The Place of God Genesis 50:15-21, Matthew 18:21-35

Jack leaned his bicycle carefully against the lamp post.
He’d waxed it that morning to keep it looking brand new
and he didn’t want to smudge or – God forbid – SCRATCH the finish.
Never had a ten year old been so proud of a bicycle.

Jack had only allowed himself to wish for the bicycle, never to expect it,
but his mother had seen him eyeing it in the hardware store window
and, without his knowledge, had taken in extra sewing to earn the money.
With a bit of sympathetic credit from Bailey Jones, the hardware man,
she’d managed to have it parked by Jack’s breakfast chair
the morning of his tenth birthday.

Jack and his best friend Walter popped into the Flour Pot Bakery
where Jack was going to treat Walter to a lemon filled donut, their favorite.
Birthday money was for spending – that’s what Jack thought anyway.
Now that he had a bike, he could get a paper route and earn money to save.

They were only in the bakery for a minute – two minutes tops,
but when they came back outside Jack’s heart leaped into his throat.
In the street Jack saw Jesse Blackwell riding his new bike up and down the sidewalk
popping wheelies to the cheers of his usual gang of three.

Jesse’s father, Burt Blackwell, was the mayor and the richest man in town.
He bought Jesse whatever he wanted
and turned a blind eye to the petty vandalism and cruel harassment
Jesse and his posse perpetrated against the good citizens of the town.

Jesse saw Jack and Walter come out of the bakery
and aimed the bike right at them as he pedaled hard.
Just before he plowed into them, he wrenched the handlebars hard left
and skidded on the wet sidewalk.
When Jack and Walter jumped back, Jesse laughed a cruel laugh.

“Nice bike,” he sneered, “For a girl!”
“Jesse, please get off my bike,” Jack stammered.
Jesse mocked him in a falsetto voice, “Jesse, puleeeese get off my bike.”

Jack didn’t know what to do.
He could see his bike was already dirty from Jesse’s muddy shoes.
His mother repeatedly drilled into him
that Christians solve their problems with words, not fists,
and he was paralyzed by her voice in his head
arguing with the rage that erupted from his gut.
Suddenly Jesse swung his leg off the bike, lifted it,
and slammed it down sideways on the concrete.
“This is the cheapest bike I’ve ever seen.
I wouldn’t ride it if you paid me.”
He looked at his buddies and they all laughed a great, loud, humiliating laugh.

When Jesse had gone, Jack gingerly lifted his bike to an upright position.
He winced at the ugly scratches on the frame.
The seat was crooked, but he managed to straighten it
and he thought maybe, except for the scratches, it would be OK.
But when he mounted the bike it only took two revolutions of the wheel
to realize that the pedal was slightly bent.
It was ride-able, but every time he pushed the pedal he felt the wobble.

He could have told his mother, but a ten year old doesn’t run to his mother.
He thought of what she would say to him about turning the other cheek
and forgiving those who do you harm.
He thought of his Sunday school lessons on forgiveness
and his eyes narrowed as he said to himself, “That’s one.”

From that day forward, Jack made it his mission to keep tabs on Jesse Blackwell.
He purposely didn’t get his bike fixed
because the wobble in his pedal served as a constant reminder
of what Jesse Blackwell had taken from him.
Walter and some of his other friends noticed Jack’s apparent fascination
with all things Blackwell,
and thought it peculiar that Jack would make a point to hang out
where Jesse was and to cross paths with Jesse as much as possible.

For Jesse’s part, he became less cruel as he matured,
but he was still very self centered
and he enjoyed immensely the popularity his father’s money could buy.
He never seemed to even notice Jack, but any time he passed Jack without speaking
or any time a loose bit of gravel would pop up from the tire of Jesse’s 15 speed bike
and hit Jack’s shoe
or any time Jesse’s gym bag would accidentally bump against Jack
Jack could be heard to murmur “That’s 52,” or “That’s 87.”

Eventually Walter tired of the fact that Jack never seemed to want to do anything
but be where Jesse was.
Walter and Jack’s other friends went out for the tennis team
or joined the Outdoor Club and went hiking.
Jack went out for football because Jesse went out for football
and he rode the bench all season while Jesse started at quarterback.
Once, in practice, Jesse accidentally hit Jack in the shoulder with an errant pass.
“My bad,” Jesse called.
“That’s 274,” Jack mumbled.

As Jack’s senior year approached an end, his mother was beside herself with worry
that her once bright, happy boy had turned into a sullen loner
who either seemed to hang around aimlessly
or hole up in his room surfing the internet.
Jack had applied to the University where Jesse had a football scholarship
but he hadn’t been accepted due to poor grades.

His mother didn’t know what to do to acknowledge Jack’s coming graduation
since Jack himself had shown no excitement about any of the usual rites of passage.
She begged Walter to invite Jack on the after-graduation beach trip,
and for old times sake Walter issued the invitation,
but Jack turned it down.

It was at graduation practice on Friday
that all the seniors were in the auditorium lining up as they would the following day.
Jesse and some of his chums had smuggled in squirt guns
and, when the teachers weren’t looking,
they were squirting their unsuspecting classmates.

At one point, Jesse pulled his gun and aimed a stream of water
at Lisa Drummond, a cute blonde standing in front of Jack.
Lisa moved aside just as Jesse fired and the stream soaked Jack’s left ear.
He turned to see Jesse grin, shrug, and mouth the words, “Sorry, dude.”
Jack just stared. Then a look of triumph filled his eyes
and a smile of victory stretched his lips.
In a voice loud enough for Jesse to hear, he said, “That’s 491.”
Jesse was puzzled – he’d always thought Jack a little weird anyway –
and he said, “Whatever….”

The next day graduation went as planned.
The sky cleared at the last minute and the students went through their paces.
Jack’s mother was pleasantly surprised at Jack’s upbeat mood
and she took Jack and his grandparents out to Golden Corral after the ceremony.
Jack didn’t want to linger with his family, however, because he had things to do.
He knew from overhearing Jesse Blackwell as they were lining up
that the QB and his buddies were leaving at four that afternoon for the beach.
Jesse’s Dad had given his spoiled son a new Mercedes convertible for graduation
and Jesse couldn’t wait to let the top down and wind it out on the highway.

At home, Jack carefully closed the door to his bedroom and took up a loose floorboard.
He gingerly removed the hand grenade he’d found advertised on the internet.
You can get anything on the internet, he thought, if you’re determined enough.
The guy he’d bought it from had assured him it was still armed
but that as long as the pin was in it, there was no danger.
Good thing - It had been under Jack’s floor for three years

He put on his hunting jacket with the big pockets
and put the grenade in one pocket and his Bible in the other.
Adrenalin surged through his body making him feel more alive than he had
since his tenth birthday.
Jack opened the door to the sagging storage shed behind their house
and took out his old bicycle.
He’d put new tires on it the night before and they were pumped up tight.
He was too big for it, of course, but he could still balance himself on it.
As he rode it down the street, the pedal wobbling as it had since that fateful day,
Jack let his mind play on all the harassment, all the slights, all the abuse
he had suffered at the hands of Jesse Blackwell.
A single tear of frustration escaped before he bit his lip
and let his right hand rest on the round lump in his jacket pocket.

Jack rode until he reached the park just three blocks from Jesse’s house.
It was 3:45. Jesse probably already had the top down and was loading the car.
Under an ancient oak, Jack reached in his left coat pocket and pulled out his Bible.
It fell open to the passage Jack had read every day for the past eight years.
Tears stinging his eyes he read from Matthew 18, verse 21:

“21 At that point Peter got up the nerve to ask, "Master, how many
times do I forgive a brother or sister who hurts me? Seven?"
22 Jesus replied, "Seven! Hardly. Try seventy times seven.”

Automatically Jack did the math in his head. It was like a mantra.
“Seventy times seven is four hundred and ninety,” He said to himself.
“I have to forgive four hundred and ninety times.
But not four hundred ninety-one.”
With his right hand he reached into his other pocket and pulled out the grenade.
It was Army surplus, olive green. He hefted it to feel its weight.
Replacing his Bible, he used his left hand to pull the metal pin
arming the grenade.
Just three blocks and he would find release.
Just three blocks and he would repay Jesse Blackwell for eight years of torment.

Jack pedaled the bike down the tree lined street,
steadying the handlebar with his left hand, gripping the grenade in his right.
There was no traffic at all
and it was like he was hovering somewhere above the young man on the bicycle
watching himself ride to his destiny.
Jack turned left and found himself on a slight incline.
He was forced to pedal harder, but not so hard he couldn’t do it sitting down.
He started to sweat under the hunting jacket.

One block away as he was pushing the bent pedal in its circuit
the aluminum crank, weakened at the place where it was bent, suddenly snapped.
The force of Jack’s momentum finding no resistance in the broken pedal crank
threw him off balance.
His right foot shot out, his left hand pushed the handlebar crooked,
he started to fall and instinctively his right hand reached out to catch himself….

Jesse Blackwell slammed the trunk and, slipping into the soft leather driver’s seat,
leaned over to give Lisa Drummond a lusty kiss.
He cranked the engine of his new car and listened a moment, loving that powerful purr.

Just then they heard a loud explosion from fairly close by.
“What was that?” Lisa asked, momentarily concerned.
Jesse just shrugged – the world was his oyster.
“Who cares,” he laughed, “We’re outta here!”

Nothing is more certain than the truth
that FORGIVENESS is the heart of life in God’s kingdom.
It is the essence of what it means to follow Jesus.
Still, nothing is harder to do
than forgive someone who has done a terrible wrong.
When injustice is done to us or to someone else we care about,
it is our human vanity that makes us suppose
that the scales of justice are in our hands and our hands alone.
If we don’t retaliate, if we don’t make the perpetrator pay,
then our fear is that the universe will be out of balance,
that we or those whom we love will look foolish or be taken advantage of.

Joseph, Jacob’s son, knew differently.
When Joseph’s brothers realized the Egyptian official
who had the power over them of life and death
was the younger brother they had sold into slavery so many years before,
they assumed his revenge against them would be swift and sure.
But Joseph responded to his brothers with words that summarize the heart
of the biblical witness on forgiveness.
“Be not afraid,” Joseph told them. “Am I in the place of God? “

None of us is in the place of God.
If we were, we would know that forgiveness is the only thing
that can set us free from ourselves;
the only thing that can keep us from being consumed by fear.

It’s not for our brother’s sake or our sister’s sake that Jesus urges us not to keep score.
It is for OUR sake.
It is for our sake.