When and where have you recently seen or heard messages highlighting revenge in our culture? Why do you think revenge is so often celebrated?
Read Matt 28:21-22. What potential objections would someone have to forgiving another person “seventy-seven times”? What would such a level of grace and forgiveness within the church communicate to unbelievers?
Read Matt 28:23-27. In his sermon, Robb called this “Scene I: Absurd Forgiveness.” What actions and dispositions of the king parallel God’s dealings with us? What effect has God’s compassion and forgiveness through Jesus Christ had upon you?
Read Matt 28:28-30, “Scene II: Absurd Response.” How do you respond emotionally to the forgiven servant’s treatment of the second servant? What are some ways, even subtle ones, that we can punish others instead of forgive them for the wrongs they have done against us?
Read Matt 28:31-35, “Scene III: The Cost of Unforgiveness.” How are you challenged by Jesus’ addition of the phrase “from your heart” to his command to forgive? What practical steps might you need to take in light of Jesus’ teaching in the parable of the unmerciful servant?
What resources has God given us to help us in the work of extending forgiveness to others? Which resources are you more inclined to utilize? Which are you less inclined to appropriate? Why?
This morning Robb shared a story from Corrie Ten Boom. Read the full story below:
Extract from The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
“It was in a church in Munich that I saw him—a balding, heavyset man in a grey overcoat, a brown
felt hat clutched between his hands. People were filing out of the basement room where I had just
spoken, moving along the rows of wooden chairs to the door at the rear. It was 1947 and I had come
from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives.
“It was the truth they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed-out land, and I gave them my
favourite mental picture. Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollander’s mind, I liked to think
that that’s where forgiven sins were thrown. ‘When we confess our sins,’ I said, ‘God casts them into
the deepest ocean, gone forever…’
“The solemn faces stared back at me, not quite daring to believe. There were never questions after a
talk in Germany in 1947. People stood up in silence, in silence collected their wraps, in silence left
the room.
“And that’s 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 a visored cap with its skull and
crossbones. It came back with a rush: the huge room with its harsh overhead 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 Ravensbruck 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,
as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!’
“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—how could he remember one prisoner among those
thousands of women?
“But I remembered him and the leather crop swinging from his belt. I was face-to-face with one of
my captors and my blood seemed to freeze.
“ ‘You mentioned Ravensbruck 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 that God has forgiven me for
the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Fräulein,’ again the hand
came out, ’will you forgive me?’
“And I stood there—I whose sins had again and again to be forgiven—and could not forgive. Betsie
had died in that place—could he erase her slow terrible death simply for the 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. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive
those who have injured us. ‘If you do not forgive men their trespasses,’ Jesus says, ‘neither will your
Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.’
“I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war I
had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former
enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the
physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible
as that.
“And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion—I
knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the
temperature of the heart. ‘Help!’ 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.”
