"Letting It Go?" by Rev. Jillian Hankamer

“If your brother or sister sins against you,  go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If you are listened to, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If that person refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church, and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a gentile and a tax collector. Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if my brother or sister 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, the 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.”

The church I grew up in is unique. Founded by a group of folks who refused to be part of the racism they encountered at the local First Baptist Church, they found a spot at the highest point of a big hill off of East Austin Street and built Austin Heights Baptist Church among the pine trees.

Though they might not admit it, those good people have more than a little bit of a rebellious streak, and growing up, Austin Heights was that church in town – the one people would nod knowingly about. Conscious of being “green” and recycling before it was cool, they were brewing and selling fair trade coffee before most churches became aware of what that term meant. During the AIDS epidemic, they were the only church in town willing to hold funerals for people who’d died of the disease. Later, the local HIV/AIDS organization and Habitat for Humanity started there. They’ve been involved in anti-pipeline work for years and maintain a now decades-long relationship with a local African American congregation. You won’t be surprised to know that’s still uncommon in rural East Texas.

           Growing up in that unique church I experienced intergenerational ministry first-hand, something I am passionate about now as a pastor. It was there that I learned to appreciate a good Baptist potluck and saw the adults around me take seriously the idea of getting their hands dirty to help others. Growing up in that odd, wonderfully inclusive, and perfectly imperfect church family I was taught the value of asking questions of yourself, of your faith, and of God. Above all, I knew I was loved and valued both by God and the people of my church.

           I bring all this up because as I was living with this Matthew 18 passage and rolling the idea of forgiveness, a story I hadn’t thought about in years came to the surface. It took place at Austin Heights during worship one Sunday and in front of the whole congregation. I was a teenager at the time so don’t know all the details but can tell you two church members were in conflict. Both lawyers, the younger of the pair, were working for the older until a disagreement occurred, and the younger lawyer was asked to leave the firm. Having met in church, they were both present for worship and communion the following Sunday.

           As I remember it, the younger man spoke publicly just before communion began, apologizing for his part in the situation and acknowledging the stress of bringing conflict into the congregation. He needed to be forgiven by the older lawyer and his church family and until he was, he would not be taking communion. He would not, he said, participate in the Lord’s meal of peace and righteousness until he was at peace with his brother. Neither man took communion that day.

           In the car on the way home, I asked my parents to explain what happened as I’d never witnessed a public acknowledgment of wrongdoing or someone abstaining from communion due to conflict. They both seemed a bit stunned and admitted they’d never seen anything like it either, but they were sure it was the younger lawyer’s way of living out Jesus’ words from Matthew 18.

           To my knowledge, both men coexisted peacefully at church from then on, but I don’t know how far they rebuilt their relationship. What I can tell you is how singular a thing it was to witness. I’ve never seen such a thing happen in church again, and I’m convinced it’s because of the inherent vulnerability required by Jesus’ approach to forgiveness. It’s easier to let fly in anger and later regret our words. It’s easier when a sibling in Christ comes to us to address a disagreement to dismiss them as being “too sensitive.” It’s easier once our feelings have been hurt to “let it go,” sweeping our hurt under the rug without working through it. What isn’t easy is Jesus’ method.

           Ironically, there is no word in ancient Greek for “forgiveness” or “to forgive.” The word Peter and Jesus are using in its various forms is ἀφήσω – aphiemi and means to send away, leave alone, or let go.[1] Such a translation automatically carries less weight, but it’s a mistake to hear Jesus’ command to forgive someone “seventy-seven” times and assume he’s talking about “letting it go” with the dismissive, water-off-a-duck’s-back blitheness we often adopt.

 As Rolf Jacobson, Craig Koester, and Kathryn Schifferdecker of the Working Preacher podcast point out, “It’s a distortion to say when people do things that are damaging that we’ll ‘let it go.’”[2] In fact taking this approach when forgiveness is needed “doesn’t actually change anything”[3] and despite what Disney tells us, “’letting go’ is really just more concealing and not feeling.”[4]

           “Just let it go,” we tell people. I remember my parents saying this to me when I was a teenager. I know I’ve said it to people. And don’t get me wrong, there are times this attitude is helpful; when someone cuts you off in traffic. When you’re in a hurry and the cashier at the grocery store wants to chat about everything you’re buying. When you wait in line at the DMV for over an hour only to be told you don’t have the right paperwork.

But we must keep in mind that  “letting it go” and forgiveness are not the same thing.  And if letting go “means letting destructive behavior continue, this is exactly what forgiveness is not designed to do.”[5] As one of the commentators I read this week said so well, “’Let it go’ is a great shower song, but it’s poor Christian practice.”[6]

           So why do we continue to prescribe to this seemingly easier, friendlier, laid-back response to conflict? Why do we choose not to address things, even though Jesus makes it clear we should? It’s because true forgiveness is costly. It’s tempting to “let it go” so as to avoid the work of forgiveness, to avoid being vulnerable, to protect ourselves against further hurt. To admit our wrongdoing or the hurt we’ve caused someone.

As Rev. Julia Seymour so accurately names,

“Forgiveness is the reality of acknowledging wounds, debts, trespasses – gaping maws of pain in our past that share the map of our future. These truths of our experiences have power and voice. Forgiveness means the desire to recognize the future is in God’s hands, instead of entrenched in and gripped by our past.”

           You see, that’s one of the keys to forgiveness. When offered sincerely it’s a release that “allows for a new future…[because forgiveness] is designed to open up the future the past has closed off…to create a new beginning and a new opportunity.”[7] 

In addition, Jesus says in verse 20, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them, “ so not only is it our responsibility as the embodiment of Christ to allow for a new beginning to be created among us, we are responsible to each other for accountability. For being held to account. Just as “let it go” isn’t a buildable response to conflict, a “whatever you want is fine” response isn’t sustainable congregationally or personally. Forgiveness isn’t possible in deflection, and it certainly isn’t possible in apathy. Forgiveness is possible in discomfort and always possible with an open heart and a desire to pursue the heart of God.

           Jesus ends this morning’s passage with this parable of the unforgiving servant. An expression of his time, I learned a detail about this parable this week that tells us something fundamental about God. You see 1 talent was worth more than 15 years wages for a laborer, so the servant at the beginning of the parable owes the King 150,000 years of wages![8]

Did you know that? 150,00 years of wages…it’s a sum so large that multiple questions come to mind immediately; What was the servant doing to accrue such a massive debt? How could the king be willing to forgive something so enormous? How could this same servant – whose life and the lives of his wife and children were so recently spared – be so horrendously stingy with the man who owed him 100 denari?

           The answer to all of these questions is Jesus is a remarkable storyteller because the hyperbole is intentional. It’s supposed to catch our attention and be utterly incongruous so that we might understand the depth of God’s grace and forgiveness. It isn’t just 77 or 70 x 7 times with our God, the forgiveness is more expansive than we can conceptualize. Jesus told this story to “make it clear how far God is willing to let go to release us from the past that’s bound us. The whole story is designed to drive towards the urgency that actually brings change. The urgency of the forgiveness that actually allows there to be a new future for people.”[9]

           Dear friends, the Good News this morning is despite the temptation to “letting it go” rather than engage in the exposing work of forgiveness, Jesus calls us to vulnerability. Despite the challenges of speaking critically, Christ expects that we will be accountable to each other because to do otherwise is to risk the health of the entire body. Now, let me be clear. I’m not asking for y’all to start airing your grievances with each other, especially not with me in worship. I have no intention of creating forms so we can bring each other up on “charges.” What I’m asking is that we take forgiveness seriously and practice it wholeheartedly. I’m asking that we love each other thoroughly enough, to be honest and open.

           I also want to comfort those of you feeling overwhelmed by the coulda, shoulda, wouldas for serious pain you haven’t been able to forgive, laments for lost loved ones with whom your relationship died long before they did, or even those people you can’t or don’t believe should be forgiven.[10] Forgiveness is, to put it far too simply, hard.

           But God’s forgiveness is “limitless, abounding, just and honed.”[11] And this forgiveness allows for new beginnings and is maintained by the accountability Jesus calls us to as his followers. As Rev. Julia Seymour beautifully explains, “Forgiveness is never ‘let it go.’ It’s always ‘let it in,’ ‘let it work,’ and watch it grow.”[12]

[1] Strong’s Concordance via biblehub.com, #863

[2] Rolf Jacobson, Craig Koester, and Kathryn Schifferdecker, “NL Podcast 353: Forgiveness,” March 2, 2019.

[3] Julia Seymour, “Narrative Lectionary: Forgiveness, Fear, and Frozen,” February 17, 2015 from revgalblogpals.org

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Rolf Jacobson, Craig Koester, and Kathryn Schifferdecker, ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Seymour, ibid.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Ibid.