Washington National Cathedral

I will never forget a riveting talk given in a forum at a parish I served in Chicago some years ago. A distinguished Shakespeare professor was asked to talk about a faith struggle he had been through, and he told us of the tragedy of his son’s death as a result of a careless dentist. His son had had a heart murmur, something the dentist knew, but the dentist forgot to take the necessary precautions to protect the boy, and an infection settled into his heart that within days had killed him.

This gentle father stood before that forum and talked of how, after getting through the initial shock and grief, his deepest desire was for revenge. He described how badly he wanted to hurt back for what had been done to his son and his whole family. What else could set the world right after that man had so wrecked it? He said he thought of suing the dentist, but what kind of money would that be, money gained by the loss of his son? How else could he hurt him, he wondered? What could ever make up for that loss?

How do we deal with the hurts, the wounds that come our way? How do you? Some time ago I sat over lunch and caught up with a friend I hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years. There was much ground to cover, but our talk quickly focused on the trauma he had gone through over the past four or five years. In that time, he had come to find out, his wife had been involved in a series of extramarital affairs, had managed to spend up virtually all the family savings, and caused great pain to their children.

Even though my friend had known the full story for over two years, the rage and shock were still raw. He said to me, “I know I need to forgive her, but how could I even begin? How do I forgive?” With wounds such as these, or with wounds much smaller, the question is the same. How do I forgive?

Today’s gospel lesson is the second in a row in which Jesus talks about the fundamental human need to forgive. For a species such as ours, riddled with selfishness, short tempers, cruelty, and betrayal, forgiveness is not a luxury. We cannot live without it.

You may know the old story about a woman who was having her portrait painted. When it was finished she complained, “It doesn’t do me justice!” The artist then replied, “Madam, it isn’t justice you need, it’s mercy!”

Mercy is the deepest need of us all. The past bears its full share of failures, disappointments, and wounds. So the question is, what power will the past play in our lives? Are we going to continue to be bound by the painful parts of it, or can we find our way to freedom?

In fact, Jesus put forgiveness at the center of everything. It is at the heart of the Lord’s Prayer, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Often when he encountered someone in need of healing, the first thing he would say to them is “Your sins are forgiven.” He told stories of prodigal sons and lost sheep and lost coins, which are all stories of forgiveness. And of course he died on a cross saying, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

In our Gospel lesson this morning Peter asks Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the church should sin against me how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” In other words, how much is enough? What are the limits of my having to forgive? When do I get to say that’s it, I’m not going to try any more?

But Jesus replies, “Not seven times, I tell you, but seventy times seven,” which is his way of saying it never ends. There is no real life without forgiveness. Forgiveness for Jesus isn’t simply an isolated act but a way of life.

Of course much of the worst cruelty of the last century has been because of people’s unwillingness to forgive. Many historians say that the Second World War might never have happened if the Allied powers had been less vengeful toward Germany after defeating it in the first Great War.

The Israelis and Palestinians have been locked for decades in a bitter conflict, and the violent attacks and reprisals, the wounding and being wounded, seem endless. Both sides have been damaged immeasurably. And yet…to remain locked in the resentments of the past only makes shaping a new future impossible. It reminds me of the account of a former inmate of a Nazi concentration camp who visited a friend who had gone through the ordeal with him and asked, “Have you forgiven the Nazis?”

“Yes,” his friend said.

“Well, I haven’t. I’m still consumed with hatred for them.”

“In that case,” his friend said, “they still have you in prison.”

Into this bitter web of wounding comes Jesus calling us to the miracle of forgiveness. It is a miracle because it shatters the chain of cause and effect. It sets people free from prisons of hatred and recrimination. It heals relationships and creates the possibility of new life.

We should be clear what forgiveness is not. It doesn’t mean saying the offense never happened. It did. It isn’t saying that everything is right away okay, because often it is not.

Forgiving is not forgetting. Memories linger, and they should. It is about remembering that a person is more than this act that has hurt me, and it means remembering that I too have a history, that I have hurt people as well.

Forgiveness doesn’t depend on the other person’s being sorry. Sorrow makes it easier, but forgiveness isn’t about the other person, but about me. It is about changing how I see and relate to someone who has hurt me.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be punishment or consequences or restitution. Society has laws for our life together and they need to be honored.

And finally, forgiveness doesn’t mean staying in a destructive situation. The struggle to forgive also calls us to refuse to be wounded continually, either by an unjust government, or an abusive spouse, or a destructive relationship.

Forgiveness has its own clear message: “I am furious at you for what you have done. It has hurt me and continues to. BUT, I refuse to stay trapped in my rage. I am going to forgive you because I know that you are more than what you have done to me. And I know that we both need God’s forgiveness. I want to let go of this, and begin again with a clean slate, and leave the rest in God’s hands.”

At its core, forgiveness is about discovering who I am in relation to God and everyone else. It’s what Jesus is getting at in the parable he tells in the Gospel this morning of a palace servant who was forgiven a vast debt of ten thousand talents and then refused to forgive a much smaller amount.

Forgiveness, Jesus is saying, begins not with an act but a recognition—that all of us are in debt, all of us need mercy.

And so the heart of forgiveness is a profound act of letting go. The word for forgiveness in Greek and the Aramaic Jesus would have spoken means, “to release,” “to let go,” “to surrender.” We decide to release our grip on the hatred, rage, and hurt, and claim our place in God’s ceaseless love and forgiveness.

The steps are simple. First, face up to the hurt and decide to take your time in this work of forgiveness. Second, when the pain washes over you, keep letting go of it as much as you can. Slowly it will get easier. And most importantly, pray for the ability to forgive, and pray for the person who hurt you. Try to see that person in the light of God’s love. Ask for the healing power of Christ to give you the power to release the anger.

We have to be willing to stay at this forgiveness thing. 70 times 7, Jesus said. Sometimes it can take years. In one of her books writer Anne Lamott describes her struggles to forgive her mother through the years. “I prayed for my heart to soften,” she wrote, “to forgive her and to love her for what she did give me—life, great values, a lot of tennis lessons, and the best she could do. Unfortunately, the best she could do was terrible… And my heart remained hardened toward her.”

And so, Lamott says, for the first two years after her mother’s death, she kept her mother’s ashes in her son’s closet. But slowly Lamott was able to move them to a corner of the living room. And that was for her a major event. She says that Jesus understands that things like forgiving a mother take time. “I don’t think he was rolling his eyes impatiently at me while she was in the closet… I don’t think much surprises him: This is how we make important changes—barely, poorly, slowly. And still, he raises his fist in triumph.”

That’s the power the world needs for our healing. That’s the power my Shakespeare professor friend discovered on the far side of revenge, as did my friend whose wife had betrayed him. Today is the day of the annual Unity Interfaith Walk, which arose in response to the events of 9/11 seven years ago. Several hundred people of many faiths come together to face the divisions of the past and to mark their determination to see healing and reconciliation. We Christians call that forgiving 70 times 7.

I read recently that on the day that the Civil War ended, a group gathered outside the White House and President Lincoln came out to speak to them. A band was there ready to play. President spoke briefly about the horrors of war and then joked some, as he often did. People were elated. Lincoln talked too about how important it was to heal the nation’s wounds and bring everyone together again. Then he called on the band to play something. The crowd was prepared for “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” which had become their theme song. But instead the President said, “I wonder if we, in winning the war, have the right now to play the music again…if maybe that’s not appropriate.” And then he said, “I want you to play Dixie.”

For a long moment everyone stood their stunned, looking at each other. The band hadn’t played it in years. But after a lengthy pause the band began to play, and they say there wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd.

As preacher Roger Lovette puts it, “When we forgive we play music we never thought we could play and sing songs we thought we could never sing.”

“How many times must I forgive?” Peter asks.

Peter is looking for limits—limits on his relationships with his neighbors, limits to the demands of God’s love.

But Jesus refuses. There is no counting. Because there are no limits on the times we will hurt and be hurt. No limits on the love that forgives you and me. And no limits on the power of Christ to heal the past and to set us free.