As We Forgive: Year A, Proper 19

Exodus 14:19-31; Exodus 15:1b-11, 20-21; Genesis 50:15-21; Psalm 114; Psalm 103; Romans 14:1-12; Matthew 18:21-35

A conventional pass through the readings for this Sunday leads us to a vision of retributive judgment against the enemies of God: As Moses and the multitude of Israelites cross the Red Sea, God protects those who have signed on to the Covenant. The Elves tell us the alternative Old Testament reading (Genesis 50:15-21) is closely related to the Gospel reading. Joseph forgives his dastardly brothers, who sold him into slavery in Egypt. Sure enough in Matthew 18:21-22, Peter’s question about how much forgiveness is enough is paired with the parable of the unforgiving slave, instead of with last week’s admonitions about how to deal with recalcitrant members of the community. Matthew’s Jesus threatens divine punishment of those followers who fail to forgive their friends and neighbors who might owe them a debt of money, gratitude, respect, or other payment for wrongdoing. Paul seems to agree, as he cautions the faithful not to judge one another, but to leave judgment to God. “We do not live to ourselves,” Paul pontificates. “[W]hether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”

The Jesus Seminar commentators in The Five Gospels (p. 218), make a distinction between a parable, which has a single point, and an allegory, which “is coded theology.” By putting the story of the unforgiving slave in the context of how much forgiveness is required for salvation, Matthew turns the authentic Jesus’s parable into allegory. In other words, instead of a parable with a confounding ending that causes the hearers to wonder what the trick is, Matthew’s Jesus hits us over the head with piety: “That’s what my heavenly Father will do to you, unless you find it in your heart to forgive each one of your brothers and sisters.” Taking that point to its logical conclusion, given the juxtaposition of this reading with Genesis, even Joseph, who suffered the ultimate betrayal and was sold into slavery, was able to forgive all his brothers. Surely Christians – who have overthrown all that Old Testament tribalism – can do as well, if not better than that.

Matthew’s interpretation of Jesus’s parable paints God as requiring retributive judgment. But Paul writes 50 years after the death of Jesus, “Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? . . . each of us will be accountable to God.” Being accountable to one’s “lord” is not the same as being judged less than moral by one’s neighbors. Paul suggests that people may have been inviting others to join the Christian community in Rome as a set-up, or as Paul puts it, “for the purpose of quarreling over opinions.” Dietary customs (“The weak eat only vegetables”) are not usually fighting offenses in the post-modern world. Instead, the clash of opinions about gun ownership, reproductive choice, homosexuality, and theories about social and economic conditions has prompted deadly attacks on churches and communities from both the left and the right. In such a polarized environment, judgment wins the day, as complex thought is reduced to bumper sticker code that appeals to fear. Accountability is left for dead.

Paul’s point is that judging others is a waste of time and energy because each of us is ultimately accountable to God. But to whom or what are we accountable in a post-Christian, non-theistic world? When the parable of the unforgiving slave is reduced to the bare bones of the story itself, when Matthew’s opinion about God’s avenging judgment is removed, we find that the slave for whom a vast debt was forgiven is held accountable not to his master, but to his own integrity.

Because Matthew is the only one who tells this particular parable, it is perhaps unfair to have it stand alone without Matthew’s commentary. But the Jesus Seminar scholars thought that the story alone was the kind of story that Jesus liked to tell. So here we are, around the camp fire. We come in a bit late, so don’t hear what prompted Jesus to start the story the way he did. . . .

“Now I’ll tell you why God’s realm is like a land owner who decided to settle accounts with his slaves,” Jesus says. He finishes off his last bite of fish, and licks his fingers. Mary Magdalene tucks a loaf of bread into the coals to warm, uncorks the wineskin, and starts it on its rounds. Andrew throws another log on the fire. Somebody hushes a child and points at Jesus.

“So the first account he looks at, the slave owes him $10 million.”

“10 million!” “No way!” “No wonder the guy needed to close his accounts.” “This crook ripped off his entire estate!”

Jesus goes on: “Obviously, he couldn’t pay it back, so the land owner ordered him to be sold, along with his wife and children and everything he had.” Jesus looks around at the company. “Sort of like you and Zach, Hannah.” Hannah hugs the child, and Zach shivers and wraps his arms around his knees.

“Anyway, the slave begs forgiveness, reminds the land owner what an excellent steward he has been in other ways, and promises he will pay it all back.” Jesus pauses for a moment. We are all expecting the worst for the slave for his impertinence: jail, torture, exile – but then Jesus says, “This land owner was compassionate. This master let that slave go and canceled the debt.”

It’s a joke. Several people start laughing. But Jesus isn’t finished with the story.

“Wait,” he says, “There’s more. As soon as the slave got out of there, he jumped one of his fellow slaves who owed him $100 and demanded payment immediately. Well of course the guy begged for mercy, but the slave wasn’t interested. Instead, he threw the guy in prison until he paid the debt. When the rest of the slaves realized what had happened, they complained to the land owner.”

“Why? The slave was within his rights,” says Judas.

“The land owner called the slave back and rescinded the agreement, and threw the slave into jail to be tortured until he could repay it all.”

Silence. A twig snaps in the fire. Jesus pulls the warm loaf of bread out of the coals. He breaks the bread into two pieces, and lifts it up in his hands. Then he closes his eyes and says, “Abba, may your name be praised. You provide us with the bread we need for the day.” Jesus passes the bread to the people on either side of him. “Forgive us our debts to the extent that we have forgiven those in debt to us.”

In the stripped down parable, the subject matter is clearly economic debt – a life or death fact in the 1st Century. The followers of Jesus presumably were the debtors, not the ones to whom debt was owed, hence the conundrum and the open meaning. What debt do we forgive, if no debt is owed to us? Debt is concerned with either the past or the future, never the present moment, which is all that matters in God’s realm. In God’s realm of distributive justice-compassion, where bread for the day is provided, where rain falls on the just and the unjust, debt has no power.

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