Sunday: 18th Sunday after Pentecost A
Reading: Matthew 18:21-35
Preacher: S. James Steen

What are we to make of a threat like the one Matthew makes in the Parable of the Unforgiving Slave? "`You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt....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."

How can we deal with a God who appears to place forgiveness very high on the scale of moral imperatives for Christians, but then resorts to torture, rather than forgiveness, himself? The biggest problem many people have with Matthew is the Gospel's harshness. It's Matthew who promises hellfire and eternal punishment for those who do not care for the weak. It's Matthew who, if we don't do right, threatens us with "weeping and gnashing of teeth," and today it is Matthew whose God will torture us if we refuse to forgive others.

Many of us struggle with Matthew; but I'm going to ask you to give Matthew a deeper look. Years ago I took a course entitled Matthew, the Gospel of Compassion, taught by a Jesuit at Georgetown University. Georgetown was only a few blocks from my church, and when I saw the title of this course, I had to take it because it challenged my view of Matthew.

Examining this parable of the unforgiving slave more closely, first of all, we read that the slave who owed his lord a great debt fell on his knees and begged him to be patient. He didn't ask for forgiveness of the debt, and his debt of 10,000 talents would have been an immense amount of money. He promised to pay back every penny (or talent) he owed, if only the lord would be patient. He must have been utterly shocked by his lord's response; for he forgave the entire debt, unconditionally, no strings attached, and without the slave having done anything to earn his forgiveness.

Here, in Matthew, is a master who is very much like the father of the prodigal son whom we find in Luke: full of mercy. This is what we find in act I of Matthew's drama. But now comes act II. The slave, having been forgiven a huge debt, happens upon a fellow slave who owes him a mere one percent of what he had owed his master, and the debtor turned creditor shows that he has learned nothing from having been treated with such compassion. He's like those people who are blessed with abundant financial resources, yet give away almost nothing.

So, he attacks his debtor, seizing him by the throat. When the poor fellow begs him for patience, using exactly the same words he had used with his lord, he not only refuses to forgive a single penny, he throws the guy into prison. If this were a movie, there would be great suspense as we observed this gross injustice and hoped that surely someone who had observed this scene would report it to the generous master. But Matthew spares us the suspense. People do see what happens and they go right to the master. Don't you get at least a little pleasure in seeing justice about to be executed?

If so, you won't be disappointed! For he is as outraged as he should be, and he tortures the man until he repays the previously forgiven debt in full. It's a response worthy of Dante. And just in case Matthew's reader misses the none-too-subtle point, Jesus adds a postscript to the parable: "So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart." It's so Matthew!

There can be enormous power in forgiveness. I have a friend who is always a debtor. A few years ago another friend loaned her $100,000.00 to keep her from going to prison. It wasn't long before my generous friend realized that she would never see the money again. What do you think she did? She told her attorney to draw up papers, releasing the debtor from her obligation.

I asked her why she was letting the person off the hook without even making a serious effort to hold her accountable. She replied that she knew that, if she persisted, the friendship would not survive, and it meant more to her than the money. I also knew, from prior experience with my friend, that she understood the temptation to allow her wealth to become her master. She knew the truth of Jesus' saying about the rich man and the eye of a needle. By forgiving, she freed both her friend and herself. And, to be fair, her friend, the debtor was a generous person, if irresponsible.

But what about the person who receives mercy, but fails to become merciful through the experience? The parable seems to be saying that, although God is unconditionally merciful, God also expects conversion for us who receive mercy. Accountability is part of the equation. It's easy to view the Parable of the Prodigal Son in Luke, which says nothing of accountability, as proclaiming the essence of God's grace. But we don't know what the prodigal did after his father threw him a great party upon his return. Was he converted? Did he become more like his father? I think so. I want to think so; but I don't know. He could have become like his older brother or like the unforgiving slave in Matthew.

Recently, I went through a very difficult period with someone I care about deeply. We met to discuss our issues, and we parted feeling even more upset and unresolved than before. Earlier, though unintentionally, I had been insensitive to my friend when he was going through a difficult period. He felt angry and rejected by my seeming lack of concern. Rather harsh things were said; and we could have continued to be at enmity, holding on to our anger, both feeling justified to some extent. But, ultimately, thank God, that was something neither of us wanted. At one point I sought the counsel of Peter, who said, "You just need to ask for his forgiveness." And I did ask for it. It was immediate and abundant, more than I could have hoped for. My asking and his giving so generously had an immediate and dramatic effect on us and on our friendship. It was a great gift, as forgiveness always is.

But that isn't the end. The parable of the unforgiving slave tells us that as we ask for and receive forgiveness, we are also called to conversion. Will we be better, more generous friends to others because of the forgiveness we experience, from God and from one another? In Raising Abel, James Alison makes a distinction between event and story.¹ Conversion is never just an event. It's a story. It isn't just about the lovely sense of freedom we experience in a moment of forgiveness. It's about carrying that experience of grace forward in our lives and offering it to others.

Nor are Matthew's harsh words the final act of the drama. The author spoke harshly to people who refused to receive the message of grace because he knew in his very bones the joy of receiving and offering mercy. He knew this because he wrote in the context of Jesus' Death and Resurrection,² an offering of sheer love made as a promise that even when we don't get it, even when we reject the kingdom where God invites us to live, even when we choose to consign others to prison and to choose a life akin to torture for ourselves, even then, God will do anything to reach us with the gift of forgiveness.

Amen.

¹Alison, James. Raising Abel: The Recovery of the Eschatological Imagination. (New York: Crossroad, 1996, 2000), p. 92.

²Schwager, Raymund, S.J. Jesus in the Drama of Salvation: Sketch of a Biblical Doctrine of Redemption. (New York: Crossroad, 1999. [Originally in German, 1990; trans. by James G. Williams.] ), p. 135.