“Forgiven by Mercy, Sent to Forgive”

Matthew 18:21-35

Peter comes to Jesus with a very practical question: “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?”

Peter probably thought he was being generous. Seven times sounds like a lot.

But Jesus answers: “I say to you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”

Jesus is not asking Peter to replace one number with a larger number. He is teaching something much deeper: “Seventy-seven times” means: do not establish a limit to your willingness to forgive.

St. John Chrysostom observes that Jesus does not say “forgive seven times” is wrong, but that seventy times seven is the standard of Heaven — because God does not keep a ledger.

This passage reveals the moral and sacramental logic of divine mercy. “Seventy times seven” is not primarily a heroic achievement of willpower. It is the fruit of grace. It flows from the mercy that the disciple himself has first received from God. We forgive not because the offense was insignificant, but because we have ourselves become recipients of immeasurable mercy.

The forgiven person is called to become a forgiving person.

And this is where the Sacrament of Reconciliation becomes so important. In Confession, we do not merely receive advice about forgiveness; we experience the mercy of God. Through the ministry of the Church, Christ forgives the sinner, restores us to communion, and gives us the grace to begin again. Having received such undeserved mercy, the Christian is called to extend that same mercy to others.

The Eucharist and Reconciliation continually place us before this mystery: God does not ask us to give what He has not first given to us. He gives us mercy, and then He sends us into the world as instruments of that mercy.

Jesus then tells the parable of the servant who owed his master ten thousand talents, an enormous and completely unpayable debt.

The servant falls before his master and begs: “Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.”

But the master knows that the servant can never repay such a debt. And yet the master does something extraordinary: He forgives the entire debt.

This is an image of God’s mercy toward us. Before God, we are all debtors. Everything we have is a gift from Him. He has given us life, our abilities, our families, our opportunities, our faith, and every good thing we possess. More than that, He sent His Son Jesus Christ to redeem us from sin and opened to us the hope of eternal life.

So, we can ask ourselves: What have we ever given God that He did not first give us?

Nothing. Even our very existence is already a gift.

And yet, despite all that God has given us, we have sinned against Him. We have failed Him in our thoughts, our words, our actions, and our omissions.

Sin is not merely breaking a rule. Sin is offending the One who has loved us first and given us everything.

And yet, God does not treat us according to what our sins deserve. He offers us mercy.

“Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace.”

We encounter this mercy in a profound way in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. We come before Christ carrying our sins, our failures, our weaknesses, and sometimes even our shame. But Christ does not say: “You have failed too many times.”

He offers forgiveness and restores us to His friendship. But then Jesus places a difficult question before us:

If God has forgiven us so generously, can we refuse to forgive another?

That is where the second part of the parable becomes so disturbing. The servant walks out from the presence of his merciful master and immediately encounters another servant who owes him one hundred denarii. Compared with the enormous debt that had just been forgiven, this was a small debt.

The second servant falls before him and makes almost the same plea: “Have patience with me, and I will repay you.”

But the first servant refuses. He has just walked out of the presence of mercy, but he does not carry that mercy with him. And this is where the parable becomes deeply personal for us.

St. Augustine speaks with great clarity about this Gospel. He warns us that the person who refuses to forgive another, after having asked God for forgiveness, is not merely holding on to an injury. He is closing his own heart to the mercy he seeks from God.

Augustine says, in effect, that by refusing forgiveness we build a wall against our own pardon: “He shuts heaven against himself who will not forgive.”

This connects profoundly with the Lord’s Prayer: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

There is something very serious about this petition. Jesus places our reception of forgiveness and our willingness to forgive others side by side. When we pray these words, we are not merely asking God to forgive us; we are also asking for the grace to become people who forgive.

Every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer, therefore, we are invited to examine our hearts: Am I willing to extend the mercy that I am asking God to give me?

The word “as” is sobering. We are asking God to forgive us in the measure in which we forgive others. The Catechism emphasizes the seriousness of this petition: … “According to the second phrase, our petition will not be heard unless we have first met a strict requirement. Our petition looks to the future, but our response must come first, for the two parts are joined by the single word ‘as.’” (CCC 2838)

And most of the time, forgiveness is not about extraordinary offenses. Much of our daily need for forgiveness comes from the ordinary wounds of human relationships: a harsh word; an impatient response; a misunderstanding; a criticism; a failure to appreciate us; a selfish decision; a careless remark; a repeated weakness.

These wounds can accumulate. And if we are not careful, we begin keeping a mental ledger: “I remember what you said.” “I remember what you did.” “I remember how many times you hurt me.”

But Jesus says: Do not allow another person’s sin to become the master of your heart.

Their words do not have to control your peace.

Their actions do not have to determine your joy.

Their failure does not have to determine who you become.

But Christian forgiveness means that I refuse to allow hatred and bitterness to control my heart.

Christ wants to heal not only what was done to us, but also what that wound is doing within us.

The tragedy of the unforgiving servant is that he received mercy without allowing mercy to transform him.

God’s mercy is never meant to end with us.

The mercy we receive from God must become the mercy we extend to others.

And every time we struggle to forgive or are tempted to say, “I cannot forgive this person,” Jesus invites us to remember not only what another person has done to us, but also what God has done for us.

✍ Fr. Tojan Abraham MCBS

Memphis, USA