“Lord, if my brother sins against me,
how often must I forgive him?
As many as seven times?”
We may think we're being generous when we suggest seven times as a limit to our forgiveness. But we are actually looking for an upward bound, a maximum that we need never exceed, a final degree after which we are free to cut others off from our mercy.
At that, the servant fell down, did him homage, and said,
‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back in full.’
The servant had some degree of self-interested, imperfect contrition. He had regret because of the order of punishment that was given. Yet even this imperfect plea was enough to move his master with compassion. He was not forgiven because he managed to manifest some kind of perfect attitude or complete conversion of heart. Up to and including the point that he begged for mercy it would not have been unthinkable for him to treat his fellow servants without it. It was once the master had shown mercy, once he had been forgiven, that change was not only possible, but expected. The mercy of the master ought to have been enough to drive his partial conversion to completion, to move him from self-interested mercy to share in his master's unlimited mercy. At that point he himself had been forgiven an unpayable debt. This experience of mercy that was not limited by the amount of the debt, nor based on performance, nor dependent on anything particularly good or noble about himself as a person, ought to have been transformative. It ought to have been an existential lesson that allowed him to show mercy to others. Indeed, we may speculate that part of the reason the master showed this servant mercy was partly so that he would in turn show mercy to the fellow servants of his who owed him much less than he himself had owed the master. It ought to have seemed easy by comparison, and something clearly expected of him.
His master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant!
I forgave you your entire debt because you begged me to.
Should you not have had pity on your fellow servant,
as I had pity on you?’
When we begin our journey in our own experience of God's forgiveness we often do so with some measure of selfishness mixed in with our contrition. Our initial motivation is not often our inability to show mercy, but our immediate need to receive it. If we try to persist as Christians using only the resources and attitude with which we begin there is a real possibility that we will eventually come up short. We'll hit our seven forgiveness maximum beyond which we will feel free and justified in our selfishness. Even Peter posited such a limit until his own heart was healed by the Lord to go beyond it. We too, if we wish to live as the Lord's disciples, must be healed of the artificial limits on mercy we try to impose. It isn't automatic. In fact, we are sometimes frightened enough by our existential vulnerability to try to assuage our anxiety by getting what we can from this world, and from others. The better way to overcome such anxiety is to experience the abundance of God, beyond all limits, flowing through us into the world. A great example of one who knew this was Daniel could have pleaded for special protection for himself, as one who was genuinely not himself guilty, but who rather took the part of his people, knowing that it was not enough for he himself to be spared if others were lost.
But with contrite heart and humble spirit
let us be received;
As though it were burnt offerings of rams and bullocks,
or thousands of fat lambs,
So let our sacrifice be in your presence today
as we follow you unreservedly;
for those who trust in you cannot be put to shame.






