One before whom we are prepared to kneel, and to whom we offer the best of our gifts, flawed and unworthy though they may be.”*

Consider that. Your life is a journey. It is a mission to find God—just as the mystical Kings undertook their marathon trek across the desert to find the holy newborn. Though we seek God, it is God who is calling us to make the journey. It is God who forges the star that illuminates the path, a light so bright it cannot be ignored. And when you get to the place where God is calling you, the thing to do is worship.

I wonder if one of the Magi, tired and sore from days spent between the humps of a camel, turned back before they reached Jerusalem. Maybe an unmentioned fourth wise man wasn’t so wise after all, and decided against dirtying his tapestry cloak to honor the child of Jewish peasants. He probably went home the same way he came, as proud as ever. The true Magi were possessed of perfect vision and a willingness to act on what they saw. They saw the star, and followed. They saw the glory of the Lord hidden in the flesh of an infant, and they knelt in worship, offering their finest treasures. They saw murder in the eyes of King Herod, and resisted the call of darkness.

Even though a star doesn’t hang over this sanctuary to guide our steps here, this is the place that God has called us to look upon his Son and give thanks. Maybe our hearts do not throb and swell with joy every single Sunday, the way the prophet Isaiah proclaimed they would when we encountered God’s light. Maybe the gifts we give aren’t quite as valuable as gold. Maybe we feel like we don’t know what we’re doing, even though we’ve been doing it for years.

The living Christ, the Light of the World, is just as manifest here as he was in that ramshackle crib.

And we are called here to worship, to bend our hearts, if not our knees, into that curlicue position of prayer. What we are searching for has been searching for us, and we are found just in time to give ourselves away. From this sacred place, we go home by another way—the way of Christ, who is our light, and our truest home. Amen.


*Herbert O’Driskoll, Kingly Presence.