Seventy times seven
Forgiveness without limit
Peter thought he was being generous. How often, he asked Jesus, should I forgive my brother who sins against me — as many as seven times? The rabbis of his day suggested three; Peter doubled it and added one. Surely seven times was magnanimous. Jesus' answer blew the lid off the whole calculation: not seven times, but seventy times seven.
The number is not meant to be counted to. Jesus is not setting a new, higher limit of four hundred ninety, after which we may finally stop forgiving. He is abolishing the limit altogether, using an absurdly large number to say: stop counting. The moment you are keeping track of how many times you have forgiven someone, you have already missed the point, for love keeps no record of wrongs.
This is essential for life in community, because people who live in close relationship will inevitably wound one another, often repeatedly. Without limitless forgiveness, no real community can survive; the offenses would accumulate until the bonds broke. Jesus warns sternly, in the parable that follows, against the forgiven servant who would not forgive — for to refuse forgiveness, having been forgiven so much ourselves, is to forget our own debt. Keep no count. Forgive, and forgive again, as one who has been forgiven beyond counting.
“I don't tell you until seven times, but until seventy times seven.”
— Jesus, to Peter — Matthew 18:22 (WEB)
Forgive without limit and keep no count — for community cannot survive without limitless forgiveness, and you have been forgiven beyond counting yourself.
“So will my heavenly Father also do to you, if you don't each forgive his brother from your hearts for his misdeeds.”
We treat forgiveness as something with a limit, keeping a quiet tally of how many times we have forgiven someone before we may finally stop. The interior work is to hear Jesus abolish the limit with seventy times seven — to stop counting altogether, since genuine forgiveness keeps no record of wrongs — recognizing that limitless forgiveness is essential to community's survival and flows from remembering our own debt, forgiven beyond counting.
This week, stop counting: take someone who has repeatedly wronged you and forgive again, refusing to keep the tally, and let the memory of your own unpayable debt, forgiven, loosen your grip on theirs.
The bookkeeping heart loves to keep score, tallying each wrong until the sheer weight of the ledger snaps a bond that should have held. But the moment you are counting, you have already lost the thing — and the soul that keeps no record, forgiving as one forgiven beyond all counting, holds a fellowship together right where the piling offenses would have torn it apart.
Peter thought forgiving seven times was generous; Jesus answered seventy times seven — not a higher limit, but the abolition of limits altogether. The point is to stop counting. The moment we are keeping track of how many times we have forgiven someone, we have already missed it, for genuine forgiveness keeps no record of wrongs.
This is not optional for life in community, but essential to its survival. People in close relationship inevitably wound one another, often repeatedly, and without limitless forgiveness the offenses would pile up until every bond broke. The parable Jesus tells next is severe: the servant forgiven an unpayable debt who then throttled a fellow servant over a small one had forgotten what he was spared. To withhold forgiveness, having been forgiven so much, is to forget our own debt. So keep no count of others' wrongs against you. Forgive, and forgive again, as one forgiven beyond all counting.
- Am I keeping a quiet tally of how many times I have forgiven someone?
- Where have accumulated offenses strained a relationship to breaking?
- Can I forgive again, as one forgiven beyond all counting?
Lord, I keep a tally of others' wrongs, waiting for the limit when I may stop forgiving. But you say seventy times seven — stop counting. Help me forgive without limit, keeping no record, as one forgiven by you beyond all counting. Amen.