How many times must I forgive my brother?
When Peter asks Jesus, “How often must I forgive my brother? Seven times?” I imagine him speaking from experience; from the fatigue of being hurt repeatedly, from the sense that he had reached the limit of forgiving. Many who hear these readings know that feeling well. Some carry wounds that have never healed. Some are still being hurt again and again. Some struggle because the one who injures them shows no repentance and may even see forgiveness as weakness. Yet even in these painful situations, today’s scriptures ask us to forgive.
We already know the cost of refusing forgiveness. We see it in the world’s conflicts, in violence that destroys lives and futures, in families torn apart and friendships broken. The damage of non‑forgiveness is written everywhere in human experience.
But the readings give us a deeper reason. We forgive because God has forgiven us with a compassion beyond measure. The Gospel compares God to the master who cancels an impossible debt when the servant pleads for mercy. Ecclesiasticus urges us: “Remember the covenant of the Most High and overlook the offence.” And the Psalm reminds us that “The Lord is compassion and love, slow to anger and rich in mercy.” This is who God is; therefore, this is who we must strive to become.
And we forgive each other because of the price paid for our salvation. Jesus uses a comparison that is easy to miss: ten‑thousand talents versus one hundred denarii. Scholars note that the annual income of king Herod was 900 talents. That means that king Herod would have to work 11 years to earn ten thousand talents, while one hundred denarii would be about three months’ wages of a casual laborer. The point is clear: the debt God forgave us is immeasurably greater than any debt another person owes us. We stand before God only because He has forgiven us a debt we could never repay.
Forgiveness does not mean pretending the hurt was small. It does not mean allowing abuse to continue. It does not mean denying justice. But it does mean refusing to let resentment become our master. It means letting God’s mercy flow through us, even when the other person does not change. We can still pray for the person who hurt us. We can do good to one who did us harm when the opportunity comes.
And if forgiveness seems impossible no matter how hard we try, the second reading gives us a way out. Paul says that none of us lives for ourselves and none of us dies for ourselves; whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. This is the deepest foundation for forgiveness. Forgiveness becomes possible not because the hurt is small, but because we are not our own. Our lives are not governed by wounded pride or resentment, but by the One who died and rose for us. We forgive as people who live under the Lordship of Christ. Forgiveness is not simply a moral effort; it is an act of surrender to Christ’s lordship.
