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“Vertical” & “Horizontal” Forgiveness: A Package Deal (September 13, AD2026; Proper 19)

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Readings (Track 2)

Our Gospel begins with Peter’s question: “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” And the remainder is devoted to Jesus’ answer, ending with “So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” What might the Spirit be saying to us in this and the other lessons?

Peter asked about forgiving a brother or sister; Jesus’ parable displays the intimate connection between God forgiving us and our forgiving one another. It’s easy to think of these as separate issues, but already in the Lord’s Prayer Jesus tells us they’re one issue. The Lord’s Prayer: a series of petitions, which series is interrupted only once by a report of our conduct: “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” And immediately after that prayer: “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Mt 6:14-15). That’s the theory; Jesus thinks it’s important enough that he tells us a story (a parable) about it.

(Parenthetically, as here, ethics is often about imitating God. Genesis tells us we’re created in God’s image. So to live humanly it’s probably better to imitate God than, say, a weasel. And learning to properly imitate Jesus’ God is the work of a lifetime.)

But back to Peter. His question was, more specifically, “how often should I forgive?” Does Jesus’ response address that? Yes, I think: in that last part: “if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” That phrase “from your heart” focuses one of the counterfeit forms of forgiveness. If I’m keeping track—say, up to seven—what I may be doing in “forgiving” is simply building the case that at number eight I’m fully justified in doing what I’ve wanted to do all along: lower the boom. To use the frame St Paul has been presenting in the last couple weeks’ readings, if my forgiveness isn’t an exercise in love of neighbor (seeking the neighbor’s good), it may be something other than forgiveness.

Today’s psalm celebrates God’s forgiveness:

3 He forgives all your sins
and heals all your infirmities;

10 He has not dealt with us according to our sins,
nor rewarded us according to our wickedness.

If we take it seriously that can be tremendously liberating. We can be honest with ourselves and with God because there is forgiveness. We can even be honest about how little interest we sometimes have in repenting, in changing. God really does love us as we are, and loves us enough to keep nudging us—more or less gently—toward a less self-destructive version of “as we are.”

Our lectionary almost certainly chose first reading for its narration of Joseph’s forgiveness. To the brothers’ plea for forgiveness Joseph responds “Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today.” There are two things in that response what might contribute to our practice of forgiveness.  “Am I in the place of God?” Withholding forgiveness: that just might be above Joseph’s paygrade. And if above Joseph’s… Second, the brothers weren’t the only ones intending and acting. God was also intending and acting. This doesn’t mean that the brothers’ action was less in need of forgiveness. It does mean that they were less in control of the situation than they—or Joseph—imagined.

Our reading from Romans is—obviously—not talking about forgiveness. There the issue is dealing with a diverse community in which the members make different judgments about food and days to be observed. In that context “love your neighbor” means giving the neighbor the space to respond faithfully to the Lord even when that response makes no sense to us.

“Some judge one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike. Let all be fully convinced in their own minds. Those who observe the day, observe it in honor of the Lord. Also those who eat, eat in honor of the Lord, since they give thanks to God; while those who abstain, abstain in honor of the Lord and give thanks to God.”

This is, obviously, not the only thing Paul has to say about community life. Thinking back to last week’s reading, I doubt that Paul would have had much time for “Well, reveling and drunkenness, debauchery and licentiousness is how I honor the Lord.” Nevertheless, his words in today’s lesson are important. Ironically, forgiveness would come into play primarily if some sought to impose their definition of honoring the Lord on others. That would need forgiveness.

“Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.” And that’s all that needs to be said?

Well, no, because there’s the first half of the chapter, some of which we heard last Sunday. Sin can be deeply destructive: “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea” (Mat 18:6). And sin in the community is a community concern: “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault…” (Mat 18:15). If there’s an obligation to forgive, there’s equally an obligation to prevent the sin repeating seventy-seven times, an obligation not carried exclusively by the sinned-against member. Thinking of cases like spousal abuse, where too often part of the pattern is a plea (demand?) for forgiveness by the perpetrator after each incident, that latter obligation may mean get out now. Recall that today’s psalm, rejoicing in God’s forgiveness, also included “The Lord executes righteousness / and judgment for all who are oppressed.” And that psalm text recalls another from Deuteronomy: “Slaves who have escaped to you from their owners shall not be given back to them. They shall reside with you, in your midst, in any place they choose in any one of your towns, wherever they please; you shall not oppress them” (23:15-16).

At every Eucharistic Prayer: “This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.” In light of texts like today’s Gospel that’s both about God forgiving our sins and creating a people who forgive each other’s sins. It’s a package deal.

Praying “Your kingdom come” (23rd Sunday after Pentecost, 11/16/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

This morning’s Collect focused on Holy Scripture: “Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life…” How might that work with today’s readings?

More precisely, the themes in some of the readings recall that petition in the Lord’s Prayer: “your kingdom come.” How might the readings help us better pray “your kingdom come”?

Our first reading from the prophet Malachi: “See, the day is coming.” The day, the day of the Lord, the Lord’s decisive action. Like many other descriptions of the day of the Lord, the text focuses the Lord sorting things out: the arrogant, the evildoers, “you who revere my name,” each will get their due. (We’re still a couple weeks out from Advent, but this wouldn’t make a bad Advent reading!)

That sounds pretty good: the arrogant and evildoers, “you who revere my name” neatly separated. But our tradition, informed by Holy Scripture, has us confessing at each Eucharist “we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed…” That separation isn’t as stable as we’d like.

When we pray “your kingdom come” it’s pretty much inevitable that we focus on where we perceive God’s agenda and our agenda aligning. And that easily becomes a focus on only where those agendas align, so that “your kingdom come” and “my kingdom come” become indistinguishable. In our polarized national context, it’s easy to see this happening among those with whom we disagree. So the challenge is to stay alert to the possibility that God might have some questions about our agenda. Easier said than done. In the midst of the English civil war, Oliver Cromwell to the Scottish clergy: “I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken.” Among the many spiritual disciplines on offer today, that may be one of the more relevant.

What do our enemies want us to hear as we read Holy Scripture? They won’t always be wrong.

What of today’s Gospel reading? The temple in Jerusalem was one of the axes of Jesus’ ministry. Even after his resurrection his followers were worshipping in the temple, like Peter and John that day that they encountered the man lame from birth (Acts 3:1ff). It would have been natural for the disciples to assume that “your kingdom come” could only mean increased glory for the temple. And already it was glorious, “adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God.” So Luke is probably underplaying the shock of Jesus’ words (“As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”). It’s a warning to us: to pray “your kingdom come” is to write our merciful God a blank check. Our merciful God, so there’s no reason to fear, but also no reason to assume that we know what God will do with it.

Our reading from 2nd Thessalonians is the odd man out, included not because it relates to the other readings, but because the lectionary—justifiably—wants to include some of the letter somewhere, so here we are. No direct connection to “your kingdom come,” but not entirely disconnected. Like the other petitions in the first half of the Lord’s Prayer, it’s self-involving. In Thessalonica, praying “your kingdom come” means I make my decisions about time, talent, and treasure as a member of the community of believers. Following Paul’s example, idleness is not an appropriate response. Where idleness is not an issue, the broader principle holds: to pray “your kingdom come” is to commit to live together in a way that witnesses to the hope of that kingdom.

“Your kingdom come.” Our texts have encouraged us to understand this as playing out in our future. True enough, but not the whole truth. We started with Malachi’s announcement of “the day,” shorthand for “the day of the Lord.” But recall that we refer to Sunday as “the Lord’s day.” We’re already encountering that use in the New Testament. From the first chapter of the Revelation: “I was in the spirit on the Lord’s day” (1:10). The core of “the day of the Lord” is in our past, whether we think of it as Easter Sunday, Holy Week, or that whole stretch from the Incarnation to the Ascension. Every Sunday, a celebration of the Resurrection, a celebration of the Lord’s victory as anticipated in Psalm 98.

2 With his right hand and his holy arm
has he won for himself the victory.

3 The Lord has made known his victory;
his righteousness has he openly shown in the sight of the nations.

The tomb is empty. Jesus 1, Death 0. Or, more accurately, Death 0, Jesus 1, since this world is God’s home turf.

And so, while the Church is not the Kingdom, it’s the context in which we get a foretaste of the Kingdom. Paul again: “For the kingdom of God is not food and drink but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit” (Rom 14:17). The Risen Christ has showered on us the Holy Spirit, and with “your kingdom come,” we pray that these gifts spread out to the ends of the earth. Amen.