IF ONLY JESUS HAD KEPT THIS TO HIMSELF...

Tuesday after the Third Sunday in Lent

The Gospels often depict the Lord’s disciples as a bit thick-headed, as baffled by His words as anybody else. Sometimes, after Jesus has spoken and the crowds disperse, the disciples approach the Him and quietly ask, “What did You mean by what You just said?”

It’s worth remembering that the Gospel writers, if not all present themselves during Jesus’ ministry, were told these stories of apostolic incomprehension by the disciples themselves: “We didn’t understand a lot of what He said.” St Matthew remembers one such: “Peter came to Jesus and asked ‘Lord, how many times do I have to forgive someone who sins against me? Seven times?’ ” In the Talmud, a collection of Jewish teaching which preserves some rabbinical sayings of Jesus’ time, rabbis were frequently asked this same question. Some famous rabbis of Jesus’ day required their followers to forgive three times, a few even said four. When Peter asked Jesus how many times he had to forgive, he was expecting the Lord to raise His eyebrows and say something like, “Well, seven times is a lot.” Peter was pushing the number with Jesus—going beyond the conventional answers—perhaps even expecting a bit of praise for his generosity.

Imagine his surprise, then when Jesus said, “Seven—no, not seven but seventy times that number. That’s what forgiveness is about.” Everybody was shocked. “Who could even remember that many sins, much less remember how many times I’ve already forgiv—oh, I get it. Not seven or even four hundred and ninety; He’s expecting me to forgive—over and over and over again.”

The Lord’s hearers expected Him to tell them a number they could remember so they could start keeping track. “I’ve forgiven her twice now—once more and that’s that! I’m through with that woman!”

Next time we think about how thick-skulled the Apostles were, it might help to put ourselves in their place. If they were taken aback by the Lord’s words, so too are we. The Apostles may not have been able to do their times tables as fast as we can, but they “got it” just the same. He’s talking about infinite forgiveness. This isn’t a math question but a question for both the heart and the brain. I don’t want to forgive once, and three times is stretching it. But over and over, world without end? No thanks.

One of my sisters is an alcoholic—has been for many years. One by one, as her behavior has become increasingly abusive and heart-breaking, each of us has given up on her. It would be good if I could say that, unlike the others, I have “held on,” but I haven’t. When she calls in an alcoholic stupor and spouts off a stream of obscenities, I hang up. I pray for her, although, I confess, without much hope. Other than that I don’t think much about her. It comes up time and again in my confessions. I mention this, not hoping anyone will imitate me, but as an example of how I have failed myself to forgive. Jesus gives me the chance to bring His words to life—to forgive over and over and over—and I look for reasons not to. During my years of pastoral training I worked in a drug and alcoholic rehab center, and after more than two decades in a Hollywood parish, I know something about dealing with alcoholics and addicts. There are many I’ve known for whom I have a soft spot for in my heart—always will. But with my sister, I find it hard to forgive her as I’ve been forgiven.

That’s really at the heart of Jesus’ words. When He is explaining to the disciples (once again!) the meaning of the prayer He’s given them (which we call the Lord’s Prayer), He says, “But if you don’t forgive others their trespasses against you, neither will our Father forgive you your trespasses against Him.”

At the center of the Gospel is Jesus’ teaching about love. But it’s not a soft and cuddly teaching. It’s a challenge we have to face over and over. Forgiveness is essential not just in our relationship with God, but in our relationships with each other. “By this will all men know that you are My disciples, that you love one another.” That we forgive one another—not just when we make a faux pas about which spoon to use for what at High Tea, but when someone slanders us or cheats us or tries to get us fired. The Gospel is meant for the hard times of life—for men and women of spiritual depth who are overcoming the world’s selfishness and greed and anger, by living as if forgiveness and charity are stronger.

Our Eastern Orthodox brethren (and sistren?) begin Lent each year with a most profound ceremony. On the day before Lent, which they call “Forgiveness Sunday” (their Lent starts on a Monday, not Wednesday), they gather at church and make a big circle or long line. Then, led by the clergy, each person goes to every other person, bows low before them, and asks “please forgive me.” By the rules (useful given human nature), everybody has to forgive when asked. They then kiss.

For many years we did this at St Mary’s after our Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper. There are few things more moving. To go to someone and ask them to forgive you is a humbling experience. The only thing perhaps more humbling is to have someone come to you and ask you to forgive them. There were always tears and laughter—and the Presence of the Lord of Forgiveness, Who no doubt rejoices to see His words brought to life.

Jesus’ words are sometimes hard to understand; sometimes they seem so impractical we try to empty them of meaning. But when we take Him up on it, when we are determined to follow Him without counting the cost, the hidden things in the Gospel are made plain. Where forgiveness flows, there is charity, and where there is charity, there is God.

That’s the Lent we never want to end.