Lectionary Readings: Year A – Proper 19

Before we get into this parable in the Gospel, let’s remember the story of a minor prophet named Jonah, son of Amittai. God came to Jonah and told him to go to Nineveh, because the city was exceedingly wicked. And Jonah jumped up and immediately bought a ticket for a ship going in the other direction – and, hopefully, away from God. But a big storm came, and because Jonah realized he couldn’t run from God’s command, he told the sailors to throw him overboard. When they did, the raging storm stopped. Then, God had a big fish swallow Jonah, and three days later, vomit him out. Then God said again, “Go to Nineveh. They are a wicked people. Tell them to repent of their evil.” So, reluctantly, Jonah went, telling the people that Nineveh would fall in forty days if they did not repent. And what happens? A miracle. The king of Nineveh tells the people to repent, and when the whole city had turned from their evil ways, God forgave them.

And what does Jonah do?

He gets angry. He complains: “Didn’t I tell you this would happen? That’s why I tried to run in the first place. I knew you were going to forgive them, because you are merciful, you abound in steadfast love, and you relent from punishment. Why? Why did you need me to come here in the first place? All that wasted time, all that wasted travel. Time in the belly of a fish. … Kill me now. It’s better to die than live.”

And God says, “Do you have a right to be angry?”

Apparently Jonah felt he did, because he stormed out of the city, made a little tent for himself, and sat to watch the destruction of the city – the destruction that would never come, because the people had repented.

Then God makes a little bush pop up so that it provides a bit of shade for Jonah. And Jonah was happy. But the next day, God sends a worm, and it kills the bush, and the sun beats down on Jonah’s head, and Jonah gets angry yet again, and tells God one more time, “Kill me now. I hate this.” And God says, “Jonah, you didn’t work for this bush. It was a gift. It grew in one night, and disappeared in a night. You did nothing to earn that bush, and yet you act like losing it is such a burden – enough to want to die. You have no connection to Nineveh. And yet you want them to suffer for their sin, sitting here and waiting for their destruction. You ungrateful, vindictive, angry little man.”

The story of Jonah is an absurd little story. A big fish that swallows and vomits out a little prophet. A king of a great city that has even the animals wear sackcloth, and a plant grows overnight to give shade, and a miraculous little worm that causes enormous destruction. But these absurd details are there to help us see the truth about God’s forgiving nature, and the destructive nature of humanity, because our supposed hero is actually the worst character in the whole book. And yet, somehow, Jonah is still used by God to provide positive change in the world. The sailors made sacrifices and vows to God. Nineveh repented, and changed its evil ways. Our angry little prophet, however, unfortunately, remained a difficult piece of work at the end of the book, focused on his own suffering, and his need for what he felt would be true justice.

Today’s Gospel reading is another story that borders on the absurd. We are told that the king wants to settle accounts with his slaves. One of the slaves owes an exorbitant amount of money, but, because it is in an odd currency, we may not realize the size. One talent was equal to about 6,000 denarii. One denari was a day’s wage. If we assume 300 working days a year, one talent was equal to about 20 years of work. This slave owed his master 10,000 talents, or about 200,000 years of work.

And the slave has the audacity to say, “Be patient with me. I will pay you back. Just give me some more time to work this off.” He knows full well that he can never pay this debt off, and yet he still makes promises that he cannot keep.

And what does the king do? He does something completely unhinged. He forgives the entire debt, because he has pity on the slave. And as this same slave went out from just having been spared from several thousand lifetimes of work, he runs into someone who owes him a pittance of what he owed the king. And, it says, “seizing him by the throat” – that is, becoming violent – he tells the other one to pay him back what he owes. And the other man says the same exact thing that this slave said to the king: “Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.” But patience was not in the cards. Neither was mercy, nor pity. Instead, the slave had this other man thrown into the dungeons until he paid off the debt he owed. Absurd.

And then, when the King found out about this, he had the original slave thrown into the dungeons until he paid off his debt because this slave would not be kind and forgive the debts this other slave owed him. Once again, the main character is the worst person in the whole story, focused on himself, and his own view of justice.

Despite the ending of this story, it too tells us of the merciful and forgiving nature of God. And it also emphasizes the destructive nature of humanity. A destruction that usually comes by our own hands. Imagine the different ending this story could have had if the first slave had just forgiven the other man his debt as well. But he didn’t, and instead pushed for petty vengeance, and tried to get the justice he felt he deserved.

At the end of this parable in the Gospel, Jesus says, “If you don’t forgive, then neither will you be forgiven.” 

It’s pretty clear what Jesus is saying there. And he says the same thing in the Sermon on the Mount, and even in the Lord’s Prayer: “forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” But, just like Jonah, just like this slave, we say, “Whatever!” and squat down to watch the destruction of others. Or, we bring destruction down upon them with our own hands, because we can’t just allow this sort of injustice to pass. We hate the fact that God has told us that this act of forgiving is a never-ending task. We don’t get to take a sheet of paper, and make 77 checkboxes on it, so that we can finally quit forgiving someone once that last checkbox has been ticked. No. We have to throw away the paper. And the pen.

Now, I’m not saying we have to be doormats, and let people walk all over us while we forgive, and forgive, and forgive. Good and safe boundaries are often part of the process of forgiveness and reconciliation. We do not need to let people continue to take advantage of us. But the ultimate goal of forgiveness is always reconciliation, a hope that looks to the future.

Unforgiveness is about being stuck in the past. About holding past hurts and past injustices too close to our own hearts, looking for a form of justice that suits our own desires, rather than holding them up to God, a God of infinite love, and infinite forgiveness.

There’s a story of a woman who lost her son in a tragic event. The woman believed that every person who had interacted with her son, from doctors, nurses, to police and mental health professionals, were somehow guilty of her son’s death. Every opportunity she had, she would tell how everyone had failed in their jobs – ultimately leading to her son’s death. She had read all the reports. And she had found every place where someone had failed. And she made sure that everyone knew it. Five years after this tragedy, she was talking with her pastor, and he finally said to her, “I know this is a tragedy, but you really need to forgive these people.” To which the woman responded, “I have forgiven them. I just won’t forget.” And the pastor replied, “You recount every wrong that everyone has done, and you hold them accountable. You relive all the hurt and grief every single day and each time you tell this story. You hold up your anger as some sort of righteous hammer with which to crucify them. You are not forgiving these people. You are looking to the past instead of the future. And you are torturing yourself.” In her effort to place blame on everyone else, she became the worst character in her own story. And she became the creator of her own torture.

Our angry little slave in this parable in the Gospel today is handed over to be tortured until his debt would be paid. This is wonderful imagery. Unforgiveness is torture, and it’s not torture for those who have wronged us. They have already forgotten and moved on. Unforgiveness is torture for us, as we relive the hurt, over and over, and over again. It is destructive to us, and it is, unfortunately, often the path we choose. Just like Jonah. Just like this angry slave. Just like this mother who wouldn’t forget.

The goal of forgiveness is always reconciliation. But reconciliation takes two people who are willing to forgive. When others don’t wish to reconcile, we can still forgive them. We take these burdens, and repeatedly hand them over to God, and trust in God’s infinite capacity for love to handle both our own hurt, and change the hearts of those who have caused the hurt.

Forgiveness is not looking back at the past hurts we have experienced, and reliving them until some mystical future day when justice prevails.

Forgiveness is letting go of the hurt, trusting God for the future, and expecting that God will make all things new.

Because God is merciful, and abounding in steadfast love.

[This sermon was delivered at Trinity Episcopal Church in Kingman, AZ on September 13, 2026.]