THE POWER TO FORGIVE

A Sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

We live in an after-world. This week, we mark seven years since 9/11. This week, tree years after the chaos of Katrina and Rita first arrived on Gulf Coast shores, their younger brothers Gustav and Ike create new losses, new memories. We live in an after-world, and in this time after, in these times of chaos, confusion and grief, it is normal to ask questions and wonder, “Is there life after…”? And as we fret about the uncertainty of the future, we look for answers.

In our Gospel lesson today, Peter was looking for answers. “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive?” Peter may have been thinking of someone who was always getting on his nerves, who was a constant source of irritation to him. Or it may have been about a deeper source of pain. We are not told what was on Peter’s heart when he approached Jesus with his questions.

Regardless of what it was, Jesus would have none of it. “Seven! Hardly. Try seventy times seven” (Eugene Peterson, The Message). Whoever counts, Jesus says, has not forgiven at all, but is only counting. Author Brian Taylor puts it this way: “forgive without end. Don’t ever stop forgiving. Don’t ever consider any situation, no matter how hard, exempt from the call…to forgive” (Becoming Human, p. 77). Jesus was not afraid to turn Peter’s question around. He did that, as he so often did, with a story, the parable of the unforgiving servant. It is a cautionary tale in which Jesus warns Peter that God might just forgive his sins only to the degree to which he forgives the sins of others.

That tale does remind us of the Lord’s Prayer – the part when we ask God to forgive us as we forgive those who sin against us. But what are we to make of this story? It hardly sounds like good news. Handed over to be tortured for a failure to forgive? Jesus telling Peter he MUST forgive? Whether we like it or not, forgiveness is not just for…other people. Forgiveness is also about us and for us. We cannot live in true, authentic Christian community without forgiveness. And yet forgiveness IS often too hard for us. I don’t know about you, but in my own life, there have been times when it was not only hard to forgive, it was impossible. Forgive? Forget it!

Did you know that our Prayer Book provides for two kinds of confession – both the General Confession we use in the Eucharist and a private form? Years ago, when I first read a book entitled Reconciliation: Preparing for Confession in the Episcopal Church, there was a sentence which took my breath away. It stills grabs me. Here it is: “The heart of God has been yearning all along for you to experience forgiveness personally, and every stage of your approach is marked by love.” Martin Smith, a priest and monk, goes on to say, “Grace does not violate or degrade us; confession does not involve sadistic inquisition or crushing perfectionism. Searching our hearts is part of a healing process that is in God’s hands” (p. 3).

Forgiveness is always in God’s hands. This means, then, that forgiveness is not something we do. Forgiveness is something we allow God to do, over time, for us and through us and in us. Forgiveness is something we do with God, if and when we are ready. All it takes is our willingness. If that seems too hard for you, then you can offer God your willingness to be willing. This simple intention on our part may have to happen over and over again – sometimes seventy times seven…and beyond. But I promise you this: a miracle can take place when we let forgiveness happen.

Two months after I arrived fresh from seminary to be the assisting priest in a Chicago parish, the rector was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Paul, the senior warden, and I were asked by the bishop to lead that parish through some difficult times indeed. It did not take long to discover that Paul and I had many differences. We disagreed about leadership and theology and politics and everything that, for me, seemed important. Nearly every moment I spent with him felt like really hard work. And yet we were forced to work together, which we did out of love for God and for Ed, our dying rector.

After about a year, Paul entered the hospital for surgery. It turned out, however, to be far more serious than anyone imagined. Suddenly, it was Paul who was near death, not Ed. For days parishioners came to the hospital, taking turns, keeping vigil with Paul and his wife. Alex, one of Paul’s closest friends, left Paul’s hospital room after saying his final goodbye. I was standing at the other end of the hallway. When I looked up and saw Alex walking toward me, I felt a sense of dread, knowing what he was going to say – knowing that I was not going to like it.

I was hurting, resentful and angry. I was angry with the bishop for placing me in this parish. I was angry with the parish for not giving enough support to the rector, his wife and their five children. I was angry with the rector for being totally disabled and leaving me totally unprepared. I was angry with God for letting this whole bloomin’ thing happen. And I was so angry with Paul for dying, for abandoning his wife and his parish and me, for leaving all of us in the midst of this church chaos.

But here came Alex. He stopped in front of me, looked me in the eye and said, “Tom, you have to go in there and say goodbye to this man. You know you have to put your feelings aside for the moment and just do this. And you know you can do it, with God’s help.”

With a knot in my stomach I walked into Paul’s room. He was breathing with the assistance of a ventilator. As I drew closer to his bedside, I found these words simply coming to me. “Paul, forgive me. It’s been such a tough time for all of us. Please forgive me, and know that I forgive you.” There was nothing else to say, so I became quiet. Paul began speaking, saying the same thing over and over, so softly I couldn’t make it out. I moved closer, sat down next to him and put my ear near his mouth. And then, I understood. He was PRAYING. He was saying, “thank you, thank you, thank you….” I wept. I told him I loved him. I said goodbye. I left his room.

We live in an afterworld. On Thursday, “outside the (9/11) ceremony (at Ground Zero), the murmur of the names of those killed blended with hymns by the Mennonite Youth Choir from Russell, Massachusetts, whose members gathered on the sidewalk to sing. Near the choir (a woman)…bowed silently, next to a poster board explaining her mission: the 9/11 Bowing Project. ‘I will bow in public on the 11th of each month, and occasionally on other days, at 8:46 a.m.’ the sign read. ‘I bow to the power of good in me and you’” (Ralph Blumenthal, “Seven Years After 9/11, the Tears Keep Coming,” The New York Times, September 12, 2008).

In a week when we remember all those who died on September 11 th seven years ago, we might be thinking: Seven? Seventy times seven? You’re kidding - right, Jesus? My sisters and brothers in Christ, It is so easy for you and for me to point the finger of judgment at someone else. Those terrorists. Those government officials. Those church leaders. Those relatives of mine or yours. Those other people. It is, of course, right to hold people accountable for their actions – and for others to hold us accountable as well. Yet Jesus reminds us, with his words and with his life, that, if we do not take a look at our own sin, if we do not forgive others from the heart, we will be forgiven our sins as, in the words our Savior Christ has taught us, we forgive those who sin against us. When we fail to forgive, we continue to suffer the internal torture of our own unforgiveness.

Yes, we live in an afterworld. In my own afterworld, more than twenty years after Paul’s death in that first parish I served as a priest, I still feel God’s power in that experience, long after it happened. Part of that power has been in giving the gift of sharing stories from my spiritual journey with others and, in doing so, finding a connection. As we get ready to start training folks on Wednesday night in a class called “Servant Leadership,” I want to tell you this: most of the time, I have begun to share the stories of my journey with Jesus in small fellowship groups. In my own times of chaos, confusion and grief, these have been groups of people who cared enough to extend me support, comfort, challenge and forgiveness. Time after time, in small groups, in what Parker Palmer calls circles of trust, I have found in the hearts of those loving people the very heart of God. Small groups remind me that it is this loving God who yearns for me and for all of us to experience God’s love and joy and peace and forgiveness personally.

Let us pray. Loving and gracious God, help us in this, our afterworld! Help us remember that there is life after sin and death. Help us remember that every step of our approach to you is marked by your unconditional love. Help us remember your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, who teaches us everything we need to know about forgiveness. And help us remember that today, you love each of us, with a love that stirs up in us the call to repentance, to conversion, to forgiveness - even a new way of life. AMEN.

The Rev. Thomas A. Momberg
All Saints' Episcopal Church, Frederick, MD
September 14, 2008