Five The Reconciling Community

Jesus told his apprentices a story to illustrate this concept of forgiving others because we have been forgiven. He did so, however, in reverse: the story he told is about a person who has been forgiven much but fails to forgive even a little. In this story Jesus used money, or debt, as a metaphor for forgiveness in general:

In this parable a king is settling his accounts, and comes across a man who owes him an outrageous amount of money: ten thousand talents. The debtor cannot pay this huge debt and begs the king for mercy. Amazingly, the king cancels the man’s debt, and he walks away free. He and his whole family could have spent the rest of their lives as slaves in a distant land or in debtors’ prison. Thanks to the mercy of the king, he lives in freedom.

You would think that anyone who had been forgiven a debt so great would be the most gracious, merciful and generous person on the planet. Yet this was not the case.

The man who had been forgiven so much bumps into a man who owes him, in comparison, very little, a hundred denarii (about a couple months’ salary). The shock of the story is the difference in the amount of the debt. Ten thousand talents is approximately six hundred thousand times more than one hundred denarii. Even though he had been released from an enormous amount of money, the man who should be forgiving has his debtor thrown into prison!

When the king hears of this, he brings the unforgiving man back into his presence to confront him about this inequity, saying: “ ‘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” (Matthew 18:32-34). The king has the unforgiving man thrown in prison to work off his debt, which he will never be able to repay.

What is the point of the parable? Keep in mind the question this story was designed to answer: how much and how often should we forgive one another? The king is like God, and we are like the man who owes the king a debt we cannot pay. We can never hope to earn God’s forgiveness. Our sins are too great and we simply have nothing we could offer God to repay them. However, the king forgives the unrepayable debt out of mercy, just as God, in Christ, has forgiven our unrepayable debt. The man did nothing to merit his forgiven debt, and neither do we. The point is clear: we have been forgiven for so much more than we will ever be called on to forgive.

Let me be clear, lest you think I am encouraging the false narrative, insinuating that you simply must forgive out of your own strength or will. Jesus told this story in order to help us get our narratives right. If we meditate for a long time on how much we have been forgiven, it will help us forgive others. Stan understood this without reading this passage. He said, “Since God forgave me of all of my sins, then I figure that he would also forgive the man who molested me. I want to tell him about Jesus, and that I forgive him for what he did to me.”

Stan’s narrative shifted dramatically in a relatively short period of time as he renarrated his own story: God has forgiven me for all of my sins, therefore, I can forgive those who have sinned against me. But note: it was only when the larger narrative was well in place that he was able to do it. If, on the day he told me about his years of molestation, I had said, “Stan, you need to forgive that man, and forgive yourself while you are at it,” I would have done him much harm. He would have been thrown back on himself (the false narrative) and unable to forgive either that man or himself.

Jesus’ story ended with the unforgiving man being thrown into prison and tortured for the rest of his life. Then Jesus said to his disciples: “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 18:35).

It is easy to make a mistake here and assume that our forgiveness is conditioned on our ability to forgive, or that forgiveness is like a transaction: you forgive, then God will forgive you. Many people pray the Lord’s Prayer (“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”) and conclude that our forgiveness is merited by our ability to forgive.

This is yet another false narrative, and it is so deeply embedded in people that we need to take a moment to address it. Jesus is simply trying to show us the absurdity of accepting God’s forgiveness for our countless sins and yet refusing to forgive the one or two (or even a hundred) sins done against us. It is absurd for us to glory in the forgiveness God has given us and yet remain unwilling to forgive someone who has harmed us.

A community who has been forgiven must become a community who forgives. God’s forgiveness toward us is unrestricted; how can our forgiveness for one another be restricted? That is his point. Turning the story into a transaction reveals the tendency we have toward legalism. My inability to forgive another is usually based on my own sense of justice. We think, It is unfair, unjust, to forgive the person who hurt me. Why? They have not earned our forgiveness. True. So then, is that how we want to be treated? Jesus is saying to us, “All right, if it is your just deserts you are after, then you can have them. If it is justice you seek, it is justice you shall get.” New Testament scholar Joachim Jeremias states it this way: “Woe unto you if you try to stand on your rights; God will then stand on his and see that his sentence is executed rigorously.”

So which way do we want to be treated? By mercy or by justice? Dare we have the audacity to look to God and ask for our rights when it comes to those who have sinned against us, but ask for mercy when it comes to our own trespasses? We cannot play it both ways.

Jesus’ words in the Lord’s Prayer are reminders that we need to hear repeatedly: You have been forgiven much; therefore you must forgive. It is not easy, but it is also not impossible. Once we stand firmly entrenched in the larger story of our own forgiveness, we can then forgive—a process that often takes time. Not surprisingly, this is exactly what Paul taught in his epistles.

In two places Paul exhorts the ecclesia to bear with each other and forgive each other, and in both places he does so on the basis that we have been forgiven by God:

From these two passages I see both the pattern and the power of forgiveness. Paul is not suggesting we forgive. He is commanding us to “bear with one another” and to “be kind to one another.” How is that done? By forgiving. As Christ forgave us, so we also forgive. It is not something we do—it is something we participate in. That is the pattern of forgiveness. L. Gregory Jones is helpful here: “The pattern of our forgiven-ness, and hence our discipleship as forgiven and forgiving people, is none other than the pattern we find in Christ.”

It is unthinkable, then, for us to willfully not forgive those who have harmed us, because we have been forgiven. N. T. Wright explains: “Paul here makes two points. . . . First, it is utterly inappropriate for one who knows the joy and release of being forgiven to refuse to share that blessing with another. Second, it is highly presumptuous to refuse to forgive one whom Christ himself has already forgiven.”

But before we turn this into an enterprise of the flesh, we must realize that we do not do this on our own. Our ability to forgive is not only patterned after Christ but empowered by Christ. As Miroslav Volf says so well, “Christ forgives through us, and that is why we can forgive.” Jesus then is both the pattern and the power of forgiveness and reconciliation.

When I was just out of seminary and serving my first years in the local church, I had the privilege of meeting on a regular basis my former professor and mentor Richard J. Foster. By this time Richard was a highly respected and famous speaker and writer on the Christian life. Richard suggested that we get together once a week to share with one another about our lives and pray. I always showed up with great enthusiasm. Each week he taught me something new.

One of the things he taught me has especially stuck with me through the years. For a few weeks I was struggling in my life with God because of my proneness to wander from the God I love. I really wanted to unburden myself, to break the power of this pattern, and I knew in my heart that I needed to confess it to someone and bring it to the light. I also wanted Richard to think well of me, so I ruled him out as the person I would confess to. Then, during our next meeting, he said, “Jim, is there anything you would like to confess?” I was shocked and wondered how he could have possibly known. I stammered, “Well, yes, there is. I want to confess—” but he cut me off. He then said, “I will be happy to hear your confession and announce God’s forgiveness over you, but first you must hear my confession.” I was stunned. The great and spiritual Richard Foster could sin? And even more shocking was that he would confess it to me. I was not worthy. For a few moments I was disoriented.Then, rather sheepishly, I said, “Okay.”

Richard then proceeded to confess his own sins of that past week. Years later I am certain that he confessed not so much because he needed to but in order to teach me several things. First, all of us are sinners. I think he knew I put him on a pedestal, and he wanted me to know that we are all human. Second, he wanted to take away my fear. He could see I was hesitant to confess, so he, in a Christlike way, showed me the way. Third, he wanted to draw us closer. By disclosing our hearts in this way, we moved to a new level of trust. I believe that morning time of confession allowed us to trust one another in a new way.

This discussion would not be complete if I did not mention two caveats about forgiveness and reconciliation. The first deals with keeping appropriate boundaries. In the real world there is a great deal of pain, violence and tragedy, and people cannot be counted on to respond to our kindness with graciousness and integrity. Though we are called to love by forgiving, we need to be careful when and how we do this. Though we are called to be reconciled, we are not called to be abused or to be repeatedly harmed by someone. Though we are called to bear one another’s burdens, we must remove ourselves from persons or situations that take advantage of us or can hurt us. To forgive is not to be abused.

There was a young man in a youth group I once led whose birth mother had abandoned him when he was three. He had been raised by his grandparents while his mother continued to spend her time abusing drugs and subsequently losing jobs. Once a year, as if on cue, she would reappear in this young man’s life and try to reestablish their relationship. For a few weeks she would be around and would tell him she was sorry for the things she had done to him (such as locking him in a basement for two days) and not done for him (be a parent). He would find himself torn: he wanted to forgive her, but he also knew she would let him down.

I explained to him, “What you really want is to be loved by her, but she is not capable of that right now, and perhaps not for a long time, perhaps never. You can forgive her for what she has done to you, but you are old enough now to stop it from continuing. You need to set boundaries with her, as strange as that sounds. You can tell her you love her, and that you forgive her, but you must also tell her you will not let her keep hurting you.” This made a great deal of sense to him, and he was able to set up appropriate boundaries with her. Many years have passed since those days. The last time I spoke with him, he told me that she had never changed her ways, but he also had never let her take advantage of him again. Now grown, married and a father himself, he told me he learned how to forgive without being abused.

A second caveat or warning about forgiveness and reconciliation involves times when our need to feel forgiven disregards the possible hurt it may cause the person we are forgiving or asking for forgiveness. A colleague of mine was once involved in a chaplaincy program in which he worked closely with a group of a dozen or so pastors. In one of their meetings, a fellow pastor told the group she had something important to confess. She got up, walked over to my colleague, knelt down in front of him, and said she needed to ask for forgiveness for harboring anger and other ill feelings toward him—which she then listed in front of the group. My colleague said that he was extremely embarrassed and felt ashamed throughout the whole event. He had never known of her strong negative feelings, and now he would forever. And so would the rest of the group.

This kind of request for forgiveness does not build community—this is narcissism. And sometimes it is malicious, a way to attack someone under the guise of reconciliation. The pastor should have made her confession privately. And even then there is a danger that it is still more about her need to unload some emotional baggage than it is about strengthening a relationship. My friend Andrew calls this “the forgiveness ambush.” A person calls you up for coffee and midway through your latte announces that he or she has something they feel led to discuss. Once again, it is all about that person’s hurt or pain that you, unknowingly, have caused. “But I want you to know that I have forgiven you,” the person often says. This is not genuine reconciliation. This is just showy forgiveness, making light of the true act of reconciliation.

If we truly have forgiven someone, we will not need to alert him or her to it. If it is a case of wanting to make the person aware of something that you feel he or she needs to change, that is entirely different. That is not reconciliation but admonishment (see chapter six). If one person truly has forgiven another, he or she would be better off showing it by taking the other person out for coffee and deepening the friendship through healthy conversation and perhaps a time of prayer together. If you have come to that blessed place where you have forgiven someone, keep it between you and God. Love, it is said, covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8).

For the first few years after he graduated, I had little contact with Stan. But eventually he did his best to reconnect with me and would call me once a year or so. After college he joined the Navy, becoming a part of the elite Navy Seals. He told me a few years later that he had gotten married, and the next year he told me about the birth of their first child.

He also told me that God has used him in a ministry to help young people who had been sexually abused. He shared his testimony on a regular basis with young people who were trying to put their lives together. I asked him what he tells them, and he said, “Oh, I just tell them my story. I tell them how I became a butterfly and that they can do the same.” As I have grown more in my understanding, I see more clearly how Jesus stepped in and transformed a human life in only a few months. Jesus wrote Stan into his story, and Stan was never the same.

God has given us all a message of reconciliation—that God, in Christ, has reconciled the world to himself (2 Corinthians 5:18-19). The first place we are invited to practice this reconciliation is with one another. Forgiveness is a gift we receive and a gift we give. When we do, our communities become like our God—good and beautiful.

Reconciliation and forgiveness can be made real in our lives through practices that embed the story of Jesus into our lives. There are three soul-training exercises I recommend you try this week. Choose at least one, the one that best fits where you are right now, but try all three, if possible.

1. Allowing others to forgive for you. If you have been harmed greatly by someone, it may be impossible for you to forgive that person. You may not even be in a place where you want to forgive them, even though you feel you should. This is where community can be of great help. Those who stand with you in fellowship under the cross can begin to offer prayers of forgiveness for that person.

Here is how it works:

Allowing our brothers and sisters in Christ to forgive where we cannot forgive may be a way for us to begin learning how to forgive. Knowing someone else is taking on the burden is freeing in itself. One member of our apprentice group allowed another person in our group to take on this burden for him. He said, “Just knowing that Laura is praying for this person and for me takes the pressure off of me. I feel as if the grip of unforgiveness is starting to loosen.”

Another member of the group chose to do this with her spiritual director. She set up a time on a Saturday morning to talk about this situation, and her director agreed to do this exercise with her. She said that just by making the arrangements she was on the road to healing.

2. Steps to forgiving someone who has hurt you. It may be that you feel ready to try to forgive someone yourself. If so, there are some steps that may help in the process.

This is a universal truth. People who hurt others are people who are themselves hurting because they have been hurt. I remember being angry and upset about a person who had said bad things about me in a meeting where I was not present. I spent the next two months thinking about ways to hurt the person back—in a Christian way, of course! I rehearsed conversations wherein I would reduce the person to tears through the power of my tongue.

Then I decided that, as an apprentice, there might be a better way! I began praying for this person and asking God to give me insight into his life. Not long after, I was visiting with someone who knows this person who explained—without my prompting—the extraordinary struggle and pain in his life. Realizing that this person probably hurt me in response to his own pain helped minimize the need I felt to hurt in return.

3. If your church offers the Lord’s Supper, see something new in it. Many churches have Communion, or the Lord’s Supper, on a regular basis. If your church offers this, I would encourage you to approach this means of grace with new eyes. The center of the Lord’s Supper is the reminder that Christ has reconciled the world to himself.
L. Gregory Jones puts it this way: “Christ’s sacrifice relocates our lives as forgiven betrayers, as reconciled sinners, in communities of broken yet restored communion.”

Reflect on these wonderful truths as you partake: Jesus is relocating your life, renarrating your life, and this meal is a tangible experience of that.

In an earlier exercise in this book I asked you to spend time with God using “two-by-four,” that is, two hours with God and four acts of kindness. This exercise fits perfectly with that concept. Perhaps you could show up at church well ahead of time—thirty minutes or so, just to be quiet and to reflect on the act of worship. You may want to read 2 Corinthians 5:17-19 several times as you sit silently in the sanctuary or chapel.