Matthew 18: 21-22
21 Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many
times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to
seven times?”
22 Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but
seventy-seven times.
In preparation for
celebrating the Mass for the third Tuesday of Lent, I did what I always do. I
began the night before by reading the scriptures for the day, and then began
reading various commentaries to spark some ideas as to what to preach. Since
weekday Mass homilies are meant to be short, I usually try to find a core idea
from the gospel to offer a short reflection.
While I was pondering how I should approach the text, I recalled an experience that happened a number of years ago, and I decided to use that experience for my homily. Here is the gist of what I preached:
A few years ago a friar from my province invited me to give a retreat to a group of secular Franciscans at his retreat center in North Carolina. Having never given a retreat before I had to figure out what I would offer them. I decided to go with what I taught in one of my theology courses. In this particular class I spend some time on the ideas of Rene Girard and St. Bonaventure. I specifically lecture on Bonaventure’s Souls Journey to God. I attempted to show them that in our Christian journey, we direct our course to God in a mimetic fashion. That is, because of our mimetic nature we form our ideas and attitudes about the journey through the modeling of others who we deem worthy of imitation. We Franciscans like to use the likes of Francis and Clare as models of spiritual wisdom.
When I began talking about Bonaventure’s seventh day, when the journey into God is finding its destination in the full presence of the divine, I make note of something that I figured some would find strange. Let me explain. When I was in high school I would spend my free hour, in which I didn’t have a class, in the library. At the time I wasn’t much for reading anything heavy. I usually stuck with popular magazines, or else take a nap. But I did have a fascination with book covers (I’m weird like that). But around 1978 (I was a sophomore to best of my recollection) I saw a fairly new book on the shelf called Life After Life by Dr. Raymond Moody, MD. When I read the description of the book, that being near death experiences, I decided to give it a read. I couldn’t put it down. From that time until now I have been fascinated by near death stories. I have read dozens of books on the subject.
In the retreat I noted my seeing a correlation between Bonaventure’s seventh day and near death experiences. I acknowledged that it probably sounded odd, and that it just might be my imagination. But no one challenged me. So I figured that they were either open to the idea, or else let the nutty friar prattle on about this mystical mumble jumble.
At the end of the retreat, I celebrated Mass for the group. Afterwards we took photos, and then people began to depart. But one elderly gentleman stayed behind, and I could tell he wanted to talk privately. So we waited for everyone to leave the chapel, and he then proceeded to tell me his story. When he started with “when you talked about near death experiences” I figured he was going to challenge me. But in fact, he stated that he himself had had a near death experience not long ago. He stated that the experience had most of the qualities found in many other accounts: the universe was saturated by love, it was like swimming in liquid love, one could feel the overwhelming waves of forgiveness, etc. He even saw members of his family.
But his story had a twist. He confessed that he had been harboring for years a grudge against someone who had deeply hurt him. He said he carried that inability to forgive into that experience. He was trying hard to put an ineffable experience into words, and said that he knew in the deepest core of his being that one cannot remain in that place of pure love and forgiveness holding on to unforgiveness. He looked intently at me and said, “Father, I am afraid that when I die for good I will still have that unforgiveness in me. I don’t know what to do.”
To be honest, I didn’t know what to tell him. No words will magically free someone from something that they have cultivated over many years. Even though I could not fix him, I knew that I needed to take his experience very seriously. His story has stayed with me all these years, and it has haunted me. I know that I hold grudges. I don’t like this about myself. There are some people, especially those that I am close to – like some I have lived with in community – who I find to be emotional and spiritual thorns in my side. I know that in some cases I have cultivated unforgiveness towards those who have done real emotional damage in their actions towards and against me. And yet this man’s story keeps banging in my head and heart.
In Matthew’s account, Peter wants to know how generous we must be in forgiving someone. He wanted to put a limit on it. But Jesus explodes all boundaries. I believe this is because we have been created in the divine image, from a God of eternal relationality. While the triune God is in the divine nature fully self-giving and fully other receiving without competition or caught up in selfish self-regard, we humans are broken in our inability to fully image that divine relational reality. We need grace to more fully participate and imitate the divine nature. Ultimately the wrath that is felt by the one who cannot forgive – even the trifles – creates the experience of being bound and imprisoned by chains of unforgiveness holding fast our souls. Such bondage is a deviation from our true nature, our true selves, selves called to the freedom of the children of God. We will be imprisoned until we can pay the debt of holding our grudges, our unforgiving hurts, and will only be released when we finally allow ourselves to let them go, and then bathe in the inexpressible joy of God’s loving forgiveness, a forgiveness that is eternally ready and willing to be given in full.
While I was pondering how I should approach the text, I recalled an experience that happened a number of years ago, and I decided to use that experience for my homily. Here is the gist of what I preached:
A few years ago a friar from my province invited me to give a retreat to a group of secular Franciscans at his retreat center in North Carolina. Having never given a retreat before I had to figure out what I would offer them. I decided to go with what I taught in one of my theology courses. In this particular class I spend some time on the ideas of Rene Girard and St. Bonaventure. I specifically lecture on Bonaventure’s Souls Journey to God. I attempted to show them that in our Christian journey, we direct our course to God in a mimetic fashion. That is, because of our mimetic nature we form our ideas and attitudes about the journey through the modeling of others who we deem worthy of imitation. We Franciscans like to use the likes of Francis and Clare as models of spiritual wisdom.
When I began talking about Bonaventure’s seventh day, when the journey into God is finding its destination in the full presence of the divine, I make note of something that I figured some would find strange. Let me explain. When I was in high school I would spend my free hour, in which I didn’t have a class, in the library. At the time I wasn’t much for reading anything heavy. I usually stuck with popular magazines, or else take a nap. But I did have a fascination with book covers (I’m weird like that). But around 1978 (I was a sophomore to best of my recollection) I saw a fairly new book on the shelf called Life After Life by Dr. Raymond Moody, MD. When I read the description of the book, that being near death experiences, I decided to give it a read. I couldn’t put it down. From that time until now I have been fascinated by near death stories. I have read dozens of books on the subject.
In the retreat I noted my seeing a correlation between Bonaventure’s seventh day and near death experiences. I acknowledged that it probably sounded odd, and that it just might be my imagination. But no one challenged me. So I figured that they were either open to the idea, or else let the nutty friar prattle on about this mystical mumble jumble.
At the end of the retreat, I celebrated Mass for the group. Afterwards we took photos, and then people began to depart. But one elderly gentleman stayed behind, and I could tell he wanted to talk privately. So we waited for everyone to leave the chapel, and he then proceeded to tell me his story. When he started with “when you talked about near death experiences” I figured he was going to challenge me. But in fact, he stated that he himself had had a near death experience not long ago. He stated that the experience had most of the qualities found in many other accounts: the universe was saturated by love, it was like swimming in liquid love, one could feel the overwhelming waves of forgiveness, etc. He even saw members of his family.
But his story had a twist. He confessed that he had been harboring for years a grudge against someone who had deeply hurt him. He said he carried that inability to forgive into that experience. He was trying hard to put an ineffable experience into words, and said that he knew in the deepest core of his being that one cannot remain in that place of pure love and forgiveness holding on to unforgiveness. He looked intently at me and said, “Father, I am afraid that when I die for good I will still have that unforgiveness in me. I don’t know what to do.”
To be honest, I didn’t know what to tell him. No words will magically free someone from something that they have cultivated over many years. Even though I could not fix him, I knew that I needed to take his experience very seriously. His story has stayed with me all these years, and it has haunted me. I know that I hold grudges. I don’t like this about myself. There are some people, especially those that I am close to – like some I have lived with in community – who I find to be emotional and spiritual thorns in my side. I know that in some cases I have cultivated unforgiveness towards those who have done real emotional damage in their actions towards and against me. And yet this man’s story keeps banging in my head and heart.
In Matthew’s account, Peter wants to know how generous we must be in forgiving someone. He wanted to put a limit on it. But Jesus explodes all boundaries. I believe this is because we have been created in the divine image, from a God of eternal relationality. While the triune God is in the divine nature fully self-giving and fully other receiving without competition or caught up in selfish self-regard, we humans are broken in our inability to fully image that divine relational reality. We need grace to more fully participate and imitate the divine nature. Ultimately the wrath that is felt by the one who cannot forgive – even the trifles – creates the experience of being bound and imprisoned by chains of unforgiveness holding fast our souls. Such bondage is a deviation from our true nature, our true selves, selves called to the freedom of the children of God. We will be imprisoned until we can pay the debt of holding our grudges, our unforgiving hurts, and will only be released when we finally allow ourselves to let them go, and then bathe in the inexpressible joy of God’s loving forgiveness, a forgiveness that is eternally ready and willing to be given in full.
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