Forgive Us Our Trespasses . . .

 “Forgive Us Our Sins . . .”

A Sermon for the 12th Sunday after Pentecost

A. D. 2012

A Challenging Prayer

            When I first introduced this series on the Lord’s Prayer, I mentioned a woman in my vicarage congregation who told me that she didn’t pray the 5^th Petition—at least not 2^nd clause.  It was a long time ago, but if I recall the conversation correctly, it wasn’t that she was nursing some long-standing grudges; it was more along the lines of “why take a chance?”  She apparently noticed something that a lot of people notice:  the 5^th Petition seems to make our being forgiven dependent on our granting forgiveness—and she just was sure she was doing that consistently.

            Here’s the reality:  this petition is very familiar, but it’s very difficult, too.  There are difficulties of translation:  I found myself in Greek grammar books I rarely look at anymore trying to figure out a grammatical problem.  And, there are difficulties of meaning.  Today, let’s take a look at the challenges this petition offers and try to find at least a little insight into what exactly we are praying for here.

The First Clause

            My own difficulty comes in a place that most people probably find relatively easy, and that’s because my struggle is in the first clause.  What does it mean to pray for forgiveness?  Perhaps I’ve just been exposed to too much bad theology in junior high confirmation classes over the years.  Whenever I would ask the question about how God grants forgiveness, I would too often get this answer, “God forgives me when I pray.” Or, worse, “God forgives because I ask for it.”  Both are frankly false.  The first is false because there is no promise of forgiveness attached to the practice of prayer—not like there is for Baptism or Lord’s Supper.  The second is just outright works-righteousness.

            So, here’s the truth:  God forgave your sins when and because Jesus died for you.  Forgiveness comes on no other occasion and for no other reason!  And God distributes that forgiveness, dispenses it, and delivers it through the means of grace.  He distributes forgiveness in the fact of your Baptism and in the faithful reception of the Body and Blood of Jesus in the Lord’s Supper.  He distributes it when His Word of forgiveness is declared, that is, in the act of Absolution, and whenever the Word declares to you what Jesus has done for you.

            This seems perfectly clear to me, but it’s a matter of confusion for a lot of people.

            Let’s be clear.  It is not a bad thing to pray for forgiveness; for goodness’ sake, Jesus tells us to!  But let’s not get cause and effect involved:  that somehow our prayers are the reason for or the instrument of forgiveness.

            But, if prayer is not a cause or an instrument of our forgiveness, then why should we pray for forgiveness?  Let me suggest two reasons.

            First, we pray for forgiveness because we are so aware of our constant need for forgiveness.  That is to say, our frailty, our weakness, and our failings all call out of us a longing for forgiveness.  The Small Catechism puts it this way, “For we daily sin much and deserve nothing but punishment . . but we pray that God would not look at our sins or deny our prayers because of them.”  In this way, we ought to see our prayer for forgiveness as an act of repentance.  In Lutheran theology, repentance is not faith or forgiveness; it is contrition, brokenness and sorrow over our sin.  To be sure, the Gospel must be applied immediately to the repentant.  Repentance belongs together with faith created and sustained by God’s own words of forgiveness.  In terms of our personal prayers, we may find ourselves ‘preaching the Gospel’ to ourselves, saying, even as we utter a prayer for forgiveness, “Nevertheless, I am baptized; I know what my God has done for me in His Son, Jesus.”  But it is the Gospel so proclaimed that delivers forgiveness—not our act of praying.

            A second reason we pray this petition is because we struggle so much to accept the reality of forgiveness.  I have this one specific memory of 3^rd or 4^th grade.  I broke a rule during an inside recess at school and I got caught.  The ridiculous thing is that this was over 30 years ago, and still I kick myself for being so stupid.  It’s just an example of the way our sins stick to us.  God might say that He has removed our sins as far as the east is from the west (Ps. 103), but we wonder how He could possibly forget something that we so clearly remember.

            Jesus teaches us to pray for the certainty and the comfort that comes from a faith that truly believes its debts are paid, its sins are forgiven.

The Second Clause

            Those are my struggles with this petition, but I suspect more of us share the struggles of the lady in my vicarage congregation.  I mean, the second part of the petition sure seems to make our being forgiven dependent on granting forgiveness.  An important clarification notes that Jesus gives this prayer to those who are already His disciples in both Matthew and Luke.  It is a prayer that presupposes one has received the forgiveness of God given freely through Jesus.  Therefore, our forgiving is no condition of our being forgiven.

            However, we should take today’s Gospel reading from Matthew 18 into account:  Those who have received the free gift of forgiveness are also expected to grant forgiveness, and the steadfast refusal to grant forgiveness is a danger to faith.  Steadfast refusal to grant forgiveness means a failure to connect with the forgiveness the Lord has offered; it means that one is returning the heart of flesh the Lord gives and hardening one’s heart again into a heart of stone (Ezek. 36).   Ultimately, steadfast refusal to forgive leads to the rejection of the Lord’s own forgiveness and the withdrawal of that forgiveness.

            So, our granting forgiveness does not cause our being forgiven, but our refusing to grant forgiveness can be an indication that we are rejecting the Lord’s forgiveness.

            Many find that last point troubling and wonder if they are in danger of losing forgiveness because of their own incomplete granting of forgiveness.  Here are three lessons that will ease that concern.

            First, we should understand that forgiveness is in our power to give.  It does not depend in any way on the one who requires our forgiveness.  It is possible to forgive a person who is completely unrepentant.  This is so because forgiveness means letting go of our rights against another person. It means choosing not to take revenge, not to hold a grudge, not to demand our rights for retribution, not to repay evil for evil.  A synonym of forgive is release, and in forgiving, we release the other from our vengeance and we release ourselves from our bitterness.  A steadfast refusal to forgive means that both offended and offender are still captive to the other.  Release means your freedom and theirs.

            Certainly this is a matter for our prayers.  Sometimes we feel so bound by the sins committed against us that completely lose sight of fact that forgiveness is ours to give, regardless of other person.  And the longing for the ability to release those hurts so long clutched in our hands is a thing we hold up to the Lord’s care.

            Second, we should learn that there is an important difference between struggling to forgive and refusing to forgive.  Some wounds are so grievous that they don’t heal all at once; some are so deep that they mark us with pain throughout our lives.  In the midst of that pain, it is a difficult thing to release the one who caused that pain from the threat of punishment.  Sometimes it takes months and years.  But the fact that some wounds continue to hurt and that they are hard to let go of completely is not the same thing as refusing to let go.  Part of this prayer is a prayer that the Lord would help us let go of those grudges completely.

            Finally, we should not the difference between forgiveness and reconciliation.  Forgiveness is unilateral; reconciliation needs two parties. Sometimes we can let go of the hurt and the desire for revenge and repayment.  But sometimes we also have to acknowledge that things can’t go back to the way they were before, especially if no similar change in offender.  If a friend betrays my trust, I can let the pain go, but I might not want to be friend anymore, at least not as close as once were.  If a spouse betrays a spouse, the wounded party may truly release that debt, but sometimes the marriage can’t be restored, if the breach is too deep and the offender can’t be trusted not to do it again.

            Again this distinction is part of our prayer.  Losing a dear relationship means grief over what is no more, and we pray that we may adapt to that circumstance and deal with that grief.  Sometimes we would really desire to have a relationship fully restored but the other’s recalcitrance stands in the way. In such a case, our prayer is also that the offender would come to a repentance that allows full restoration between us.

            In summary, it is a challenging petition.  It challenges us to focus with laser-like intensity on source of our forgiveness, Jesus.  It challenges us to take seriously the free gift of forgiveness, not doubting it.  It challenges us to become a forgiving people, with all the struggles that might mean as we strive to become more like our gracious God in releasing the debts owed to us and working diligently to become a people at peace with one another and those around us.  It is a challenging petition, but it is an incredibly practical one that touches some of the most sensitive realities of our lives.

Behold! The Man!

            You think you know the stories of the Gospels like the back of your hand, and then they reach out and slap your face.  This hit me this afternoon:

            First, some backstory.  I love the way N. T. Wright understands John’s Gospel.  Wright sees John expertly weaving several themes together.  So, the attentive reader will see that John is more consciously concerned with Passover than the other Gospels.  He is concerned with the Temple and the presence of God.  And He is concerned with new creation. 

            Wright and others think that those last two are closely intertwined.  The argument goes something like this:  in Genesis 1-2, God created the heavens and the earth as a sort of Temple for Himself, a dwelling where He could live in the midst of His beloved creation, humans.  Ever since the arrangement was torn asunder by the incident in Eden (Genesis 3), God has been working towards the ultimate renewal of the arrangement.  (Cf. Revelation 21-22, with God’s declarations that the dwelling of God is now with men.)

            So, Wright says, look at what John is doing:  John 1 begins with obvious echoes of Genesis 1 with its, “In the beginning.” And John 1 anticipates the dwelling of God with man in the Word made flesh (John 1:14).  There is a progression of six major events (the first two of which are labeled ‘signs’):  the wedding at Cana, the healing of an official’s son, a healing at the pool of Bethesda, feeding of 5,000, healing of a man born blind, and raising of Lazarus.  Then, John makes a pretty broad point that Jesus died on a Friday, or, in Jewish reckoning, the sixth day.

            Sixth day, culmination of creation, creation of Adam and Eve, death of Jesus—and here’s my brain blast for the day—Pilate stands up and declares of Jesus, “Behold! The man!”  But the Greek might be better rendered, “Behold!  The human!”  In Jesus, battered, torn, condemned, and dying, behold! Humanity!  That’s our death sentence He’s standing under there.  But, behold! The Human!” Here’s the one who by taking the whole race’s death sentence into Himself is renewing the race and re-opening a garden for humanity.  (Notice that John’s the one who tells us Jesus’ tomb was in a garden and that Mary mistook the risen Jesus for a gardener.)

            “Behold! The man!”  John loves irony.  He loves to show us God’s enemies being turned into stooges advancing God’s goals.  John tells us about Caiaphas announcing that it was better for one man to die for the nation than the whole nation dying.  (Snicker.) Do you think he lived to regret saying that when the first Christians began preaching in Jerusalem?  And John tells us about Pilate’s “Behold! The man!”  Here’s the curse and the hope of the race in one.  Here is the pinnacle of God’s creation being renewed and becoming the agents of God’s ongoing act of renewal until all things are brought under Christ’s feet.

            Maybe you saw all that before.  But it slapped me in the face at lunch today.

Expressing the Purpose of the Church

From my April article for the Chronicle, Divine Savior's monthly newsletter:

            A few weeks ago, I concluded a sermon series on the book of Ephesians, and we are still working through it in adult Bible study.  If you’ll recall, I had said that one of the reasons for studying Ephesians was to think deeply about what the church is for.

            St. Paul’s answer to that question goes something like this: the church is part of God’s eternal designs for humanity and for His whole creation.  She exists now as a sort of down payment on and demonstration of God’s plans and purposes for the whole world, namely, that He desires all humans to live together in one renewed family.  This family is not marked by the old divisions of sin, but by humility, patience, and unity.  And this new family stands as a testimony against the fallen world and the cosmic powers that dominate that fallen world, as if the Father proudly pointed at the church and declared, “See, there!  You cosmic powers who were so jealous of the creatures I made in My image that you couldn’t wait to corrupt them, look at them now—recreated in the image of My Son, gloriously reflecting My glory into My world!”

            I find that a deeply compelling vision of the church and our life together.  In practical terms, it means that the way that we live and operate together, the gentleness that we show to each other in our dealings about all sorts of things from altar flowers to budgets to acts of loving service, the bond of peace and unity that we exhibit even when we have argued fiercely over strategies and directions—all those things contribute to truly understanding what it means to be the church.  They are as important as regular church attendance and a common confession of the faith.

            I think that churches too often pass over this aspect of their life too easily.  Most churches expect their members to show up on Sundays (worship).  Lutheran churches, for sure, understand that church membership means that we’ve agreed to speak about the faith the same way (common confession).  But I wonder how often we really express to our members that our life together as a family matters just as much as 1) a function of what distinguishes a church from a club and as 2) a testimony of God’s work for the world?

            Again, as a practical matter, business guru Peter Drucker always says that you ought to be able to fit your vision on tee shirt.  So, how do you say all of the above in a succinct way that says what exactly it means to be part of a church?  I’ve kicked this around a lot over the years and I’ve come up with these two vision statements for the church:

Exhibiting Christ to the Word

Inviting the World to Christ

Loving God,

Loving One Another,

Loving the World

I wonder if either of those resonate with you as a ‘slogan’ for Divine Savior?  If you have thoughts, especially about the two vision statements, post them in the comments section.  Perhaps we can have a small conversation about how to express what it means to be the church.

Permanence

I haven't posted for a while, and I'm not sure I've ever posted anything that wasn't a commentary Scripture.  (I started the blog to assist my last congregation in Bible reading, after all.)  However, this quote is on my mind.  It's from Wendell Berry's A Place on Earth.  If you haven't read Berry, you should.  I haven't read his non-fiction, but his fiction is a wonderful observation of the meaning of community and the human cost when community is lost.  Anyhow, this exchange happens between Mat Feltner and his daughter-in-law, Hannah, as he is describing a farming mistake that his son, Virgil, had made which resulted in a landslide.

"'Finally, I put my arm around him and I said, Be sorry but don't quit.  'What's asked of you now is to see what you've done and learn better.'  And I told him that a man's life is always dealing with permanence--that the most dangerous kind of irresponsibility is to think of your doings as temporary.  That, anyhow, is what I've tried to keep before myself.  What you do on earth, the earth makes permanent.'  He laughs, and looks at Hannah, 'Every time I make a mistake, that gets more painful to believe.'"

I've come to see the wisdom there.  I've certainly been guilty of not seeing the permanence in my actions.  Theologically, I tend to think on my feet.  I tend to talk until I've worked out an answer.  I notice this especially in Bible study, but sometimes I find it happening in sermons, too.  I say something for shock value, to elicit a gasp, to gain attention, and I forget that words once spoken can't be unspoken.  Said another way, I'm struggling to understand that nothing is purely academic.  A preacher talks about suffering as an academic, bloodless subject at his own peril because he is talking to a roomful of sufferers.  A preacher who discourses on the fate of the unbeliever better reckon with the reality that his hearers include a lot of folks who know a lot of folks about whose salvation they are less than certain.  Frankly, it's one of the reasons I don't talk much about politics:  what I take as obviously ill-advised, another may take as equally obviously wise--and a word once spoken is permanent.

Every word is spoken into a context.  Some contexts we can identify and address.  Some contexts surprise us when a landslide opens at our feet.  Everything is personal for someone.  I wish I were better at anticipating the many contexts in which my words will be heard than trying to clean up the landslide.

1 Chronicles 21

            The key thing that the Chronicler highlights here is the way that David chose and acquired the future site for the temple.  That’s part of a larger agenda that will play out over the next few chapters, an agenda to demonstrate that it could just as well be called David’s temple:  he might not have built it, but he was integral to its planning in all phases.
            I suspect, though, that the thing a modern reader will come away with is a question about responsibility.  After all, 2 Samuel 24 says that the Lord incited David to take the census and 1 Chronicles 21 says that Satan stood against Israel.  Which is it?  God or Satan?  Remember that Satan is less a name and more a job description; the word means ‘accuser.’  So, let me throw this out there:  the Satan/the accuser/the prosecutor stood before the Lord and accused Israel of wrongdoing.  Two things to note:  according to Job 1-2, this seems to be exactly what the Satan did.  Second, he probably wasn’t making things up; he probably had all sorts of evidence about worship at high places, etc. to present.  Under this construction, Satan stood against Israel (1 Chron. 21:1); his accusations angered the Lord, who suggested a test, namely, a census to see if David would trust Him.  David failed the test, but repented when he saw the tragedy being inflicted on his people.
            Now, I think that reconstruction is fair to the biblical evidence, but it’s not terribly helpful in sorting through whether God or Satan is responsible for inciting David.  Lutheran theology teaches that God does not tempt for evil but that He does offer tests for good.  Further, it’s a safe statement to say that Satan uses any such test from God as an opportunity to undermine faithfulness.  (That’s certainly what happens in Genesis 2-3:  the Lord sets a boundary that man may honor Him and Satan is right there challenging the boundary.)  Now the distinction between test and tempt is a fine theological distinction, but it’s a little hard to make in practice.  When you’re in the midst of trial, it’s hard to sort out, “Is God offering me a chance to do what is right, or is Satan tempting me to do what is wrong?”  The answer, unfortunately, seems to be, “Yes.”  Sin/Satan seizes the opportunities presented by God’s command to lead us astray (Romans 7:8).

1 Chronicles 18-20

            Chronicles sets out to demonstrate God’s faithfulness to David, and, in the bargain, the Chronicler highlights David as a paradigm of faithfulness, too.  Consequently, a lot of the less savory things David did are skipped over.  This is very clear in today’s reading.  2 Samuel 10 records the war with Ammon and Syria (1 Chronicles 19-20), and 2 Samuel 21 records the war with the Philistines (1 Chronicles 20).  But from 2 Samuel 11 to 2 Samuel 20 we have the stories of David’s adultery, and Tamar’s rape, and Absalom’s revolt—not David’s finest hours!

            This is as good a test case as you’ll find for the idea that the biblical writers wrote for particular purposes, purposes of which we should be aware.  So, neither the author of Samuel nor the Chronicler are interested in history—as we moderns consider history.  Modern history is concerned with neutrality.  (Although I’d argue that historians are not as objective as they like to think; I’m reading a book about American foreign policy in China in the early 20^th century, and while the author is trying hard to balance his approach, his biases do show.  He’s eager to show how, mistakes and all, American policy was fairer to the Chinese than European policy.  I can’t help but think that a Chinese historian would write a considerably different story.)  Anyhow, the writer of Samuel and Kings wants to show that the problems Israel faced were not about military or political issues but about faithfulness to the Lord.  The writer of Chronicles wants to highlight the special place that David occupies in God’s interaction with Israel.  We moderns might call that propaganda; the Bible calls it good story-telling.

            In practical terms, it’s a good lesson on the 8^th Commandment.  The Catechism’s explanation of that Commandment states that we keep it when we put the best construction on everything.  I wonder how willing we are to leave aside the more sordid elements of a story to highlight the positive ones?