Genesis 45:3-11,15 Ps 37:1-11,40-41 1 Cor 15:35-50 Luke 6:27-38
This morning’s gospel reading follows directly on from last week’s, where we heard that difficult passage of the blesseds and the woes. And today’s is not more palatable, is it? Moments before these words, Jesus’ first disciples were fishing or collecting taxes but after accepting the invitation to follow this messiah, they are discovering what is expected of them. And Jesus pulls no punches…
Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,
28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.
30 Give to everyone who begs;
37 ‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged;
do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven…
Jesus is very clear with how his disciples must behave – loving, doing good, blessing not cursing, giving not taking, not judging, forgiving. And not just with those you like but to those you find most difficult and those who hate you.
Our Old Testament reading also spoke about Joseph’s forgiveness of his brothers who’d beaten him, sold him into slavery and told his dad he was dead. Centuries and centuries before Jesus’ command he had fulfilled it in his treatment of those who had made themselves his enemy.
And as I thought about Joseph and his brothers, so I was reminded of another sibling story that reflects the power and importance of outrageous forgiveness so well; the story of Corrie ten Boom. It is best heard in her own words, so allow me read them to you…
It was in a church in Munich that I saw him, a heavyset man in a gray overcoat… It was 1947 and I had come from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives.
[It was at the end of the talk] when I saw him, working his way forward against the others. One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, a blue uniform and visored cap with its skull and crossbones.
It came back with a rush: the huge room with its harsh lights, the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the centre of the floor, the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister’s frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin. Betsie, how thin you were!
Betsie and I had been arrested for concealing Jews in our home during the Nazi occupation of Holland; this man had been a guard at the concentration camp where we were sent.
Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: “A fine message, fräulein! How good it is to know that all our sins are [forgiven]!”
And I, who had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He would not remember me, of course– But I remembered him … It was the first time since my release that I had been face to face with one of my captors and my blood seemed to freeze.
“You mentioned Ravensbrück in your talk,” he was saying. “I was a guard there.”
No, he did not remember me.
“But since that time,” he went on, “I have become a Christian. I know God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well”–again the hand came out–“will you forgive me?”
And I stood there–I whose sins had every day to be forgiven–and could not.
Betsie had died in that place–could he erase her terrible death simply by asking?
It could not have been many seconds that he stood there, hand held out, but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
For I had to do it–I knew that…
“Jesus, help me!” I prayed silently. “I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.” And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
“I forgive you, brother!” I cried. “With all my heart!”
For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely as I did then.
Love your enemies, Jesus says, do good to those who hate you,
28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you…
Forgive and you will be forgiven
What Corrie discovered, and countless Jesus followers before and since, is that Jesus doesn’t ask us to forgive because it is merely kind, but because it brings freedom – it is the best thing for the one who forgives – it frees us from hatred and resentment and it frees the one we forgive from being carried around on our backs all the time. It releases the one who was our enemy from the blackest part of our heart and allows the light to shine in there.
Corrie ten boom goes on to write ‘to forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover the prisoner was you’.
Jesus calls those first disciples, and us, to such a high account because it is best for us. He calls us this way out of an all-encompassing, eternal act of love; because loving others is good for us, because repaying hatred with goodness and kindness is counter cultural and speaks of the Kingdom we are seeking to build. Jesus commands these things because they are good for everyone; for the one who is begging and for the one who gives.
Jesus’ design for his followers is life in abundance, not misery.
Freedom, not the captivity of bitterness and unforgiveness.
And it is a life’s work, a lifelong quest.
Each week, in our confession, we pray:
‘[W]e confess before You
those places in our hearts
where we have refused you entrance:
people we have refused to love;…
And we ask God to ‘Show us new ways to live.’
In this passage Jesus answers that prayer, very clearly; you want to see a new way to live? Then do this; forgive, love, pray, give, release and free. And do that for those who hate you most. Do that first. Because I love you, Jesus says.
Might we try it? Might we follow in that way, for our own good and for the good of everyone around us, amen.
Holy Adventures 