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[PF1]  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. 

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