The Miracle of Forgiveness

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Jeremiah 31:31-34; Mark 2:1-12

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost 2010

Faith Memorial Chapel

Cedar Mountain, N.C.

Early on in Cassandra King’s enchanting and disturbing novel titled The Sunday Wife, the four central characters become engaged in a conversation about miracles. Ben Lynch, the pastor of the First Methodist Church of Crystal Springs, FL, arrives late on a Sunday evening at the Seaside beach house of his parishioners Maddox and Augusta Holderfield who have befriended the pastor’s wife Dean who spent the weekend with them while Rev. Lynch remained in Crystal Springs until after the Sunday evening service. Dean Lynch is the title character. She is the Sunday wife and the narrator of the novel.

Her character, both as a figure in fiction and as a moral quality, remind me of words spoken by the late Greenvillian Loulie Lattimore Owens Pettigru, herself a Sunday wife of small stature but legendary proportion. Loulie said, “More superior women marry men who enter the ministry than superior men enter the ministry.” Because I am a son and a spouse of superior women who married men who entered the ministry, all I can say is, “I resemble that remark.” Dean Lynch is a superior woman, as is, no doubt, Cassandra King. King is now married to novelist Pat Conroy, but she knows from her previous life as a Sunday wife far too much about what goes on in and around a parsonage. I don’t mind how much she knows; as I understand it, she paid a very high price for that knowledge. I only wish that she wouldn’t tell so much of what she knows in The Sunday Wife.

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That evening, out on the porch of the beach house in Seaside, Ben Lynch tells the vacationing trio about the sermons on miracles they missed that day, and he says, “‘Preaching about the miracles of the Bible can be like walking a tightwire.’ ‘How so?’ Maddox asked. Ben shrugged, ‘You know. Some folks are strict literalists when it comes to the Word of God. Others—like you two, I’m sure’—he nodded toward Augusta and Maddox—‘are uncomfortable with the idea of miracles.’ ‘Wait a minute, Dr. Lynch,’ Augusta said, ‘You’re making an assumption, aren’t you? I believe in the Virgin Birth. I believe Jesus turned water into wine, and I have no doubt that He walked on water and calmed the seas. And I certainly believe He arose from the dead.’ The only light was from the flickering candles, which cast shadows on Ben’s face. I saw him narrow his eyes as he tried to determine if Augusta was serious or not. ‘Oh,’ he said lamely, then chuckled. ‘Nowadays, it’s unusual for people to think that way. In this modern age . . .’ He shrugged, letting the idea drop, and looked to Maddox for help.’ Maddox leaned back in the rocker. ‘Miracles in our modern age. Fascinating subject, isn’t it? What do you think, Ben?’ ‘Me, well . . .’ He rubbed his hands together and frowned, as though deep in thought. ‘To tell you the truth Maddox, I have no problem with whatever theory my parishioners embrace. I can relate to both the literalists and the skeptics.’ Augusta gave a whistle. ‘If you ever give up preaching, you could go into politics’” (pp. 66-67).

As the conversation continues, it is the Sunday wife who emerges from the shadows as the superior theologian with an intellectual and spiritual integrity that far exceeds her patronizingly political and ecclesiastically ambitious husband. She says, ‘everything’s a miracle. What Jesus did, any of us could’ve done.’ ‘Whoa,’ Maddox laughed, startled. ‘Hold it a minute. . . . What he did, any of us could do?’ His eyes glinted in amusement. ‘That’s a pretty radical idea. . . . Are you saying that you could walk on water?’ ‘If I were as in tune with God as He was, of course I could.’ ‘Ah, I see what you’re getting at,’” Maddox said (pp. 67-68). Dean Lynch, the Sunday wife and the only honest theologian in the book says, “What Jesus did, Any of us could’ve done. . . . If I were as in tune with God as [Jesus] was, of course I could.”

This morning’s gospel lesson was one of the most memorable Sunday School lessons of my childhood. That business of cutting a hole in the roof grabbed my attention first. I thought that was cool. And then, they lowered this guy through the hole into a crowded room and landed him right in front of Jesus. Is that cool or what? And then, Jesus said to the man who could not walk, “Take up your mat and go home.” And he did. It was a miracle. There’s no other way to describe it. That’s a Sunday school lesson I still remember from childhood. But if you look more closely at this morning’s gospel lesson, you will see another story, a second miracle story embedded in the first. It’s a miracle story that teaches us exactly what Dean Lynch says: What Jesus did, any of us could do.

The miracle story within the miracle story is not about a man who is healed of physical paralysis. When the man is lowered from the ceiling, Jesus doesn’t say a word about his physical condition. Instead, Jesus speaks to the man’s spiritual and emotional well-being. “Son,” he says, “your sins are forgiven.” It’s a miracle of forgiveness that Jesus looks right past the obvious—the external, physical state of this person—to see on the inside a greater need for the forgiveness of sins than for the healing of the body. The scribes in Mark’s gospel, the authorities in religious law, go ballistic at the suggestion that anyone but God could forgive sins. But Jesus claims that authority for himself.

And not for himself alone. Imagine how those same scribes would have reacted had they been present at the scene late in John’s gospel, in chapter 20, after the death and resurrection of our Lord. “When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the [Jewish authorities], Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so send I you.’ When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained’” (John 20:19-23). Now, if you will listen very carefully, you can hear the rustling of those scribes rolling over in their graves. Not only does Jesus claim the authority to forgive sins, Jesus presumes to delegate that authority to his disciples, to his followers, to those who have received the Holy Spirit. In other words, what Jesus did, any of us could do. Jesus Christ vests in each of us in whom the Spirit lives a sacred responsibility to do as he did in that crowded room when he looked past the obvious, the external condition of a human being, to see on the inside a spiritual need even greater than the physical need of a paralyzed body.

Dare we take Jesus at his word and say to another person, “Your sins are forgiven”? Cassandra King’s The Sunday Wife contains a modern tragedy played out in the vortex of sin, ambition, power, and politics in the church. But one of the things that makes this novel a powerful reflection of the church in our time is that there is neither sin nor forgiveness to be found in it. Inside the church and inside the parsonage, there is only façade, farce, an intricate dance choreographed for the sake of external appearances. There would have been no hope for the paralyzed man in the gospel story if he had been lowered into a room in Crystal Springs. No one there would have recognized the opportunity presented to them, the providential occasion on which to effect a miracle by recognizing sin and forgiving it. No one there would have dared to take Jesus at his word to say, “Your sins are forgiven.” In Crystal Springs, sins are never forgiven; they are only retained. And even then, they are frequently mistaken for love or for duty or for piety or for patriotism.

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In another memorable book, Peter J. Gomes, of Harvard University, writes in The Good Life: Truths That Last in Times of Need, “Forgiveness is like a five-act play. Act One is the acknowledgement of guilt. Act Two is the asking of forgiveness. Act Three is the giving of forgiveness. Act Four is the reception of forgiveness, or the experience of the forgiven. Act Five is the reconciliation that results. To this formula one adds acts of contrition, the expression of sincere sorrow, and acts of penance, penalties that must be done as a sign of one’s sorrow. What is meant to naturally follow all of this is what the Book of Common Prayer calls the ‘amendment of life,’ the fundamental change for the better” (p. 335). That’s how forgiveness is customarily thought of, taught and preached in the church.

But you know what will knock your socks off if you look back at the miracle story within the miracle story in Mark 2? This morning’s gospel lesson doesn’t talk about forgiveness the way it is customarily thought of, taught and preached in the church. Forgiveness in this morning’s gospel lesson is not a five-act play at all. It’s a one-act play. The only act in this morning’s gospel narrative is the act of giving forgiveness. Not a word is said of either an acknowledgement of guilt or a request for forgiveness on the part of the paralyzed man. Jesus gives him something he doesn’t even know to ask for, but something he needs even more than he knows. Nothing is said in Mark’s gospel about his reception or his experience of forgiveness, and we are given no clue in the narrative as to whether or not he “amended” his life. All we are given in the gospel story is the giving of forgiveness: “Your sins are forgiven.” What Jesus understood, what Jesus lived out, died out, and rose-from-the-dead out that you and I have not yet fully figured out is that forgiveness is the only way to overcome the paralysis of the human condition.

On the next to the last page of The Sunday Wife, Dean Lynch says, “My whole life . . . I’ve been paralyzed, trying to be someone who isn’t me” (p. 388). Society will do that to you sometimes. Your workplace will do that to you sometimes. Your family will do that to you sometimes. The church will do that to you sometimes. Sin will do that to you all the time. But I want you to remember two positively scandalous things from these two stories about paralysis, the one in Mark 2 and the other in Cassandra King’s novel.

First, you must never forget that there’s a miracle out there just waiting to happen to you if you will take Jesus at his word, “Your sins are forgiven.” You are forgiven. The price has already been paid, the deal has already been sealed in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. God is already and always waiting and ready for each one of us to come to our senses like the prodigal in the far country and to return home, where before we can even carry out our plan to ask for forgiveness (Luke 15:18-19), God runs to us like a loving parent to embrace us and welcome us home (verse 20). The return of the prodigal in Luke 15 does not set off a truth and reconciliation process to get to the bottom of the matter. Instead, it sets off a celebration: “Let us eat and celebrate; for this [child] of mine was dead, and is alive again . . . was lost and is found!” (verses 23-24). Of course, you are the prodigal child; every one of us is. Welcome home: “Your sins are forgiven.”

But if you think you are not the prodigal child, then you are the older sibling in the parable who resents the celebration and the welcome and the love the prodigal receives, because for all these years you have been working diligently and loyally and you have never disobeyed, but nobody threw a party for you (verse 29). Guess what? Even you are forgiven. Your anger and your resentment are forgiven, too. “All that is mine is yours,” the loving parent says to you (verse 31). Take a break from your work and your diligence and loyalty and obedience and indignation and resentment and anger and come celebrate forgiveness and love. In the famous “new covenant” passage in Jeremiah 31, God says, “I will forgive their iniquity, and will remember their sin no more” (verse 34). Those are God’s terms for the new covenant. Those are the terms of the gospel: “Your sins are forgiven.” Experience the miracle, for once. It’s just waiting to happen to you.

A second scandalous thing to remember from these two stories is that there’s another miracle out there just waiting to happen. The first miracle is the miracle of experiencing forgiveness: “Your sins are forgiven.” The second miracle is the miracle of forgiveness that you can give, the miracle that you can perform. If you are man enough, if you are woman enough, if you are child or youth enough, if you are Christ-like enough, you have the power and the authority to forgive. If it has ever occurred to you that you might like to lead a life that is touched by miracles, then let me suggest to you that you take up forgiveness as a way of life. Don’t get bogged down and lost in a complicated five-act play. Cut to the chase and give it away. Forgive yourself for all the times you have tried to be somebody who isn’t you. Forgive yourself for whatever it is that has you paralyzed. Forgive your family member. Forgive your coworker. Forgive one another.

I’m not talking about ignoring sin or condoning sin or enabling sin. I’m talking about recognizing sin for what it is in yourself and in others and then forgiving it. Letting it go. Putting it down. Quit lugging it around with you. If you haven’t forgiven it, that other person’s sin is eating you up and wearing you down. Their sin is destroying your quality of life every bit as much as it is destroying their quality of life. Their sin is paralyzing you. Stop! Let it go! Put it down! Forgive! And move on.

I know very well that some people will say, “That’s premature! Forgiveness cannot occur until there is an acknowledgement of guilt and an asking for forgiveness, and giving forgiveness is of no use if there is not a reception of forgiveness and reconciliation and amendment of life and acts of contrition, expressions of sincere sorrow and acts of penance, penalties that must be done as a sign of sorrow on the part of the one who has been forgiven. The whole five-act play has to be acted out,” someone will say. To which I would say, “Fine. Live that way if you must.”

Just understand that as you do, that’s not the gospel way. That’s not the Jesus way. That’s not the miracle way. Jesus told the story of the parent who ran to the child and embraced and kissed the child and welcomed the child home without a word said about the child’s sin. Jesus said to the man who did not even ask, “Your sins are forgiven.” Jesus said to his followers, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Dean Lynch said, “What Jesus did, any of us could’ve done. . . . If I were as in tune with God as [Jesus] was, of course I could.” Try it sometime. The effect in your life and in the lives of others around you will be nothing short of a miracle.

Thanks be to God for the miracle of forgiveness! Amen.

This material is Copyrighted © 2010 by Jeffrey S. Rogers. It may be copied or disseminated for non-commercial use, provided this notice is included. The author can be contacted at jeffrogers110@bellsouth.net.