23 - Chapter 23
CHAPTER XXIII THE UNFORGIVING CREDITOR
ATTENTION has been called to the large figure mentioned for the first debt. Ten thousand talents was, we are told, considerably more than ten times the combined annual tribute paid to the Imperial treasury by Judaea, Samaria, Idumaea, Galilee and Peraea. The second man’s debt was a mere twenty pounds. But this is no reckless use of figures; again there is the implied “ as if: ’ ’ It is as if a king had a servant who owed an impossibly large sum, which servant in turn was creditor to another for a trifle.”
There are other illustrations of Jesus’ parable method here. He speaks of the King changing his mind, meaning of course that his forgiveness was conditional. Also, in the previous parables, he has spoken as if forgiveness followed automatically on prayer. The fear of misunderstanding never turned Jesus aside from the point he was making at the time; for each parable its own lesson. Now there is further teaching to be given on this subject. Forgiveness is not something that can be handed over like a coin; a violin is a useless gift to one who has no ear for music; forgiveness is for those who are qualified to receive it; forgiveness is for the forgiving. The other servants rose in a body against the outrageous conduct of the forgiven debtor; we all call him an impossible person, unless he happens to be ourselves. The argument is not that of a quid fro quo, God’s forgiveness of us in exchange for our forgiveness of each other.
Jesus asks his hearers to consider the nature of forgiveness; it is not a legal act but a moral and spiritual process. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy; but not as the result of a bargain, God’s grace is ever flowing full and free like a river; it will enter every heart unless there is an obstacle: hardness and hatred towards a brother form such a barrier. This parable also is placed in its historical context. Peter wants to know how soon he can with decency leave off forgiving a brother.
Jesus replies that the extent to which we show the forgiving spirit is the extent to which alone God can forgive us. Forgiveness would mean nothing to the unforgiving. The past life is wiped out only when the new life begins. The first debtor offers no excuses. He promises to pay; but in his heart of hearts he knows that a life-time of service will not redeem a fraction of the debt. We too think of our excuses: our inherited temptations, our want of wise counsellors, our seductive environment. But the tax-collector’s prayer was a manly prayer: one reason why he went home forgiven was that he did not plead his temptations, he begged forgiveness for his sins. Our Lord wants his hearers to reflect, not only on the scarlet of our sins against God, but on the trivial nature of the wrongs that others do to us. There are indeed times when we can understand, even if we do not sympathize with, the agonized prayer of the oppressed that the little ones of the oppressor may be dashed against a rock. But most of the injuries done to us are not of that tragic kind. If they loom large in our sight, it is only because our pride and our self-love have swollen them out of all recognition. A bigger man would hardly notice them, and would forget them the next day. Even if the wounds are deep, and not just flesh-wounds magnified into mortal injuries, our Lord asks us to restore sanity to our judgment by reckoning up the countless ways in which we have thwarted God’s plans for ourselves and others, and still prayed for forgiveness.
It is the king who sets the example of exalting mercy above justice. The first debtor received mercy; he gave only justice. When the king cancelled his servant’s debt, he paid a great price for his debtor’s freedom. Even for a king to cancel a debt with a stroke of the pen means that he bears the loss himself. Jesus hints here, as he does in the Prodigal Son, at the suffering our sin imposes upon God; not the resentment of wounded pride as in heathen mythology, but the pain of a Father at the indifference shown to him, the insults heaped upon him, by the waywardness of a loved child. The first debtor begged for mercy and received it, far beyond his wildest dreams. Dr. Dods raises the question: What of the very common case where he who has wronged me does not seek, or appear to want, forgiveness? We ask ourselves: ’ Have we given our brother any reason to think that an attempt at reconciliation will meet with a friendly reception? Do we hug our wrath, cherish our resentment and parade it? If our wrongs are indeed anything more than wounded vanity, is our suffering altogether self-pity; or have we room in our hearts for unselfish disappointment that one whom we had looked on as a brother could be capable of conduct so unbrotherly? ’ Few men like tendering apologies and most decent men dislike having apologies tendered to them; while there is a widespread and not unhealthy antipathy to ’ scenes,” even scenes of reconciliation; but there are unostentatious and unofficial ways of smoothing the path to a restoration of friendly relations that may be more efficacious than more elaborate methods. In the Sermon on the Mount it is not on the oppressor but on his victim that Jesus throws the onus of breaking down barriers of hatred.
God, myself, my neighbour; in the teaching of Jesus these are indissolubly bound together. To the extent to which I shut my neighbour out from myself, to that extent by inexorable law I shut myself out from God. It is not that God will not, but that God cannot, forgive the unforgiving.