by Bret Carter

(July 2023)

There was a storm. The kind that roars at the windows and claws at the roof. The local news
warned everyone to take precautions, but the power soon trembled and died, snuffing out the
television and abandoning the house to darkness. 
Even though it was a useless gesture, the father locked the doors. The storm wasn’t an intruder. It
was a passing giant. If it wanted to come in, it would come in. 
The mother rushed to reassure the children. But when she looked in their bedroom, they weren’t
there. She looked in the basement. They weren’t there either. 
She called to her husband and together they searched the house, fearing their son and daughter
may have ventured outside. But just as they began to panic, they opened the coat closet and there
they were—brother and sister huddled in the dark. 
Relieved and a little angry, the parents hugged them. “We’ve been looking all over for you! You
had us so worried! What were you doing in there?”
With wide-eyed sincerity, the brother and sister said, “We were forgiving each other.”
The possibility of death does that. It makes us want closure. It stirs up the need to walk away
clean. Apparently, even at a young age, we can sense the need to make things right with people
before we die. The implication is that there might be a price to pay after this life is over. 
Even so, forgiveness isn’t always easy. The world teaches us limits and levels. If a person does
you wrong more than once, there’s a limit. If a person does something extraordinarily hurtful,
there’s a level. Even so, Jesus confronted both of these snags. 
As far as the amount of forgiveness, the world says you can put a limit on how many times you
forgive a person. Peter knew this very well, but he also knew that Jesus had a tendency to
upgrade. So, Peter shot high. “Peter came up and said to Him, ‘Lord, how many times shall my
brother sin against me and I still forgive him? Up to seven times?’” (Matthew 18:21). Since there
had been chronic bickering among the apostles about who was the best, this might have been an
attempt on Paul’s part to one-up the other guys. Or rather, seven-up. 
Paul’s estimate was such a gracious gesture. Imagine if someone insulted you seven times. Or if
someone stole from you seven times. What a challenge that would be. But what an opportunity to
be extra-righteous. 
It seems Peter expected a pat on the back for such a generous number. But instead of being
commended, he was edited. “Jesus said to him, ‘I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to
seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:22).* Even though there’s math involved here, the answer is
simple. When it comes to forgiveness, there is no limit. 

It’s very important to see this for what it is. It’s a command. If you want to keep your
relationship with God intact, you must become a forgiving person. And if necessary, you do it a
lot. This doesn’t mean if someone embezzles $10,000 from you, that you still let them handle
your finances, but you sure better forgive them. If you’re Charlie Brown, you forgive Lucy. But
you don’t have to keep trying to kick the football. Forgiveness doesn’t mean placing yourself in
harm’s way. It simply means you have removed any animosity or bitterness toward that person.
For a Christian, there are no grudges. Not one. 
As far as the level of the wrongs done to us, the world also has something to say. It is commonly
understood, there are small offenses and there are big offenses. There’s a huge difference
between someone cutting you off during rush hour and someone slandering a member of your
family. The first, you might indeed grit your teeth and let it slide. The second, not so much. 
When Peter tossed in his gracious estimate for forgiveness, he probably thought it would be a
quick conversation. But Jesus uses Peter’s misunderstanding of forgiveness to provide a deeper
level of insight concerning those who have done us wrong. 
As He always did, Jesus told a story. “For this reason, the kingdom of heaven may be compared
to a certain king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves” (Matthew 18:23). Jesus explains
that one of the slaves owed this king 10,000 talents of silver. In today’s terms (for those of you
who do like math), that would be about $3.5 billion. For those of you who don’t like math, it’s
the same amount: a whole lot of money. This debt was so extreme if the servant handed over
everything he made every day, it would have taken him 200,000 years to pay it off. 
This reveals the ridiculous truth about the servant’s suggestion for a payment plan. “Have
patience with me and I will repay you everything” (Matthew 18:26). Probably not. Even
Methuselah didn’t live that long.  
Jesus’ story then has a surprising twist. “The master of that slave felt compassion, and he
released him and forgave him the debt” (Matthew 18:27). Just like that. You owe me $3.5
million dollars, but let’s call it even. Have a good day. 
Moments ago, the servant had a dark future—shame, imprisonment, ruin. But all of that went
away because his king had compassion. Because his king was a forgiving king. 
You would think this would have a profound effect on a person. Having been forgiven for such a
high-level offense, you would think this servant would be eager to be compassionate when it was
his turn to be the forgiver. “But that slave went out and found one of his fellow slaves who owed
him a hundred denarii” (Matthew 18:28). Notice he didn’t go about his normal day. He “went
out” and hunted down his coworker. 
This other guy also had a debt. His however was the equivalent of one day’s work. That’s it.
Today, on the average, that’s about $100. A tiny drop in a very big bucket. 
But the first slave laid into the second slave and came down on him with everything in his
power. He had the guy thrown in prison until he paid back the hundred bucks (Matthew 18:30). 
The king heard about what happened and there was a follow-up meeting. “You wicked slave, I
forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not also have had mercy on
your fellow slave, in the same way that I had mercy on you?’” (Matthew 18:32-33). The king
then canceled the cancelation. The $3.5 million debt was back, along with the shame,
imprisonment, and ruin.  
In case you missed it, you are the first slave. Sin is the impossible debt. All of us have it. It is a
shadow that ensures a ruined future for each of us. But our King is compassionate. He canceled
our debt by using the death of His Son. There is no higher currency. There’s no possibility of us
paying it back. 

So, let’s take a short trip from the sublime to the ridiculous. Standing alive and well in the glow
of the forgiveness you have received, for you to withhold forgiveness from anyone for anything
would be ludicrous. Their offense toward you is nothing compared to the offense of your sin
toward God. 
This means there is absolutely no room for grudges in the life of a Christian. The world says
even if you forgive, you’re not required to forget. And this does come in handy during
arguments. “Oh yeah? Well, I seem to recall something you did back in 2003!”
Of course, mistakes of the past might automatically come to mind. But real love for people
doesn’t make any effort to write it down with a permanent marker. God tells us that love “keeps
no records of wrongs” (I Corinthians 13:5). Clara Barton (the founder of the Red Cross) was
approached by an apologetic person who asked for forgiveness and Clara said, “I distinctly
remember forgetting that.”
The Bible doesn’t say this is easy. But the Bible does say it’s necessary. The expectation for any
Christian is stated plainly in the parable. Just as we have been forgiven by God, we are to forgive
“in the same way” (Matthew 18:33). The forgiveness you give to anyone should match the
forgiveness you hope to receive.
Grudges are laughable. It’s hard to say what the grudge holder expects. Do they think the
offender feels some nagging unfinished business? Is it merely another version of pouting, meant
to manipulate the offender into an apology? Does the grudge-holder think the grudge will stain
the offender’s permanent record and cost them their soul? 
None of these are likely. At best, your grudge just summons an elephant in the room, creating
awkward tension until you leave. 
In most cases, your grudge has absolutely no effect on the offender. It does however have a
profound effect on you. There was a woman who held a grudge against a fellow member of the
church. Even though they ended up living in different states, her unforgiveness toward him
remained a part of her, something that made her grimace whenever this man’s name was
mentioned. 
Eventually, after years and years of carrying this grudge, she happened to spot him while visiting
another congregation. With some belated wisdom, she decided it was time to get rid of the
grudge. She went straight up to him and said, “I just want you to know that I forgive you.”
With apologetic sincerity, he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”
It wasn’t an insult. It was the truth. All those years, he had been untouched by her grudge. But
she had carried it like a tumor. 
There are many good reasons to forgive someone, but maybe the biggest reason is that it has a
direct connection to whether or not you will be forgiven. Jesus blatantly provides the takeaway
from His story. Withholding forgiveness only leads to our own unforgiveness. “My heavenly
Father will also do the same to you, if each of you does not forgive his brother from your heart”
(Matthew 18:35). And this is more than a superficial gesture. It’s “from your heart.”
Jesus spelled this out long before, during a previous lesson. “For if you forgive men for their
transgressions, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive men, then
your Father will not forgive your transgressions” (Matthew 6:14-15). Someone once proposed a
darker version: “If there’s someone you hope to not see in heaven—you probably won’t.”
As the potential forgiver, you might not have a clear perception of the appropriate limits or
levels. But if you want to know what forgiveness looks like, stand in the position of the
forgiven. 

• The Greek phrase ἑβδομηκοντάκις ἑπτά (hebdomekontakis hepta) literally means seventy times
  seven, but anyone haggling over whether or not to forgive 77 times or 490 times is missing the
  point. When it comes to forgiveness, you don’t need a calculator.

bret@rockymountainchristian.com