A Year Of Humility (XXXV): Seventy Times Seven

 A week ago Friday night found my navigating my way through a cell phone waiting lot at New Home 3.0 airport.

As a confession, I was not in the best of moods.  I had come off a frustrating week of work and had not been able to let go of my irritation against a particular individual; I had snarled and grumbled all the way to the airport. Additionally, The Ravishing Mrs. TB's flight was late, and rather than arriving home at 2300 it was looking very much like we would be home after 0000 the following morning.

It was hardly my best look.

As I snaked my way around the curves of the cell phone lot (which seem universally unsuited for a place to wait no matter which airport I am at), I looked ahead to see a truck pulling out and the car in front of me hit their reverse lights.  Ah, I said to myself, they are going to pull back a bit, wait for the truck to go, and then pull forward.

The car did not in fact wait, but continued to pull back until I had the sickening feeling one has when realizes that one is going to be hit.  I honked, but of course it was too late.

The driver sat there for shock for a minute as I got out, looked at the car and checked with her.  Thankfully no injuries and the damage to her car seemed worse (I was hit right on the license plate; other than denting the license plate and cracking my cheap license plate frame, no issues).  She was distraught - and who is not after an accident?  We exchanged phone numbers and information, took pictures, and prepared to leave.  

She thanked me as she left for not yelling, as if she had anticipated something far worse.  It is only a car, I replied.

To our right was a gentlemen who, besides just being present for everything, needed a jump.  I had the cables and some minutes to burn, so I pulled in next to him, The cables were run, the dead battery brought Lazarus like to life, and we stood for a minute or two waiting.  

He, too, was apparently surprised by my reaction.  Or rather, my lack of one.

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In Matthew 18:21-22, Peter approaches Jesus with a question: How many times should I forgive my brother after he sins against me?

Peter suggested seven times - which was three times the going rate that the rabbis gave, citing verses in Amos (Amos 1: 3, 6, 9, 11, 13) where God forgave the enemies of Israel three times.  Seven, then was more than double to traditional amount with a bonus round.  In terms of the times, Peter possibly felt he was being more than generous.

Christ's response, of course, was not seven, but seventy times seven - a poetic way to say "As many times as he asks for forgiveness", a point is clarifies in Luke 17:4:  "And if he (your brother) sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times in a day returns to you, saying 'I repent', you shall forgive him."  Interestingly, in both sets of verses the word "brother" (αδελφός) is used.   "Brother" could have meant a kinsman, a national identity, a neighbor, indeed all of mankind. Interestingly, Peter  used the phrase "my brother" (which may have been a bit awkward, as his brother Andrew was also a disciple of Christ); Christ in Luke uses the term "your brother".

No matter how close the "brotherly relationship", the intent was clear:  Forgive, as many times as you are asked to.  Even, especially, to those close to you.

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Why is it that I can be so unforgiving of those near to me - my "brothers" (and "sisters") and so forgiving of those that I meet by happenstance or (literally) by accident? In the case of those close to me, I can quietly or loudly be as grumpy as a dog worrying a bone; in the case of those that are strangers, I can instantly forgive.

I perhaps have an answer, if not an excuse.

Those that are close to us have to ability to hurt us (in this sense mostly personally and spiritually, but it could be physically as well) in a way strangers do not.  Sometimes it is those in positions of power above us, be they managers or parents; sometimes it is those close to us in a familial sense:  husband, wife, children, parents.  Sometimes it is friends that we have years of history with.*

It is not just the matter that happens, the event or sin itself.  It is the fact that we have shared history and vulnerability with them.

There is nothing more hurtful that someone turning on you, perhaps not even realizing that they have done so, or putting you in a position where you are or appear weak and vulnerable.  It makes you chary of them.  Forgiveness can be asked for and perhaps even offered, but often at a surface level (at least for me).  There is - and perhaps this is me - a remaining sort of fear and reluctance, a holding back of returning to the space we shared.  

Strangers are different, of course.  They are people we may meet once in our life or see occasionally, and they have no more personal insight into us than we do of them.  It becomes perhaps easier simply because it is less of a personal transaction.  Like the mosquito that bites us, we move on.

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What, then, does all this have to do with humility?

To be humble is to be willing to forgive - not just the strangers that glance off our lives, but our brothers and sisters, those with whom we have personal relationships and history. These seem to be the ones Christ is speaking to.

We forgive, of course, because the person asks (and yes, I understand there are not sincere apologies.  But that does not seem to be a distinction that Christ makes).  But we also forgive - or at least, we should forgive, as many times as it is asked of us because it is Christ's command to do so. 

And because we have been greatly forgiven of our own sins.  We have done to Christ through our sins far more than any brother or sister or stranger has done to us.

If we are to forgive - totally, repeatedly - we must be humble.

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The point of this meditation is not to trumpet my own accomplishment - I assure you, this was more of an outlier than a regular event.  The point, instead, is the reaction of the strangers that I met, the apparent shock of having someone not over-react and indeed be understanding of the situation and in that sense, forgive.

Imagine what our relationships would look like - our personal relationships - if we could forgive with the same complete sincerity of heart:  I forgive you completely.  This leaves no space between us.  I will completely forgive you the next time as well.

Even to Seventy times Seven.

* = And to be clear, I am not discussing things like physical abuse or ongoing mental abuse or crimes.  That is a different thing; and Christ had different things to say about that.