'Peter came and said to Jesus, “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.
“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 would 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 would 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.”'
--Matthew 18: 21-35
I was not a math major. Had I been, I'd be an engineer now instead of a priest! Three=one, that’s about all the math I need. But I do know that 77 is more than seven, and I know Greek, so I know that the actual Greek words said by Jesus equate to “70 times seven,” which math says is 490. Too many numbers for my taste! What does it all mean? And what’s it got to do with real, honest-to-God “forgiveness?”
To forgive someone seven times was considered a lot in Jesus’ day. Simon Peter didn’t come up with that number off the top of his head. He was kinda showing off. According to tradition, as later written in the Jewish Talmud, seven is the number of times a person was obligated to forgive anyone who asked. It wasn’t the minimum, it was the limit. Up to seven times, as Simon Peter asks. Put into a historical context – especially considering surrounding cultures that we encounter in the Bible like the Babylonians, Assyrians, and Romans, whose value systems were based on vengeance and retribution – having a God who instructed people to forgive at all, let alone up to seven times, seemed pretty generous, if not radical.
Jesus comes back, though, and says that the number to forgive someone is 77 times, according to our New Revised Standard Version, or, as I mentioned, the original Greek says, “70 times seven.” This, too, is intentional. Way, way back in the Book of Genesis, chapter 4, the great-great-great-grandson of Cain, a man named Lamech, killed someone and declared that, quoting the NRSV again, “If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech is 77-fold.” Seven is the number associated with God and eternity in Hebrew, while 70 is associated with perfection.. So by declaring that one should forgive up to 77 – or “70 times seven” – Jesus is mirroring the vengeful pronouncement of Lamech, but flipping it. He’s reminding his audience – who would’ve understood the significance of those numbers – that the ethic of Cain, one of violence and vengeance to those who you believe have done you wrong, is superseded by God’s ethic of mercy and forgiveness.
To illustrate his point Jesus tells the story of a man who owes an astronomical amount of money in debt: 10,000 talents. To give you some perspective, that is the equivalent of a day’s worth of wages for 150,000 years! It’s more than the annual budget of the entire Roman province where these folks lived. It’s hyperbole. The point is that it’s an unplayable debt. When this man shows contrition, the one he owes forgives him the unplayable debt, undoubtedly expecting that he would do the same. But when that first man encounters someone who owes him a much more reasonable debt, he seeks vengeance and retribution. The parables’s message seems clear: forgive as you are forgiven.
This sounds easy enough, but there’s a lot that goes unsaid here about the nature of “forgiveness” in an ancient Jewish context that perhaps those of us hearing the story today may not catch because the text takes it for granted. For example, it was common knowledge that the instruction about forgiving debts – whether the injury was financial or moral – was contingent upon a person admitting the wrong and seeking the other person’s forgiveness. And even when a person demonstrated such remorse, they may not immediately be granted the forgiveness they sought; in fact, the Torah stated that a person could deny their wrongdoer forgiveness up to three times. After that, however, if they didn’t forgive the offender, they were considered guilty of a greater sin. So the instruction to forgive as many times as it takes assumes contrition on the part of the wrongdoer. But what do you do when there is no contrition, no admittance of wrongdoing?
Forgiveness in the context of God’s grace, freely bestowed to all and never earned, is one of the greatest gifts that God gives us. Sadly, the concept of “forgiveness” often becomes so distorted in the context of the modern Church that those who are experiencing real harm are told to “just forgive,” without any further examination as to whether the harm has stopped, or whether the person causing the harm has shown any real understanding of their behavior, much less genuine contrition. Often in churches forgiveness becomes weaponized as a way of maintaining the status quo, protecting those in power while putting the onus on the victim to pretend like all is fine. People who are caught in cycles of abuse – especially when the abuse is more psychological than physical – are too often counseled by well-meaning pastors, spiritual directors, and church friends to “forgive and forget," which nearly always leads to further the abuse continuing.
We see this play out on a larger scale as well, when church leaders or politicians are publicly called out for immoral and even downright criminal behavior, and they respond with half-hearted “non-apologies” – saying they’re sorry if anyone was offended, or reminding everyone that they aren’t perfect (but who is?). They ask forgiveness with their words, but they are focused much more on maintaining their public image than the actual impact of their behavior on others. There is clearly no contrition there, no acknowledgement of the harm and then asking for forgiveness. They want those who were harmed to deny their experience and stop telling the truth about it.
That is not forgiveness. That’s just denial. Last week I talked about conflict and the importance of “caring enough to confront.” Whether we are the one on the receiving end of harm, or the one who has wronged another, forgiveness requires us to accept the reality of our situation. The goal is not to forgive and forget, but to understand and remember, and then choose a path of mercy.
That doesn’t necessarily mean staying in relationship with someone who has wronged you. Interestingly, the Greek word used here for “forgive” – ἀφίημι– in a literal sense means “to leave,” “to send away, dismiss, or set free.” Real forgiveness means becoming free from the cycles of vengeance and violence that often keep us bound to unhealthy relationships. It’s about letting go of the power to harm.
The Gospel was paired this week with the story of Joseph from the final chapter of Genesis. That story connects with the parable of forgiveness that Jesus offers. If you recall back in chapter 37 of Genesis, Joseph’s brothers nearly killed him and then sold him into slavery, actions that resulted in a famine. Now that their father has died, Joseph is in a position of power over them: he has access to an abundance of food in Egypt, whereas they are starving in Canaan. The brothers beg his forgiveness, afraid for their lives that Joseph will repair them for what they had done.
Joseph has a choice. In an ancient Egyptian context, he would have been well within his rights to enact some sort of vengeance upon them, but he chooses forgiveness. Joseph points out that like their forefather Cain, they are motivated by fear, jealousy, and power, But God is always motivated by restoration, and the promise of new life. By choosing to “forgive” his brothers, he is not denying or “forgetting” the harm that was done to him – on the contrary, he names it as a way of highlighting God’s power to turn even the most hopeless situation to good. Joseph’s forgiveness sets all of them free of the cycle of violence. It doesn’t mean that he gives them the opportunity to hurt him again. It means that he relinquishes his right to hurt them back.
Understanding how to forgive means understanding how power works in the context of relationships. This is true for families, for communities, for every system of every kind. Naming the harm is important and needed if there is to be a true Biblical ethic of forgiveness.
The hope presented in the Joseph story is that God can and does bring meaning from suffering, even if it takes a long time. The hope presented by Jesus is that, rather than meeting harm with vengeance, we can leave it, send it away, and be free of the power that it has over us. It’s not about forgetting. It’s about remembering, and releasing, and restoring, and redeeming, which God can always do
