WHICH WAY TO SHECHEM?
This is a sermon I preached in 2005, and then reworked to preach in Manchester, MI in 2015. As I reworked it I was struck by 2 things: 1) Paul's letters to the churches are filled with precisely the "problem of the next day" that I refer to here as I think about the two brothers in the parable of the Father with two sons, 2) there is more to think about, for me to think about, in offering forgiveness and living with forgiveness. In any case, I hope you find something here.
Each week,
week after week, Christians gather and pray the prayer Jesus taught. The Lord’s prayer is almost entirely a
petition—give us this, grant us that, keep us from the clutches of evil. However, there is one passage that differs
from the rest. We pray: “AND FORGIVE US
OUR---and the Greek word here is ὀφείλημα,
ατος, τό, or Transliteration: opheiléma
Phonetic Spelling: (of-i'-lay-mah) which can mean – debt, sin, or
offense---sins, and here’s the special part “AS WE FORGIVE THOSE WHO SIN
AGAINST US”.
The central message of the Jesus
movement is “God forgives sinners!” Now that wasn’t so new to Jesus’ Jewish
listeners. The Torah, the five books of
Moses, talks about the day of atonement, sin offerings, and the like. The psalms and the prophets are full God’s
word of pardon to his people. But quite
scandalously to the Jewish religious authorities of that day, the forgiveness that Jesus proclaims is available
quite apart from the Temple in Jerusalem.
Then, as we read on in the Jesus prayer, the passage seems to imply that
as members of the Jesus is King movement, we must do the same that God is doing. Forgive us as we forgive others. The context of the prayer in Matthew emphasizes just that
point. Look what Jesus says in Matthew
6: 14 and 15. Immediately after teaching
the prayer, he says “For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your
heavenly Father will also forgive you.
But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive
your sins. Now think about it—that’s a little
intimidating. As we forgive others so we are forgiven: that
we are forgiven only in so far as we forgive others?. I can just hear the hemming and hawing, the
fits of “”Well that really means . . .” But
quite plainly it seems to me, Jesus insists that the only way to be liberated,
to be healed, to be free at last, to live in peace with God and neighbor is His
way, the way of forgiveness of sins. In effect,
what Jesus tells us after he teaches us the prayer is this. “If you don’t forgive your brother, as you
have been forgiven, then maybe, you just don’t believe that I really bring the
Great Forgiveness straight from the Forgiving Father. Maybe you don’t believe in My death and
resurrection.” Failure to forgive is
not some little moral fault like having a few too many on Saturday night, it’s
denying the central claim of the faith we profess: faith that sins are
forgiven.
That does not fit well with our notions that all we have to do
is pray to Jesus and all is right with the world. Jesus seems to be saying we actually have to
participate in the act of forgiveness for there to be forgiveness at all.
So what is this forgiveness that is
so central to the Jesus movement and apparently so central to our Christian
lives? Well here’s a picture of it. It’s a story that Jesus tells. Folks have started to complain that Jesus,
this supposedly pure guy, announcing that God is acting right now, this holy
healer, well he, as the beginning of Luke 15 tells it, “Welcoming sinners and
eating with them.” So Jesus tells three
stories, one about a runaway sheep, another about a coin that is misplaced, and
finally one that begins, “there was a man who had two sons . . .” You might have heard this story. The older son is a straight-laced, by the
book, I hope a guy like that wants to date my daughter type kid. The younger son, not so much. He’s the kid that at about 7 or 8 already had
the twinkle of mischief in his eye. Now
in his late teens or early 20’s guy, well he wishes his father were dead
already so he could get his hands on his share of the family estate. Not only does he wish it, he marches right up
to dad and says it, hand out, “gi—me”. Well
you know the story. It does not work out
well. The money is squandered and the
young man has no choices left. He’s got
to come home, tail between legs. But
here’s the surprise, cue the Hollywood lighting, strike up the music from
Halmark movies, post the cuddly baby and soft cat videos on Facebook. The Father runs out to embrace the young man
as he trudges along. The father welcomes
him home. The Father clothes him in rich
robes, puts the family ring on his finger and orders up a celebratory feast!! Now that’s what forgiveness looks like. That’s where I could end this morning and we’d
all be off the hook, “Well God forgives us.
Isn’t that just sweet, might dang convenient too. What’s for Sunday supper?”
Oh, and remember the prayer you said this morning—you’re
supposed to do the same sort of thing. Hmmm….are you like the Father? At least the Father had it easy, it was his
son. The prayer we said doesn’t limit us
to forgiving our wayward flesh and blood.
We are to forgive “those”---those anybody at alls ----apparently, who
sin against us.
And the
difficulty I have with the story of the man with two sons is this. Let’s call it the problem of we the living,
the next day problem, the time goes on problem.
Do this. Pick one of the boys the
older son or the younger son, whichever one you are most like—straight and
upright picture of moral rectitude older son or wastrel, low down younger son. Now imagine it’s the morning after the joyous
return. The smell of porridge cooking
wakens you and you head down to the kitchen only to find your brother
there. What gets said? What’s not said but stirs around in brain,
heart and stomach? The older brother how
does he live with forgiviness—well the retirement home on that nice little bend
in the river where the trout jump is out of the question now—1/2 the family
estate is gone, so you’re just getting a ½ of the ½ that’s left when the day
comes. If you’re the younger son, how do
you live into forgiveness? How does it
feel to see your brother’s eyes pass over you?
The past is not going to ever go away.
There is no gone and forgotten in this world. There is a next day. So take a moment, pick a character and honestly,
quite honestly imagine what you would do or say. What is it like to forgive? Can you forgive? What is it like to be forgiven? Can you live into forgiveness? What do you do with remorse? Does it ever go away?
Think about
your own life. What happens between us
when somebody has acted disgracefully like the son the Father runs to
meet? Do we admit our disgrace? Are we a people who will allow those who have
disgraced themselves to admit it aloud?
Do the words “I’m sorry” cross our lips easily? Don’t the words “I forgive you” get choked
off by our self-serving sense of right and justice? Even if we get as far as leaving our pride
behind and say the words, how do we put life back together again? What about the problem of the next day? The problem of life goes on?
Now
that story sets a high bar, and as I’ve tried to indicate a difficult and maybe
puzzling bar. So let’s turn to the story
in the day’s reading that addresses the problem of the day after, the problem
of life goes on—the story of Jacob encountering Esau. It’s a story with two surprises for
those who want to be disciples of the Forgiving One. Once upon a time, there were two
brothers. They were so different, that
even as they grew in the womb together, they fought toe and hand. Esau was born first, and thus deserved the
birthright and promise passed from Abraham to Isaac his father. But Jacob, coming out of the same womb, was
even then grasping onto Esau’s heel as he entered the world and took his first
breath. Now Esau grew to be a man’s
man—hunting and working hard in the fields.
Jacob stayed in the tents with his mother. One day, when Esau came home quite hungry
from a hard days hunt, Jacob made him trade his birthright for food. Later, as their father Isaac was about to die,
a blind old man, Jacob tricked Isaac. It was time to pass onto the older son
the blessing of the Lord—you remember the blessing from Genesis 12—I shall make
you a great nation and through you all the nation’s of the world will be
blessed. Well a blessing that big, once
given, can’t be taken back. So Jacob,
the tricky one, disguised himself as Esau, and Isaac gave Jacob that
blessing. Esau got so mad at his slimy
little brother that he nursed murder in his heart. So Jacob took off—yes he went on the run,
back to his grandfather Abraham’s old homestead, way off in Haran.
The part of
the story I read happens over 14 years later.
Jacob made quite a family for himself in Haran. He’s got 2 wives and 2 concubines. He’s got 12 sons. But the blessing is not complete. He does not live in the land of promise. So he and all of his family, his servants
and his flocks set out for home: the
promised land. There’s just one
problem. Esau lives there. Esau, the brother who had the blessing stolen
from him. Esau, who, last anyone knew,
wanted to murder Jacob. As Jacob comes
to the border of the promised land, he sends gifts ahead to his brother, sheep
and goats—better a little poorer but still alive he figures. Then, he splits his party up: concubines and
their children first, then wife number 1 Leah and her children, and finally the
beloved wife, Rachel and the beloved child Joseph last of all –maybe some will
be safe from his murderous brother. The
night before they all cross the Jordan into the danger of the promised land,
Jacob goes off alone. There he meets a
man. They wrestle all night. Jacob wrestles so hard the man blesses him,
changes his name to Israel—for he had wrestled with both God and man his whole
life, and come out still alive. Now its
time to meet Esau.
The stage
is set, so now listen to how real life forgiveness takes place between flesh
and blood folks like us. “And Jacob
raised his eyes and saw, and look, Esau was coming, and with him were four
hundred men.” Not a promising start to
things now is it? For Jacob, the moment
of truth is now. Mustering up his
courage, he walks past his flocks, his family, and alone approaches his
brother, bowing down seven times in an act of formal and very submissive
obedience.
Listen
again to surprise number 1, “And Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and
fell upon his neck and kissed him, and they wept.” Sound familiar, a story with a running man .
. .this time he wrestles the wrestler Jacob into an embrace. He fell upon Jacob’s neck, and he didn’t have
a dagger in his hand, no he had tears in his eyes. Jacob and his family are stunned. Instead of just rage over the theft of the
blessing and birthright, Esau has greeted them with open arms and tears of
joy.
Jacob has been forgiven by his brother, and
here’s surprise #2. Nothing really
magical takes place here. No little
hallmark angels appear in the sky. No
sentimental Hollywood style music begins to swell in the background. Forgiveness is offered, and a much-relieved
Jacob takes it. But no sweet reunions
take place. In fact the story is very
clear. The past between Jacob and Esau
has not been wiped out by Esau’s running.
Even as he accepts forgiveness, Jacob takes the opportunity to take
sideways note of the blessing of Isaac he stole so long ago. Remember how he tries to get Esau to accept
his gifts? He say, “ . . . for God has
favored me and I have Everything,”
Or think on
Esau. He’s has always been an emotional,
and perhaps a bit dimwitted, brute of a man.
What impelled him to run forward and fall upon his brother’s neck in a
tearful embrace? This story, like so
many others in the books of the Old Testament, doesn’t tell us much about the
inner workings of the characters minds.
All we see is their character revealed in word and deed. Something has driven Esau forward. There may be a hint of his motivation in the
offer he makes—“Let us journey onward and go, and let me go alongside
you.” Jacob offers a fairly transparent
lie in response, “the nursing sheep and cattle are my burden, and if they are
whipped onward a single day, all the flocks will die. . . .let me drive along
at my own easy pace . . .till I come to my lord in Seir.” So Esau tries again, “Let me set aside for
you some of the people who are with me.”
Maybe Esau is contemplating folding Jacob and all he possesses into his
own fortune. After all, he is the older
brother. Jacob puts him off again. And as soon as Esau leaves, Jacob and his
family turn the other way and head in the other direction. Some sweetness and light eh? This is not the stuff of a Hollywood
ending. This is the stuff of real
life. Oh the story tells us that the
brothers meet one more time. A few
chapters later they bury Isaac, their father, together at the oaks of Mamre. No words are recorded at their meeting.
The point I
see here is that forgiveness among us isn’t always perfectly given nor
perfectly received. The results may
never be perfect either. You see, this
side of the Kingdom, forgiveness between us is full of ambiguity and mixed up
motives. In our own lives, in our own
homes, yes, even in this place called Stony Creek, there are some we need to
forgive and probably, if we’ll admit it, some who could offer forgiveness to
us: there may be a wife that needs to say “I’m sorry, forgive me” to a devoted
husband she has neglected or worse. There
may be a father who needs to turn to a daughter and say “Forgive me for being
so harsh.” There maybe someone in the
next pew you need to go to and say, “I’m sorry, I’ve gossiped about you.” But Esau and Jacob remind us that there is no
instant magic to be found. Distrust and
hard feelings may not disappear. For we
are like Jacob and Esau—full of the good and not so good stuff of
humanity. We hurt and give hurt. We are offended and give offense. We trespass the boundaries of love and in
turn others trespass the boundaries of love against us.
What are we
to do? Our prayer each and every week
asks that we be forgiven as we forgive.
And this story tells us that it’s just hard slogging work. You want to know just how hard and thankless
it is? Remember the One who told the
story of the Running God. He knows a
thing or two about how hard forgiveness is.
Jesus’ arms were wide open on that Friday he offered us forgiveness for
good and for all. How could he keep them
open for so long? [PAUSE] Forgiveness
is messy, sometimes bloody work.
What’s the Good News in all this
for us, the disciples here at Stony Creek?
Well, note how this little section of the story of the running brother
ends—“And Jacob came in peace to the town of Shechem, which is in the land of
Canaan, when he came from Paddan-Aram, and he camped before the town.” Paddan-Aram is in the land Haran, where grand father Abraham got his
call from God. For Jacob it was the land
of escape and exile from a brother with murder in his heart. Shechem is in the land of Canaan, across the
Jordan. Shechem is in the land of
Promise. In Hebrew, Shechem means “saddle”
or shoulder. It describes a geographic
feature. A High point from which one can
look back and see clearly where one has come from, and look forward to see
where one must yet travel. Which way to
Shechem? Forgiveness, that’s the only
way to Shechem, the only way to safely, in peace, whole, come into the Promised
land. You see, Remember how Jacob
describes his brother as he accepts forgiveness, he says, “for have I not seen
your face as one might see God’s face.” Forgiveness, clumsy, mixed up, given
without the best of intentions, grudgingly accepted for the sake of not getting
something worse, forgiveness somehow reveals the face of God. The way to Shechem may be a hard and
complicated mess as this story tells us, but the only way to Shechem is to live
up to our prayer—“ forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass
against us.” For thine is the kingdom
and the power and the glory forever.
Amen.
