Recurring Sins

Here’s a horse pill you might have a hard time swallowing: “If your brother sins against you seven times in a day, and returns to you seven times, saying, ‘I repent,’ forgive him” (Luke 17:4). So challenging is the command that when the first disciples heard it, they gagged on the  standard and cried, “Lord, increase our faith!”

 

Luke’s account echoes Matthew 18:21-22 when Peter asked Jesus how many times he should forgive his brother when his brother sins against him. Jesus replies with an equally demanding standard. “Not seven times but seventy times seven.” In both passages, the number isn’t actual counting, it’s a way of saying the command is always in effect and its enactment has no end. Is this difficult? Yes. Is this impossible? No.  

 

Applications of Luke 17:4 come up in my counseling on a regular basis, and out of all the things that could be said about this verse I’m going to make three observations. First, no one can repent perfectly. Which means, second, that some sins are going to be repeated. Third, the command is to forgive in such cases requires a particular perspective on the part of the offended.  

 

For example, I’m of the belief that some of our sins and their patterns are tied to one’s disposition or personality. Like an intractable parasite, we carry these specific sins with us our entire life (similar to universal sins we all struggle with—pride, selfishness, envy, idolatry, etc). It keeps us regularly frustrated and often humbled. For sure, God can act decisively in one-off events, such as turning water to wine and raising Lazarus from the dead. But it’s also evident in Christian Scripture that God regularly accomplishes his purposes through ongoing development.

 

“Time and process are aspects of the creation that God made and called ‘very good.’ Because he is compelled by love rather than mere production, [God] takes slower routes. Exodus normally takes time, calling for faith and growth. Process has always been his normal pattern” (Kelly Kapic, You’re Only Human: How Your Limits Reflect God’s Design and Why That’s Good News, pp. 143, 149).

 

Let’s imagine a person, man or woman, is known to have leadership gifts. For all the strong drive, high expectations, quick mind, and strategic ambition which are positive traits of a leader, this same person will also likely struggle to varying degrees with patience, social awareness, empathy, and delivery.

 

Now let’s say this same person is married, has children, and owns his/her own business. Naturally. It’s the start of a busy day, or maybe the end of one, and The Plan is falling apart. Spouse has forgotten point 3, child 2 is melting down, and employee 1 just called in sick. Body armor, anyone? It wouldn’t be surprising if this leader’s communication had some volume and an edge to it. So much so that the one to whom the words are directed feels shot at with harsh, agenda-driven, rapid-fire words. There’s metaphoric blood here and there.

 

If that incident happened once, it’s not hard to imagine those wounds being recoverable. But what if this incident were recurring, to whatever degree and to whatever frequency? If the offender shows no remorse and no indications of repentance (i.e., a good-faith effort resulting in a changing attitude and behavior that is observable and repeatable though not perfect), then clearly the relationship is going to deteriorate over time and possibly fail.

 

But if the offender does show remorse and does show signs of repentance (what the Bible calls Godly sorrow), however strong or weak, then forgiveness is warranted and a risk of love is taken to open the relationship door. Tentatively, perhaps. Under supervision, if egregious. But still, there’s an opening to work with.  

 

What should not happen, given the offender’s flawed repentance, is the offended person acting out recriminations. True, it wouldn’t be surprising to see an initial reaction of defensiveness (e.g., withdrawing, shutting down, pushing back, etc.), since no one likes getting shot, but there should not be a state of stone throwing at the offender.

 

When the scribes and Pharisees brought to Jesus a woman caught in the act of adultery, Jesus cancelled the schemers by asking for the innocent to begin the punishment by stoning. In a rare moment of honest introspection, they all dropped their weapons and walked away. Had you and I been there, we too would have disarmed ourselves and left the scene.

 

After dealing with the posturing scribes and Pharisees, Jesus then looked at the woman and showed her all the mercy and tenderness we’d want in that situation. Note that she shows no signs of repentance, so Jesus doesn’t say, “I forgive you.” He does challenge her lifestyle, however, by saying, “Go and sin no more.” No throwing of stones, just mercy and time to grow.

 

I like to imagine this lady reflected on the mercy of Jesus that protected her that day. She was nothing more than a pawn in the hands of those who were using her to pit God’s law (forbids adultery) against Roman law (forbids anyone excepts Romans from being executioners), in an attempt to trap Jesus in a legal bind. Kicking the haters aside yet retaining the power of life and death in his hands, Jesus instead dignified this lady not only by sparing her life but giving her a path toward freedom. I pray she took it.

 

One commentator put it this way: “Once more Jesus refused to back Jewish nationalism against Roman imperialism. And he did something more, which is, I think, not irrelevant to present day discussions about marriage, divorce, and second marriage: he gave a plain hint that the mechanical and rigorous administrations of laws, however lofty the ideals they embody, is not, in the last resort, the best way of dealing with sinners as persons; particularly when the administrators themselves cannot be expected to have perfectly clean hands” (T. W. Manson, in R. V. G. Tasker’s Tyndale commentary on John, p. 113).

 

Because “judgment is without mercy to the one who has not shown mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment” (James 2:13).