For one thing, you pay a price relationally.
Have you ever noticed in the western movies how the bounty hunter travels alone? It’s not hard to see why. Who wants to hang out with a guy who settles scores for a living? Who wants to risk getting on his bad side? More than once I’ve heard a person spew his anger. He thought I was listening, when really, I was thinking, I hope I never get on his list. Cantankerous sorts, these bounty hunters. Best leave them alone. Hang out with the angry and you might catch a stray bullet. Debt-settling is a lonely occupation. It’s also an unhealthy occupation.
You pay a high price physically.
The Bible says it best. “Resentment kills a fool” (Job 5:2 niv). It reminds me of an old Amos and Andy routine. Amos asks Andy what that little bottle is he’s wearing around his neck. “Nitroglycerine,” he answers. Amos is stunned that Andy would be wearing a necklace of nitro, so he asks for an explanation. Andy tells him about a fellow who has a bad habit of poking people in the chest while he’s speaking. “It drives me crazy,” Andy says. “I’m wearing this nitro so the next time he pokes me, I’ll blow his finger off.”
Andy’s not the first to forget that when you try to get even, you get hurt. Job was right when he said, “You tear yourself to pieces in your anger” (Job 18:4). Ever notice that we describe the people who bug us as a “pain in the neck”? Whose neck are we referring to? Certainly not theirs. We are the ones who suffer.
Sometime ago I was speaking about anger at a men’s gathering. I described resentment as a prison and pointed out that when we put someone in our jail cell of hatred, we are stuck guarding the door. After the message a man introduced himself as a former prison inmate. He described how the guard at the gate of a prison is even more confined than a prisoner. The guard spends his day in a four-by-five-foot house. The prisoner has a ten-by-twelve-foot cell. The guard can’t leave, the prisoner gets to walk around. The prisoner can relax, but the guard has to be constantly alert. You might object and say, “Yes, but the guard of the prison gets to go home at night.” True, but the guard of the prison of resentment doesn’t.
If you’re out to settle the score, you’ll never rest. How can you? For one thing, your enemy may never pay up. As much as you think you deserve an apology, your debtor may not agree. The racist may never repent. The chauvinist may never change. As justified as you are in your quest for vengeance, you may never get a penny’s worth of justice. And if you do, will it be enough?
Let’s really think about this one. How much justice is enough? Picture your enemy for a moment. Picture him tied to the whipping post. The strong-armed man with the whip turns to you and asks, “How many lashes?” And you give a number. The whip cracks and the blood flows and the punishment is inflicted. Your foe slumps to the ground and you walk away.
Are you happy now? Do you feel better? Are you at peace? Perhaps for a while, but soon another memory will surface, and another lash will be needed and … when does it all stop?
It stops when you take seriously the words of Jesus. Read them again: “Forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors…. For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”
Through this verse we learn the greatest cost of getting even. I’ve suggested that you pay a high price relationally and physically, but Jesus has a far more important reason for you to forgive. If you don’t, you pay a high price spiritually.
It would be wise to point out what they do not mean. The text does not suggest that we earn God’s grace by giving grace. At first blush, the phrase appears to present a type of triangular peace treaty. “If I forgive my enemy, then God will forgive me.” A casual reading suggests we earn our forgiveness by offering forgiveness to others. Mercy is a merit which saves me. Such an interpretation is impossible for the simple reason that it conflicts with the rest of Scripture. If we can attain forgiveness by forgiving others (or any other good work), then why do we need a Savior? If we can pay for our sins through our mercy, why did Jesus die for our sins? If salvation is a result of our effort, then why did Paul insist, “You have been saved by grace through believing. You did not save yourselves. It was a gift from God” (Eph. 2:8).
Salvation is a free gift.
The question from the last chapter surfaces again. If we are already forgiven, then why does Jesus teach us to pray, “Forgive us our debts”?
The very reason you would want your children to do the same. If my children violate one of my standards or disobey a rule, I don’t disown them. I don’t kick them out of the house or tell them to change their last name. But I do expect them to be honest and apologize. And until they do, the tenderness of our relationship will suffer. The nature of the relationship won’t be altered, but the intimacy will.
The same happens in our walk with God. Confession does not create a relationship with God, it simply nourishes it. If you are a believer, admission of sins does not alter your position before God, but it does enhance your peace with God. When you confess, you agree; you quit arguing with God and agree with him about your sin. Unconfessed sin leads to a state of disagreement. You may be God’s child, but you don’t want to talk to him. He still loves you, but until you admit what you’ve done, there’s going to be tension in the house.
But just as unconfessed sin hinders joy, confessed sin releases it. When we admit sin, we are like a first grader standing before the teacher with a messy paper. “I colored outside the lines too many times. Could I start over on a clean sheet?” “Of course,” says the teacher. Happy is the first grader who gets a second chance, or as David wrote, “Happy is the person whose sin is forgiven, whose wrongs are pardoned” (Ps. 32:1). So we dash back to our seat and start over.
Would there ever be a case when the teacher would leave you to draw on your soiled paper? There might be. I can think of one example when the teacher might refuse to give you a second chance. Suppose she witnesses your mistreatment of the kid at the next desk. A few minutes earlier she saw him ask you for a piece of paper out of your tablet, and you refused. Though you had plenty to give, you clutched your Big Chief with both hands and refused to share. And now you are making the same request of her?
Who would blame her if she said, “I tell you what, I’m going to grant you the same kindness you gave your classmate. The way you treat Harry is the way I’ll treat you. You’re still my student, and I’m still your teacher. I’m not kicking you out of class, but I am going to give you a chance to learn a lesson.” Now we’re getting down to the nitty-gritty of the verse, for this is exactly what the phrase means: “Forgive us our debts as we have forgiven our debtors.