It must have been after that breath-taking declaration of Jesus— "the Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost" (Matt. 18.11) that the train of thought was set up in Peter's mind which led to his asking that question about forgiveness. "How often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times?" (18.21). Forgiveness was very much an alien thought to an orthodox Jew; the law of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth did not easily square with forgiveness of enemies or those who do injury to one. The popular conception of the Son of Man was one that pictured Him as coming in the clouds and tempest to execute judgment upon sinners, not to reclaim and forgive them. A Messiah who would punish and destroy the Gentiles and the rebellious, and exalt righteous Israel to everlasting felicity they could understand. One whose mission was to convert and reconcile the wayward and the sinful, to seek and find the lost ones, was a new kind of Messiah altogether and such ideas must inevitably have started new trains of thought in the disciples' minds. As usual, it was Peter the impetuous who put into words the question which probably came to all their minds. "How often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?" Even then the range of forgiveness was to be narrow; they were perhaps prepared to tolerate forgiveness of their own brethren whilst as yet the idea of forgiving enemies was not entertained.

According to Matthew, the parable of the lost sheep was spoken at this time. Luke in his Gospel groups the three parables of the lost, the lost sheep, the lost piece of silver, and the lost son together, but this does not necessarily demand that they were all spoken together. More likely they, and perhaps many others like them that have not been recorded, were spoken at different times in the Saviour's ministry. It may be that a fairly frequent repetition of this seeking and saving and forgiving aspect of Jesus' mission had given cause for enquiry in the minds of the disciples for some time past, and now, at last, it came out into the open. "How oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?".

Jesus took advantage of the opportunity thus created. It was necessary that they come to understand this vital principle in the Divine purpose. The incident of the Samaritan villagers, upon whom they wanted to call down fire from heaven and destroy them in the manner of Elijah of old time, showed how far they were from understanding the purpose of the coming of Christ to earth. "I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth" God had told their fathers in times gone by but they had forgotten that. They were not really concerned with the Samaritans' conversion; only with revenge for the slight the villagers had offered the message of Jesus by rejecting his messengers. They still had much to learn. We ought to sympathise with them for the lesson is even now only very imperfectly realised. Far too many Christians still think in terms of the punishment of the wicked rather than their conversion and reconciliation. Jesus, looking upon the serious questioning faces around him, knew that they were ripe for this advance in the knowledge of God and His ways.

First of all, a direct answer. "I say not unto thee, until seven times; but, until seventy times seven." That came as a bit of a stunner. Peter had thought he was being pretty generous in going so far as seven successive acts of forgiveness. Jesus surpassed all expectation by naming a figure so fantastic in the circumstances that He might just as well have said "to infinity". At any rate, his ruling implied that forgiveness would become such a habit that they never would be able to stop forgiving, and that is most likely exactly the idea He intended to instil. Our God is a forgiving God, and we, to be like him, must be forgiving also. Having made that point, Jesus proceeded to tell them by means of this parable exactly why men should be forgiving in their relationships with each other in the affairs and the wrongs and enmities of daily life.

A certain king had the auditors in to bring his financial affairs up to date. During the course of the ensuing investigation it was found that a debt of ten thousand talents owed by one of his servants had been outstanding for considerably more than the statutory period. The unlucky man was summoned into the king's presence and immediate payment demanded. But the sum was so enormous that payment was impossible and the unfortunate debtor found that he, his wife and children, were to be sold into slavery and all his property confiscated in order to pay off at least part of the debt. This practice was a usual custom although in Israel the maximum period for which such unfortunates could be sold into slavery was six years. But the man's life was ruined; he would have to start all over again at the end of the six years. In utter despair he fell on his knees and begged for mercy. "Have patience with me" he pleaded, "and I will pay you all" . Whether he honestly expected ever to be in a position to clear off the debt is not stated and perhaps he knew within himself that the amount was far too great for him ever to be able to pay, but in his extremity he could do no other than beg for mercy.

His hope was realised beyond his wildest dreams. "Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed him, and forgave him the debt." Not only did he grant his plea for time to pay, but he went even further and in compassion for the man's hopeless position he forgave him the entire debt. The servant went out from the king's presence lightened forever from a load which had burdened him for a long time in the past but would never burden him again.

The story was half told; the other half is of darker hue. As the rejoicing servant went on his way he met one of his fellows who owed him a hundred denarii ("pence" in the A.V.). For the moment all thought of his own recent marvellous deliverance vanished from his mind; here was someone who owed him some money and he wanted that money. Laying hold of the other man, he demanded payment. "Pay me that thou owest." This debtor, however, was in no better position to meet his obligations than his creditor had been a few minutes before, and he asked for time and patience on exactly the same terms that the other had so recently desired of the king.

This time, however, the creditor was not so accommodating. Heedless of the fate he had himself so narrowly escaped, he invoked the full rigour of the law and had his hapless comrade cast into prison, there to remain until he should find some means of paying his debt.

The force of the Saviour's simile in this parable can be better appreciated if the import of the sums of money involved is realised. The "talent" was equivalent to three thousand silver shekels, and the silver shekel had just about the same value as the silver in an English half-crown (1970s currency). One talent would therefore be worth about £375. The Roman denarius was, on the same basis, worth about three pence and a hundred denarii amounted to three pounds. But this is not what these amounts meant to men in our Lord's day. The value of money has steadily declined throughout human history so that both the prices of goods and rates of wages have continuously increased. This is a phenomenon that is not by any means confined to the modern world. Whilst the intrinsic value of the shekel has remained at about the same since the days of the early Sumerians, the number of shekels needed to buy any given quantity of food, or pay the rent, or fill the wage-packet, has increased to a fantastic degree. In the year 530 B.C., which would be just about the time of the death of Daniel in Babylon, one Nabu-nasir-aplu signed a contract to rent a house in Babylon from Itti-marduk-balatu for the sum of five shekels a year, equal to about 50p. (Landlord, tenant and house alike have been dust these many years, but the contract remains, safely preserved in the British Museum). But since the wage rate for a working man at the time was about thirty shekels a year, the worthy Nabu-nasir-aplu spent one-sixth of his income on rent. Of course prices in Daniel's day were considered very high compared with earlier times. For example in the days of Abraham the house could be purchased outright for seven or eight shekels, but on the other hand a man was well paid if he got five shekels a year. The intriguing thing is that the relation between current wage rates and the cost of living seems to have remained the same from Abraham's time till now. Perhaps the financial experts of this world can explain why this should be so.

Applying all this to our Lord's day and the parable in question, we have to set the ten thousand talents and hundred denarii against the background of their value to the creditors and debtors in the story. A labouring man could earn six denarii in a week's work. These servants would probably enjoy about the same financial status. A hundred denarii was equivalent to four month's wages. The same class of labour today would expect £3,000 in wages for that same period. On the same scale the ten thousand talents represents a truly fantastic sum. To buy what £375 would purchase at the First Advent would require a sum between thirty and forty thousand pounds today. The servant faced with a debt of ten thousand talents was in the same position as a man today who owes someone between three and four hundred million pounds. No wonder he could not pay!

Why did Jesus name so fantastic a sum? No servant could ever in practice have accumulated so great a debt. "Have patience with me, and I will pay you all". If he paid over the whole of his wages every week, leaving nothing for himself, and the king charged no interest, it would still take him 400,000 years to pay off ten thousand talents. Was it that Jesus indulged in the Eastern passion for exaggeration in order to heighten the dramatic appeal of the story? That is not very likely. More probably this tremendous sum was deliberately chosen in order to suggest the truth underlying the parable. This debt is one that no man could ever possibly pay. He is completely helpless unless One greater than himself extends a full, free forgiveness and sets him on his way, freed from his burden. That, of course, is the meaning of the parable. The servant owing ten thousand talents is every man, standing helpless before God, completely unable to do anything that will justify him in God's sight and earn for himself the title of God's freeman. "None of them can by any means redeem his brother, or give to God a ransom for him" (Psa.49.8). All that the man can do is to ask for God's patience. "Have patience with me. ..." The publican, standing afar off in the Temple, smote his breast and cried "God be merciful to me a sinner". There is the key, God is patient and will wait while he slightest gleam of hope remains that the man can be restored to his upright standing. "You have heard of the patience of Job" says James (5.11) "and have seen the end of the Lord; the Lord is very pitiful and of tender mercy." So the provision is made; "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved". Repentance, conversion, reconciliation: and the ten thousand talents are remitted, the debt forgiven. "Being justified freely by his grace through the deliverance that is in Christ Jesus" (Rom.3.24).

But the repentance must be sincere, the conversion sincere. Faith must be demonstrated by works (Jas. 3. 17-24). The man who has received "so great salvation" must reflect towards others the glory that has come into his own life. Unless he in turn is prepared to extend mercy and forgiveness towards his fellows in everyday affairs, he has received the grace of God in vain, giving evidence that he has not properly understood or appreciated the purpose and the nature of his standing before God. So he loses that standing. In the story the freed servant threw his own debtor into prison, refusing to extend to him the mercy he himself had received. The consequence was that the king rescinded his former decree, summoned the unforgiving one into his presence, reproved him, and then delivered him into that same prison into which the servant had cast his own debtor. In a moment he lost all, and his fate, because of the magnitude of his debt, was final, hopeless.

"So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not everyone his brother their trespasses." (18.35). That is how Jesus concluded the parable. A strange and in some ways paradoxical ending to a story devoted to extolling the virtues of forgiveness. Does this mean that even God will be unforgiving at the last in token of revenge for the unforgiving attitude of some recipients of his favour? Are we, following such a lead, to withdraw forgiveness from those of our fellows who show themselves unworthy of our forgiveness? Elucidation of the subject would become confusing if we allowed ourselves to argue on that basis. The truth is that we must set this statement against the fundamental principles on which God builds His purpose. The statement says nothing about God's forgiveness; does not say that the unforgiving man forfeits all the benefits he had attained by virtue of God's forgiveness, all he could have had of salvation and life. To have forfeited that, he loses all. God "will have all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth" (1 Tim. 2. 4). He is "long suffering to usward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance" (2 Pet. 3. 9). "As I live, says the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live; turn ye, turn ye, from your evil ways …" (Ezek. 33.1).

That is the Divine wish, but it is contingent upon the willing compliance of the subject, and although God is patient and long-suffering and will not let go of the sinner whilst the slightest chance remains that he can be converted from his ways, the time must come when in his infinite wisdom God sees that the "point of no return" has been passed. The man will not and will never respond to the Divine Spirit, he will not and will never assume his rightful place in Divine creation, and so, with infinite sorrow, we must be sure, God lets him go to his chosen fate. The principle upon which God has built creation, the principle upon which alone that creation can endure, decrees such consequence in the case of such an one. The door to life stood open, but the man refused to enter in. That is what Jesus meant when He said that God would do to the unforgiving man just what that man did his fellow. Divine forgiveness, reconciliation with God, eternal life, are for the repentant, and this man was not truly repentant. The everlasting continuance of creation requires that every man shall give as well as take. This man took, but he would not give, and so there was no place for him in all that God has made.

AOH