Parables convey complicated ideas in story form. And then preachers ruin them by trying to say something rational in response. But you’ve just heard what will happen to you if you don’t forgive a preacher for trying. Forgive from the heart.
After all, this parable could do with a dose of rationality. It’s not that hard to understand that Jesus is telling his disciples, especially poor Peter, whom he has recently called “Satan.” He’s telling them to forgive freely and repeatedly, without counting how many times. And we know that this is what Jesus himself does. We know that Jesus dies on the cross to forgive us, to embody God’s limitless forgiveness.
But it’s hard to understand this parable. Let’s start with the level of debt. Ten thousand talents is apparently several billion dollars in today’s money. Maybe this biblical hyperbole—maybe this is like when we say “a ton of money”--but clearly we are talking about more money than most people can even imagine.
How could the first slave possibly have acquired a debt of that size? How could he even have asked his master to be patient, as if he would be able to pay the debt back at some point if he just had a bit more time? This is the kind of debt acquired only by those who are dangerously out of touch with reality. You can only get into that kind of debt by living a life of relentless, callous, neglect and denial. His wife and children are on the verge of being sold. He is a self-afflicting Job, throwing away the people and the possessions in his life rather than letting the devil take them.
In fact, I think we have to stop thinking about this debt as a number and start thinking about it as soul-killing evil. You will have done harm to innumerable people by the time your debts start to get that large. “Please be patient with me and I’ll pay you back” can only be a sign that this debtor has not learned anything about his behavior. The only imaginable answer to a debt like this is to admit that you can never pay. Patience is a ludicrous request, a sign of chronic bad faith.
Called upon to forgive at that level, many of us would only be able to respond with something like shock and resignation. Most people who manipulate others on the level of this servant are surrounded by people who have become numb to the outrage. Understandably most of us faced by this kind of treachery are simply unable to take it in. We may be angry but we are mostly numb. If you look around the world, whatever the treachery, and you can take your pick, a lot of people are angry but many more are resigned and numb.
Numb forgiveness, then, is what most of us would offer under these circumstances if we decided to forgive the debt. The kind of thing we do when we grind our teeth in silence at one more misstep from someone we never trusted in the first place. “There you go again,” we think. Most of the time this isn’t forgiveness at all. It’s simply an absence of hope. It’s actually a form of collusion. We may be keeping score but we know on some level that we will never demand an accounting. Perhaps because to tell the whole story would be to expose our own passivity. Yes there are circumstances in which our human agency has been damaged and taken from us. I’m not speaking of that or dismissing that terrible form of suffering. I’m talking about the more ordinary times when we have the power to speak up and we just don’t.
And that is why, even though the picture of God in this parable is frightening to me, I’ve begun to regard this master as a figure for true redemption and true moral maturity.
Because what we see from the master in this parable turns out not to be that collusion kind of forgiveness. This isn’t a shrug of the shoulders or a roll of the eyes. It turns out that when this master forgives his slave an enormous debt, he expects that forgiveness to matter. Despite the clear evidence of moral catastrophe and lethal levels of self-delusion on the part of the slave, this master actually has hope that the slave will change. This master is holding out for actual resurrection. He doesn’t seem to care about the money that much but he does demand a reckoning for the forgiveness. Because forgiveness matters.
No, the debt can’t be repaid, but the heart of this servant could begin to be touched if it is functioning at all. He may never fully recognize what he has done, but he might come back to life a little bit, spiritually and morally, when he realizes that he has been living a fantasy life built on lies at the expense of other people. He could start to thaw out.
Even if he were only going through the motions at first, he could show signs of life by giving other people a break. He could start to see himself in other people, even if it’s only in the abstract. He could begin to see the restoration of connection between himself and other people, forgiving them for his own sake if not out of kindness or generosity. He could identify as a debtor. “Hi,” he could say at a first-century twelve-step meeting, “My name is Doulos and I am a debtor.” It doesn’t change everything, but it’s a start. It’s a nudge toward life. And in the context of what this slave must have done, it’s an absolute miracle, even if there are many more missteps to come in the future. No the debtor can’t repay the debt but he can begin to live like a human being with a soul. That’s everything God wants for us.
The master, by requiring actual change, holds on to the debtor’s lost humanity. He holds on to the debtor’s soul, even when the debtor won’t.
I’d note, too, that the debtor is surrounded by a community that holds on to his soul. These people expect justice. They report him when he does evil again. When his hand is around that poor fellow’s throat who owes him money, there are people watching, and they care about what happens. They aren’t numb. They take action. They aren’t resigned to letting evil run rampant in their midst. They don’t surrender themselves or anyone else, not even the perpetrator, to endless ruthlessness. And neither should we, if that’s what we see happening around us.
Will God torture people who haven’t forgiven from the heart? I don’t exactly think that’s what this story is about. I think that’s a humanization of God that works for the truth Jesus is sharing in this story. I think God is a character here who shares a limited range of attributes with our creator. I think Jesus knows how to tell a story that conveys some of the truth about the one he calls Father, but not all of it in this one parable. I think when he tells us this story, Jesus is counting on us to understand that the only reason he is even trying to teach us is because God forgives us, endlessly.
But let’s not be lulled by who Jesus is—the embodiment of endless forgiveness—to the point that we squander the wisdom he gives us. Let’s not squander forgiveness. Don’t waste resurrection. Don’t be cynical about your own soul. Don’t be cynical about the soul you are searching for in the eyes of other people. Demand an accounting. Hold on to your soul and the souls of the people you meet.
We are numb to so many things these days. Resigned to so much outrage.
And on a private level many of us are, quietly, out of control on a scale much smaller than this slave. We haven’t done as much absolute harm but I for one do recognize myself in that man’s relentless pursuit of his own will. When we stop to notice what we have done to others and to ourselves, we mollify our consciences by imagining that with a little patience it will all get better. But it mostly doesn’t. And if we tell ourselves it’s not that big a deal, why can’t we give it up?
Still God forgives us, freely, joyfully, and actively. God holds on to our souls for us, and we can have them back if we want them. God forgives us so joyfully, so actively, that to continue as we do, overlooking that limitless source of love and life, can only be called a form of self-torture.
We don’t need God to torture us for the things we have done and the things we are doing. All we need, to be tortured, is to capitulate with the resignation all around us. The torture comes from losing our souls, again and again, and knowing that we don’t care enough to demand change.
All we need, for a lifetime of torture, is to know that we are squandering the new life God has given us freely. We don’t have to do anything big. We just shrug our shoulders.
Preached by Mother Nora Johnson
September 17, 2023
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia
