We forgive. Matthew 18:15-22. 5/19/24
We Forgive
Matthew 18:15-22
Rev. Dr. Rhonda Blevins
May 19, 2024
“If your brother or sister sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If you are listened to, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If that person refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church, and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a gentile and a tax collector. Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”
Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if my brother or sister 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.”
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“Forgiveness, can you imagine?”
These four words might just be the most powerful words among the 20,520 words in the hit musical Hamilton by Lin Manuel Miranda, the wordiest musical in American musical theater history.
But four little words among the 20,520 pack a most poignant punch:
“Forgiveness, can you imagine?”
Hamilton, the musical, as you likely know, tells the remarkable story of Alexander Hamilton—how he rose from obscurity as an orphan in the Caribbean to become one of the “Founding Fathers” of these United States. In the first act, we watch Hamilton’s meteoric ascent during the American Revolution—how he was victorious in battle and became George Washington’s right-hand man. But the show isn’t just about war and politics. It’s a love story. We watch him meet and fall in love with Eliza Schuyler, the daughter of well-to-do Philip Schuyler. In this fictionalized version of their story, Hamilton woos Eliza with his keen intellect fully on display in the daily love letters he sends to her. And by the end of the song, “Helpless,” Eliza is helpless against his charm, saying “I do” to the young Alexander Hamilton in what might be the happiest moment of the show.
But by the second act (spoiler alert!) Hamilton’s libido gets the best of him. A sordid summer-long affair sets off a series of unfortunate events for Hamilton which includes blackmail at the hand of his mistress’s husband, a financial investigation by his political rivals, and finally, a “couldn’t be more” public confession of his marital infidelity.
Eliza, as the show portrays, is crushed. And livid. At one of the lowest points in the Hamilton story, we watch Eliza burn all the beautiful love letters Alexander sent her—letters she’d saved. And in her anger and through her tears, Eliza sings these lyrics:
I’m burning the memories,
Burning the letters that might have redeemed you.
You forfeit all rights to my heart.
You forfeit the place in our bed,
You’ll sleep in your office instead
With only memories of when you were mine.
I hope that you burn.
Have you ever felt like Eliza? Someone wronged you to the point you wanted them to “burn?” If so, know this: you are not alone.
In fact, rage and its cousin, anger, are emotions that all humans have in common. Think about it: anger is one of the very first emotions we experience out of the womb. When babies are born, their newborn cry is a sign of health. But what’s the emotion underneath the newborn’s wails? I’ve been in a delivery room only three times in my life—twice with the birth of my boys and once when a dear friend delivered—and as a mother I know that cry. Those fresh-out-of-the-womb baby cries are mad cries. Those are angry cries. And can you blame them? You’d be mad if you were forced out of your cozy, warm home too!
Anger is a universal human emotion.
The Apostle Paul writes to the church at Ephesus, “Be angry, and do not sin.” (Eph. 4:26) He didn’t say, “Never be angry.” That would be unrealistic.
Anger is a universal, and often justified, human emotion.
But when we hold on to anger—when we harbor resentment and cling to grudges—it’s like a cancer to your spiritual and emotional life. In the same way cancer grows and spreads and destroys healthy organs, anger that’s allowed to fester can swallow up positive emotions.
Anger is a universal human emotion. Emotionally healthy people will experience anger. Bitterness, on the other hand, is a choice. But it’s a toxic choice. It’s . . . poison.
Here’s what bitterness or resentment does to the person holding on to it (according to the Mayo Clinic)—it makes them:
Bring anger and bitterness into new relationships and experiences.
Become so wrapped up in the wrong that [they] can't enjoy the present.
Become depressed, irritable or anxious.
Feel at odds with [their] spiritual beliefs.
Lose valuable and enriching connections with others.
And yet, so many people—including good, God-fearing, church-going people—harbor anger, bitterness, and resentment that they find difficult to shake.
Maybe you’re among them.
So let’s turn to scripture for some help, shall we?
In our scripture lesson today from Matthew 18, we get a sense that, like many of us, Peter is wrestling with forgiveness. Context: Jesus is teaching his disciples about how to handle conflict in the ranks, saying:
If your brother or sister sins against you, go and
point out the fault when the two of you are alone.
It requires courage and vulnerability: “Look, you hurt my feelings the other day, and our relationship matters enough to me that I’d like to talk about it.”
Confronting folks with integrity and love is among the bravest things we do as humans.
Jesus offers different scenarios about how the one confronted might respond. Then, at the end of this teaching, Simon Peter has a question burning within him:
Lord, if my brother or sister sins against me,
how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?
Seven. The biblical number of completion. Sounds reasonable, right? Peter wants a formula, a prescription: take this pill once per day for seven weeks and you’re done.
Think about the irony of the one asking Jesus this question about forgiveness. Peter. The one who will deny Jesus three times after his arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. Peter. The disciple who will most obviously stand in need of forgiveness.
Jesus’ answer to Peter? No, Peter, it’s not that simple. You can’t wash your hands and be done. “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”
Peter wants closure—a finite number.
Jesus, however, requires openness—and a number representing infinity.
It’s almost as if Jesus is saying that forgiveness isn’t something we do—it’s something we are. Forgiveness is a posture we take. Forgiveness is a pattern, a habit, a core value.
Which, by the way, is exactly why forgiveness is among the top 10 core values here at the Chapel. It’s written there in the bulletin for you. Will you read it with me?
We forgive and reconcile continually.
We forgive and reconcile not seven times, but seventy-seven times. We forgive and reconcile continually.
So the million-dollar question is this: how? “How do I forgive when I’ve been hurt so badly and lost so much?” or “How do I forgive when others have been hurt so badly and lost so much?”
I want to treat this with as much compassion as possible because it’s hard to talk about forgiveness without rubbing up against the deep suffering some of you have experienced. By talking about forgiveness I am in no way minimizing pain or suffering. The truth of the matter is that people can do truly rotten and unimaginably vile things that leave permanent scars. That’s reality.
Forgiveness does not erase or in any way diminish this harsh reality.
It seems to me that any kind of authentic forgiveness must, by necessity, NOT diminish the wrong done. In fact, that’s step one in the process of forgiveness.
In the not-so-emotionally-simple act of forgiveness, I do want to offer a cognitively simple way to think about the process in four steps:
1. Face the offender or the offense. Sometimes this will be in person. It will mean a face-to-face meeting or phone call or email or letter. The person who has hurt or offended you will actually receive some type of communication from you. Sometimes, to face the offender or the offense will mean a letter is written but never sent, especially when the offender has died. A conversation is had with a therapist or a mirror instead of the actual offender. Either way, forgiveness means naming, in as much detail as possible, the facts of the offense—the thing that cut so deeply. Name it so that it can no longer claim you.
2. Recognize the suffering. Step one is about the facts. Step two interprets the facts. This step acknowledges the suffering that resulted because of the offense named in step one. This step considers every angle—articulates each sadness or sorrow or disappointment that happened because of the offense. This can be done, again, in person or in a way the offender gets the message. This can be done in the never-sent letter or through therapy or some other means. This is a deep dive into the shadows that so few are willing to do.
3. Emancipate the anger. Forgiveness, by definition, is a deliberate letting go of feelings of bitterness, resentment, or vengeance toward the offender, whether or not that person deserves forgiveness. This is a conscious choice along with the follow-through of doing it. It’s saying to the person (or to the wind with the person or1. group in mind), “Today I choose not to be angry at you.” And if you think that’s a stretch, add in, “God, help me.”
2. Empower yourself. By letting go of the anger you harbor, you are granting yourself power. You see, until you can let go of your anger, resentment, or bitterness, the offender has tremendous power over you. Until you can let go . . . you are victimized again and again and again. By letting go, you’re reclaiming your power. Your identity shifts: you are no longer a victim . . . you are a survivor!
Did you catch the acronym?
Face the offender.
Recognize the suffering.
Emancipate your anger.
Empower yourself.
Take these four steps, and you might just find yourself . . . FREE!
Here’s the thing about forgiveness. It’s possible, maybe even probable, that your offender doesn’t deserve your forgiveness . . . but you do. Listen to what Archbishop Desmond Tutu says about forgiveness:
To forgive is not just to be altruistic. It is the best form of self-interest. It is also a process that does not exclude hatred and anger. These emotions are all part of being human. You should never hate yourself for hating others who do terrible things: The depth of your love is shown by the extent of your anger. However, when I talk of forgiveness, I mean the belief that you can come out the other side a better person. A better person than the one being consumed by anger and hatred. Remaining in that state locks you in a state of victimhood, making you almost dependent on the perpetrator. If you can find it in yourself to forgive, then you are no longer chained to the perpetrator. You can move on, and you can even help the perpetrator to become a better person, too.
And remember this . . . it’s not a one-and-done kind of thing. It’s not even a seven-and-done kind of thing. Forgiveness is an every-single-day kind of thing. Seventy-seven or infinity. Whichever comes first.
In other words, let’s say you go home and you take these steps I laid out this afternoon. Depending on the depth of your wound and how long you’ve harbored bitterness, you might have to make a conscious choice to forgive not just once, but every day you have life and breath.
That’s a truly authentic way to live out what we pray when we say: “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” We don’t pray that one time and we’re done. We pray it together every time we gather. Not because we must, but because we may.
And know this: forgiveness can’t change the past, but it might just change your future.
Remember Eliza and Alexander? She’s burning his letters. She wants him to burn after his infidelity and the public humiliation that followed. Then they experienced an even deeper sorrow—the death of their beloved son. The Hamilton’s move uptown. Their lives seem marked by sorrow. And then . . .
Forgiveness, can you imagine?
Eliza forgives Alexander. How do we know? After Alexander’s death she worked hard to solidify his legacy and his place in history:
She preserved his letters and writings, collecting and organizing them.
She helped their surviving son write a biography of Alexander’s life.
She established an orphanage in honor of Alexander.
She promoted his legacy through speeches and public appearances.
She worked with historians to ensure an accurate representation of his life.
She preserved their home as a part of Alexander’s legacy.
Forgiveness, can you imagine?
Brene Brown suggests that “The brokenhearted are indeed the bravest among us— they dared to love, and they dared to forgive.” Maybe Eliza was the brave one in that marriage.
So Chapel, “We forgive and reconcile continually” not because we must, but because we may not just today, but day by day by day by day.
Forgiveness is not for the faint of heart. May we be brave enough to live into this high value!