When Forgiveness is Giveless

Would you hire an Uber driver who doesn’t know how to drive a car?

Would you call a plumber who doesn’t know a pipe wrench from an Allen wrench?

Would you trust a firefighter who doesn’t know how to use a fire hose?

Probably not.

Not everybody knows how to put out a fire, but we have reason to believe a firefighter does. Your family may not know how to fix a leaky faucet, but we safely assume that a plumber does. Your friends may think you don’t know how to drive your car, but we rightly expect an Uber driver to know how to drive theirs.

What about when it comes to forgiveness?

As simple as forgiving someone sounds, I’d humbly argue that driving a stick-shift, changing a P-trap, or putting out grease fires are way easier. Our Western world seems widely oblivious to what forgiveness is and why forgiveness is needed.

What about us as Christians? We talk about it, sing about it, and even pray about it every Sunday. We pray that God “forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”

So, is it fair for the world to expect that we, as Christ-followers, know how to forgive?

Pursuing Repentance and Reconciliation

It’s the nature and necessity of forgiveness that’s at the heart of Jesus’ conversation in Matthew 18. He first depicts a fractured relationship between two Christians as the result of one sinning against the other. But instead of talking about the person who wronged you behind their back, Jesus implores you to go to the one who wronged you “and point out their fault, just between the two of you.”

The goal isn’t to show your supposed ‘moral superiority’.

It isn’t to prove how ‘right’ you are and how ‘wrong’ the wrongdoer is.

The goal is to make every attempt to restore fellowship wherever sin has fractured it.

True, these verses tragically end with fellowship between two Christians not restored – and the one who refuses to repent or acknowledge the divisive damage of their sin is treated as if they were an unbeliever – one outside the community of God; but if all we hear in verses 15-18 is “three strikes and you’re out”, then we’re missing what Jesus is really saying.

Jesus is laying out a roadmap for pursuing repentance and reconciliation, with the goal of winning over the Christian who wronged you.

“How Many Times…?”

But now the scenario slightly changes. In verse 21, Peter presents us with someone who doesn’t deny their sin and they don’t refuse to ask for forgiveness. Quite the opposite! They readily acknowledge their sin and ask to be forgiven. But here’s the twist: they’re a repeat offender. They’re asking you to forgive a sin they’ve done against you once, twice, even three times before. What do you do then?

It was popular rabbinic opinion that you were expected to forgive an offense once or twice, but certainly not a third time. Peter more than doubles that figure, but you still get the impression he, too, felt there’s got to come a point where you cut them off.

“Jesus, I get the goal is to pursue gospel reconciliation with radical forgiveness; but there’s got to come a point where they’ve simply out-sinned God’s grace.” “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”

Jesus answers, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”

Jesus isn’t saying to cut them off at 78 sins instead of 8. His point is, as God’s grace is limitless, so is our forgiveness.

The Necessity of Mercy

To illustrate this, Jesus tells this parable. There was an incredibly rich king who was looking to settle outstanding accounts with employees to whom he had invested large sums of money. We’re not told what the money was to be used for, but it would seem the king expected that money to come back – having earned significant interest. As he began to settle accounts, a man who owed him ten thousand bags of gold was brought to him. To modernize that debt, this servant owed the king upwards of tens of billions of dollars.

That was money this servant clearly didn’t have. Even if he were to be sold into slavery and all he owned liquidated, that wouldn’t put a dent in the debt he owed. He can’t appeal to justice – because this man doesn’t have the means to satisfy what justice demands. So, he desperately appeals to the king for mercy.

He falls on his knees before the king, and begs, “Be patient with me and I will pay back everything.” Thing is, if this man worked eight hours a day for six days a week, it would take him over 160 lifetimes for him to pay the king what he owed.

But this king is way too benevolent to entertain this man’s delusion that he could work his way out of debt. He doesn’t give the man a repayment plan; he gives the man mercy. The king cancels the debt – not by magically making it disappear – but by eating the cost and paying the debt himself.

Can you imagine how liberating that would be? All your debts completely paid in full – by someone other than you?

Can you imagine how life-changing that would be?

We have every reason to expect that such an act of radical, unilateral kindness would transform this man’s perspective entirely – which is why the dissonance that immediately follows is so deafening.

That servant then goes to his servant to settle accounts, too; except Servant B owes Servant A not tens-of-billions, but a little over ten thousand dollars.

Certainly, that isn’t an insignificant amount of money, but it’s a debt a man could pay back in less than a year. Coincidentally, the scenario plays out near identically to the one before. But the mercy you’d rightly expect isn’t shown. “Shouldn’t you have shown mercy to your servant just as I showed mercy towards you?” the king says.

“Wasn’t it necessary that you extend mercy the same way I mercied you?”

The Nature of Mercy

This story showcases the nature of mercy.

Mercy isn’t ‘grace’ given on the other side of a repayment plan: mercy is grace that eats the cost of the debt.

Mercy is a love expressed from the receiving side of sin.

Mercy is counter-cultural compassion for the one who wronged you.

Mercy is the giving of radical, unconditional, indiscriminate forgiveness to everyone who asks for it – not because of their worthiness, or how deserving we think they are – but in spite of the person we forgive.

Mercy is an unwillingness to witness that same person perish as a result of their sin.

Mercy is a willingness to extend forbearance and patience.

Mercy is swallowing the injury of the injustice instead of dishing that pain back out to them.

Mercy is voluntarily suffering in the stead of the one who wronged you.

Mercy is a form of death.

The Casualties of Giveless Forgiveness

That’s why forgiveness is so hard to give.

It’s hard enough for us to just say the words, “I forgive you.” It’s easier to say things like “It’s okay” or “It’s no big deal” (even though it was a big deal and it wasn’t okay). And while it seems innocuous, can you see why “It’s alright” and “Don’t worry about it” are poor substitutes for “I forgive you?” There’s no explicit assurance that you’ve given them forgiveness. And maybe that’s just it: we say these things because we don’t want to forgive them.

Where mercy would have us pay our debtor’s debt ourselves, our sinful nature would have us wring every wrongdoer by the neck to choke and squeeze every last dime out of them. Because my sinful nature isn’t concerned about reconciliation – and it definitely doesn’t care about justice: my sinful nature craves revenge. Why let them off the hook when you can make them grovel and grieve with no guarantee they’ll ever be forgiven?

Maybe you’re open to forgiving them – but only after they’ve paid their debt in full. But here's the honest truth: that day will never come. There will never come a day where you’ll be fully compensated for all the ways they’ve wronged you. To insist “one must be worthy of my forgiveness” is to enslave them to a ‘repayment’ plan that will never end. They’ll be ‘repaying’ you forever.

Even when we settle for “I’ve forgiven them in my heart!” that doesn’t mean you’ve turned the loosing key: it doesn’t mean that you’ve set the person free. To never communicate “I forgive you” personally to the person who wronged you is to ‘forgive’ without giving them forgiveness.

What ‘freedom’ is there on the other side of giveless forgiveness? Absolutely none.

But there’s more than one person suffocating at the hands of a giveless forgiveness: we are, too.

That God invites us to mercy as we have been mercied is an invitation to die.

I can’t give forgiveness without the death of my pride.

I can’t extend mercy without the death of my injured ego.

I can’t exhibit compassion without the death of my impatience.

I can’t extend love without the death of my hatred.

I can’t pursue reconciliation without the death of my grudges.

We’d much rather see the one who wronged us die – even if it’s death by a thousand cuts. We justify all sorts of ways of exacting payment from people, but withholding forgiveness from someone else is just as soul-suffocating to the withholder; it’s a cancer that will eat you alive.

The Freedom to Set Others Free

So, what sets us free to set others free?

The limitless mercy our God has already shown us!

Our sins of pride, hatred, lovelessness, and animosity towards others left us with an infinite debt before God we couldn’t come close to paying back in even 160 lifetimes.

But our God loved us way too much to entertain our delusion that we could work our way out of debt. Our God didn’t give us a repayment plan; God gave us mercy.

Our infinite debt needed an infinitely greater payment than our pitiful attempts to pay God back. So, God gave us his own Son.

God, in Christ, would eat the cost of our debt by his death on the cross.

God, in Christ, would voluntarily suffer in the stead of those who’ve wronged him.

Your debts and mine were counted against Jesus, and we, in exchange, have been accounted Christ’s debt-free slate. Your debts have been eternally obliterated by the infinitely priceless blood of Christ.

The chokehold of sin has no grip on you; you, in Christ, breath nothing but the grace-saturated air of God.

And that your God and Savior rose to life means your forgiveness before God isn’t a pipe dream. On the day you close your eyes in death, you won’t open them to find your God glaring at you like angry accountant – brimming to balance the books. In Christ, the books are eternally balanced.

Can you feel how liberating that is?

It’s the reconciling love of Christ that frees us to pursue reconciling with others.

You follow a Savior who died for the people who wanted him dead; he prayed for the people who put him on a cross.

“Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.”

It’s the radical mercy of God that sets us free to pray the same.

In Christ, we not only see what mercy is, but see why we mercy others. The forgiveness we give isn’t really ours to give: it’s God’s. Christ has set us free to freely forgive as we’ve freely been forgiven!

So, liberally turn the loosing key. Because you, in Christ, are forgiven.