The Infinite Mercy of God

The 22nd Sunday After Trinity

The Rev. Deacon Timothy Wilson

In the classic tale of Les Misérables, Victor Hugo writes of Bishop Myriel, who, having shown mercy to the thief Jean Valjean, says quietly to him, “Forget not, never forget, that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man. Jean Valjean, my brother: you belong no longer to evil, but to good.”

That brief act of mercy was costly, it was definitely undeserved, but it was transforming. It changed the course of a man’s life. So it is with divine forgiveness. When mercy touches a human heart, it does not merely cancel a crime; it reclaims a person.

And this is the very heart of today’s Gospel. Mercy beyond measure.

Peter, ever sincere, asks our Lord, “Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?” (Matt. 18:21). His offer was actually generous by rabbinic standards. Yet Christ answers, “I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.” (v. 22). Our Lord’s meaning is clear: divine mercy cannot be measured by some utilitarian arithmetic. It is infinite, because it reflects the infinite heart of God.

The parable that followed unveils that mercy. A king settles accounts with his servants, and one is brought to him who owes ten thousand talents… (of course, I had to look up this equivalent in today’s currency and discovered that based on the current rate of US Dollars to the equivalent troy ounces of silver of the debt it equals to about  $226,291,702.50… even today, for the average person it’s a debt beyond immediate repayment, equal to more than a lifetime of labor in Peter’s day. When the debtor pleads for mercy, the king, moved with compassion, “forgave him the debt.” (v. 27).

St. Chrysostom, preaching on this passage, says, “The King did not merely remit the debt but also freed him from the shame of it, restoring him to favor, as though no trespass had been done.” (Homily on Matthew 18).

This, my friends, is what God has done for us. Our sins are not merely erased from the record but removed “as far as the east is from the west” (Ps. 103:12). We are not simply acquitted; we are adopted. This is the Gospel in miniature: grace unearned, mercy undeserved, love unrepayable.

Yet the story takes a darker turn. The servant, having been forgiven much, finds a fellow servant who owes him a hundred pence (approx.. $1 and some change to us today). This was a paltry sum in comparison! Then, he seizes him, saying, “Pay me that thou owest.”

In refusing mercy, he condemns himself. The King calls him back: “O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt because thou desiredst me: shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow-servant?” (vv. 32–33).

St. Gregory the Great warns, “The sin which is forgiven returns if we do not forgive others; for mercy received but not given is mercy despised.” (Moralia, Bk. 10).

This is why our Lord binds forgiveness so closely to our prayer: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The forgiven must become forgiving; otherwise, we deny the very grace that saved us.

C. S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, “Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea, until they have something to forgive.” Indeed, forgiveness costs something. It costs us our pride. But it will give us peace. It cost God the Cross!

What is the character of Christian forgiveness? Forgiveness does not mean condoning wrong, nor forgetting injustice. It means seeing the offender through the eyes of Christ. People are redeemable, not disposable. It means surrendering our perceived right to vengeance and entrusting judgment to God.

St. Ambrose exhorts, “The Lord taught us to pray for our enemies, that by our prayers we may be made like unto Him.” (De Officiis Ministrorum, II.21).

Forgiveness, then, is not an emotion but a participation in divine charity. It is the extension of the Incarnation into our relationships. When we forgive, we let the mercy of Christ pass through our hearts into the world.

And this, my friends, is where the Christian mystery deepens: the forgiven soul becomes a vessel of divine mercy. St. Paul’s words to the Philippians capture this beautifully: “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you... being confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” (Phil. 1:3, 6).

The “good work” begun in us, you see, is nothing less than the new life of Christ. It is the life of grace, mercy, and reconciliation. To live unforgivingly is to stifle that divine work.

Here, beloved, we turn to the Holy Eucharist, where mercy takes visible form. The parable ends with judgment upon the unmerciful servant, but the Gospel itself ends with mercy at the altar.

For there, under the forms of bread and wine, Christ gives us the pledge of His continuing forgiveness. Each Eucharist is a new enactment of the same mercy by which our debt was canceled.

When we come to the altar, we are like that first servant before the King.

Please understand, we have nothing to bargain with; we bring nothing but our poverty! But, we hear again the absolution of grace: “This is My Body, which is given for thee; this is My Blood, which is shed for thee.”

Here at the altar, my friends, forgiveness is not only declared; it is imparted. The Real and Spiritual Presence of Christ makes present the same mercy that flowed from Calvary. As the Prayer Book reminds us, we “spiritually eat the flesh of Christ, and drink His blood; we dwell in Him, and He in us.”

St. Augustine said, “Behold what you are; become what you receive.” (Sermon 272). In receiving the Body of Christ, we are called to become the Body of Christ. We become ministers of reconciliation, ambassadors of mercy.

And so, we are sent forth to live what we have received:

The forgiveness received at the altar must be extended in the home.

The peace proclaimed in the liturgy must become peace practiced in our everyday life.

The mercy shown by God must be mirrored by His Church.

The Prayer of Humble Access so perfectly expresses that we are being washed and fed through His body and blood. We are being forgiven and renewed; we leave the altar as living parables of the King’s mercy.

Victor Hugo’s bishop said to the sinner, “You belong no longer to evil, but to good.”
Christ says the same to each of us at His table.

Forgiven, we must forgive. Loved, we must love. Fed with the Bread of Heaven, we must become bread for others.

The life of forgiveness begins at the Cross, is renewed at the Altar, and is perfected in the kingdom where all debts are cancelled and all love made whole.

Let us pray,

O most merciful Father, I pray that Thy peace which passeth all understanding, keep our hearts and minds stayed on Thee, and in the knowledge and love of God, and of Thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord.” Amen. +