I Believe in Forgiveness

Matthew 5:38-48

Lord God, I need you to fill me with your Spirit.  Guide my thoughts. Give me the Words to share with your people. Help us to know your truth and be convicted.  Shine a light of hope and forgiveness upon each of us.  In Jesus’ name, amen.  

On Wednesday night, our friend, Andrew, was struck head-on by a drunk driver.  His car was obliterated and he is in the ICU in critical condition.  The drunk driver was reportedly fine.  I’d be lying if I told you I hadn't had a few thoughts about what should have happened to the driver or how long he should go to jail….or even wished, at least just a little, that he might have some kind of pain, or be absolutely devastated by what he’s done to our friend.  I’ve thought a good bit about justice.  I want something in the cosmos to shift, even if just a little, so that it’s not just Andrew who is suffering.  That only seems fair.  

But then this annoying voice breaks in…one that says, “Do you really want someone else to suffer?  Is that really showing God’s love? 

And then I roll my eyes and think ….”No….”  Sigh.  I just want something to make it right for Andrew. I wish the accident never happened. I wish we could take it all away somehow. And somehow it seems that justice might be able to do that….to take some of the sting away. Maybe it wouldn’t be so awful if someone paid the proper price for his broken body.  

And then that voice starts to break in all over again..this time with more clarity…he says, you want something to make it right, to heal things…and you think vengeance will do that?  It can’t. It doesn’t have the capacity.  Justice may balance the scales. But it can’t bring redemption or true healing, only God can do that. So, how about, instead of seeking justice in this, you seek God…and then God can help set things right…bringing light, hope, healing, and mercy to a terrible, heartbreaking situation.  

That voice makes it sound so reasonable…so simple and straightforward…like I should have thought of mercy and compassion and grace first.  But justice really does seem like a decent answer.  

Think about it. The logic and the standards of the Old Testament were about justice and they make good sense.  An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. You hurt me. I hurt you.  You cut my hand, I cut yours. You steal two loaves of bread, I want two back.  You break my heart, I break yours.  This is good logic. One for one.  This is right and this is fair.  It’s reasonable.  It’s manageable. It’s consistent.  And it’s obvious. One for one, two for two, ten for ten.  Anyone should be able to follow that kind of rule.  Right?  

Of course.  But when Jesus steps in and pushes on these arguments, he sort of says I’m not really worried about the laws you know, I’m here to teach you something different.  You see a man who slaps you on the face, so you’re ready to slap him back.  He slapped you, you slap him.  Not anymore.  If you want to do it my way, you turn the other cheek. Don’t settle the score. Don’t be consumed by so-called fairness.  Jesus takes the historical, and biblical teachings and turns them on their head.  

Why? Well, I don’t think it’s that Jesus is opposed to justice. I really don’t.  This isn’t about letting all evil doers run free.  I just think that he sees the bigger picture and knows that justice won’t heal our hearts.  He knows it’s not simply about one for one or 100 for 100.  Righting the world, or shifting the cosmos, or, really, simply helping our heart to heal when we’ve been lied to, betrayed, or hurt takes a whole lot more than justice.  It takes mercy and grace.  Jesus knew that.  So he taught his people to live by grace, to extend the standard beyond the rules of justice and into the realm of God.  

One of the most powerful stories of grace and mercy was shared by Bishop Meadors years ago when I was in seminary. He was preaching and shared about a civil war in Africa where a woman had watched a soldier kill both her husband and her son, leaving her alone.  Eventually, he was charged with war crimes and she sat through his trial and then his sentencing hearing.  During sentencing, the judge asked if she had anything to say.  She said she wanted part of his sentence to be to come and have dinner with her once a week because she had a lot of love left to give and, now, no one to share it with.  And so that became part of his sentence, to share dinner with the woman whose family he had stolen, and allow her to love him and offer kindness.  

This woman took Jesus’ teaching seriously.  Probably more seriously than many of us are prepared for.  But you can’t deny that she got it.  She saw beyond justice and into the realm of God.  She knew that nothing and no one could bring her husband and son back.  No form of justice could ever do that.  But what she really wanted, was someone to love and share life with. Someone to talk about the day or the week. Someone to cook for.  Someone to love.  And so she showed God’s agape love to a murderer…one who, by all accounts, should have been counted as her enemy.  

Living Christ’s teaching is not easy, especially here.  But, if we can muster the courage, it is worth it.  It will look different for different people and different situations. 

 But, if it feels antithetical, unreasonable, or unwarranted…it’s probably the kind of forgiveness Jesus would like.  Jesus isn’t really into the easy pass with those who are likeable. He pushes the limits with those who are impossible, hate-able, and infuriating.  Jesus doesn’t want us to ignore the law.  Instead, he wants us to live by the rules of God’s kingdom.  Rules that require compassion, forgiveness, and grace.  Rules that are immeasurably harder to maintain than an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.   

Years ago, I was talking about something with my sister.  I don’t remember the specifics, only that I exclaimed, “It’s not fair.” In her infinite wisdom my sister said, “In the end we don’t want justice, we want mercy.”  And immediately, begrudgingly, I knew she was right.  In the end we do want mercy.  We want forgiveness. We want redemption. We want something to make it better and that something has to be God, for only God can do more than we know or understand. 

Let us pray.  

(Communion.)

The Priceless Gift

We find this particular passage 3 places in the Gospels.  We have it here in Matthew, in Mark, and in John, always placed right before Judas’ accepts payment for betraying Jesus and Jesus’ imminent death.  That may not seem like a very important piece, but often we find a varied order within the different gospels, but here, we do not. And often there are parallels in the synoptic gospels, Mark, Matthew, and Luke, but not always with John.  But again, we have 2 of the synoptic in line with John.  Those pieces sort of underscore the importance of this story.  Mark and John add a couple of pieces of information that help illuminate this scripture. 

·         The oil used was Nard, a kind of ointment found in the Himalayas that is very hard to get, which in turn makes it very expensive.

·          Mark and John say it was worth 300 denarii, nearly a year’s salary. 

·         John identifies the woman as Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, the man Jesus raised from the dead.

·         John tells of Mary anointing Jesus’ feet, not just his head, and using her hair to ekmasso, meaning wipe, them. 

o        Ekmasso is also the word John uses to talk about Jesus wiping the disciples’ feet after he washes them at the last supper, an event that comes after this one. 

Now that we have a few more details, let’s look at this story as a whole.  This woman, whom we now know to be Mary of Mary and Martha, Mary the sister of Lazarus, Mary the one who journeyed with Jesus. Mary the disciples who sat at Jesus’ feet. Mary the one who pled for Jesus to save her brother and saw him brought back to life.  Mary, approaches Jesus with her white opaque jar of expensive nard.  She pours it onto Jesus’ head. She doesn’t dab it, she doesn’t brush it, she doesn’t touch it to his head.  She pours it out onto his head.  There’s something kind of crazy in what she does here.  It’s not subtle. It’s not dainty. It’s not ceremonious, not in a reformed, play-by-the-rules kind of sense.  It’s over the top.  It’s lavish.  It’s kind of wasteful. 

                I mean, think about it.  How does oil work?  A little goes a long way.  If I pour a tablespoon of oil into my hands, what happens?  It starts to run all over!  I can try to rub it in, but it’s going to be going down my arms, and dripping onto the floor.  And that’s just a tablespoon! Imagine Mary pouring a pound of oil on Jesus’ head! It’s not just that it’s expensive oil, but she’s not even using it right!! Mary’s making a mess. It really is no wonder the disciples objected. I mean, who wouldn’t?!

                The disciples start grumbling about how wasteful she is. That’s expensive nard.  It could bring in a lot of money. 300 denarii. A days wage was about 1 denarii. So 300 was nearly a year’s worth. You could do a lot of good with a year’s wage and her Mary is wasting it and letting it run onto the floor! Some might laud the disciples for being so wise and compassionate, but many suggest they were just posturing. That makes good sense to me. 

                Think of it this way.  If you have a fine wine, or an expensive champagne, or pricy perfume, what do you do with it?  You save it.  You hold onto and wait for the perfect time with the best people to share it.  Obviously that’s what Mary had done. This oil is worth a year’s worth of wages. It’s not something she came by easily.  She didn’t save her money, she wouldn’t have been allowed to work as a woman.  So, a man in her family would have had to earn the money for it while  he was paying for the family to get by.  That kind of money would probably have taken years to earn.  Maybe it was her grandfather, or her father, or her brother, or maybe all of them saved for generations to have this money. And then when they had the 300 denarii all collected together, someone went and bought this oil. 

                Nard was a special oil. Something that would have been reserved for sacred events.  It would have been used to anoint a king at his coronation, or consecrate a priest for his work, or to heal a sick relative, or to anoint a loved one who had died.  It would have been used for special times only and could have been stretched to serve a lot of purposes and be a part of many sacred events.   And yet, Mary used it for this one event, for this one person.  In knowing that, we have to ask what might have compelled her to use it now, and use it so lavishly. She didn’t save it for any other times. She just poured it out over Jesus. 

                The fact that Mary lavishes this oil on Jesus indicates that she sees him as someone special.  He has to be someone who might understand the nature of her special gift.  And the way she anoints him so extravagantly, so carelessly, indicates that she wants to convey the enormity of her appreciation for him and she pours out the nard. 

                In looking at Mary, I can’t help but ask myself, on whom would I pour a year’s worth of wages?  On whom would you pour out a year’s worth of wages?  Not dole it out.  Not share it. Not savor it.  Pour it out—wrecklessly and wastefully.  What might possibly possess someone to give so much without a second thought? 

                Would you do it for

·         Healing?

·         Saving you?

·         Sparing a relationship?

·         Buying you a house?

·         Sticking by you at your worst?

·         Loving you no matter what?

·         Saving your brother?

·         Bringing your loved one back to life?

Who’s worth this? Who’s touched your heart and life so powerfully that you would devote a year’s worth of salary in just a few short moments.

Maybe Mary was crazy. That’s what everyone else thought. 

Maybe she saw Jesus as king, but people don’t often have a deep affection or a king—we honor kings because of obligation, not desire. 

Maybe it was something more. 

Jesus had to have given something invaluable.  In those terms, her act wasn’t wasteful. It was appropriate.  Jesus acknowledges that she gets it.  He doesn’t reprimand her or suggest she be a little less excessive.  Instead he says she’s done a good thing.

But I think even Jesus’ comments make it too easy to skim past the true depth of her actions.  There’s potency in their relationship that could only be understood if we know her or her story.  In a way we might be drawn to ask ourselves if we have allowed Jesus to do an invaluable work in our lives.

Have you lt him step in to save you in a way that no one else can?

Have you allowed him to heal you?

To free you?

To forgive you?

In some ways, preaching a whole series on forgiveness feels a little redundant.  But we often struggle to forgive.  Sometimes we aren’t ready.  Sometimes we aren’t willing. Sometimes we can only do a little at a time.  Sometimes we aren’t aware.  Sometimes our hands are so full o the other seemingly good things we’ve been collecting that we don’t have the ability to hold that one thing we’ve always been looking for. 

To preach a series on forgiveness is to highlight how necessary it is in our lives. It’s to highlight that it’s a process.  It’s to highlight that God isn’t done with us yet.  And it’s to highlight that though we may have picked up some pretty things along the way, there is nothing like finding what we’ve always needed and wanted. 

And once we find the most sacred of gifts. Once we experience the greatest blessings of Christ, we want to thank him. And our thanks becomes lavish.  To others, it might seem ridiculous.  The time we spend, the money we give, the devotion we have, cannot be explained in words, but only understood through experience. And the gifts we give, the thanks we lavish on, become our priceless response to Christ’s invaluable work in our lives. 

This morning, for our time of prayer, I would invite you to take some time to pray.  Maybe you’ll pray for healing, or for forgiveness, or for new life, or for hope. Maybe you’ll pray the same prayer you’ve been praying this last month.  As you pray, I would encourage you to ask for the courage to give up the broken things, no matter how pretty they might be, so that you can take hold of the true gift Christ is offering.  If you would like a symbol and reminder, we have shells here at the altar and a basket to pass to anyone who would like to stay in their seat.