And in anger his lord turned him over to the prison guards to torture (βασανισταῖς, a form of βασανιστής)^[1] him until he repaid all he owed.  So also my heavenly Father will do to you, if each of you does not forgive (ἀφῆτε, a form of ἀφίημι)^[2] your brother from your heart.^[3]  It seems here that Jesus stated rather matter-of-factly that his Father would turn the unforgiving over to torturers.  He did not say that God would torture them Himself but implied that others would do it for Him.  Perhaps I was too hasty dismissing Jonathan Edward’s claim that God is the superlative torturer.

This metaphor—the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts (λόγον, a form of λόγος)^[4] with his slaves^[5]—was given in answer to Peter’s question, Lord, how many times must I forgive (ἀφήσω, a form of ἀφίημι) my brother who sins against me?^[6]  The settling of these accounts is very reminiscent of, I tell you, Jesus said, that on the day of judgment, people will give an account (λόγον) for every worthless word (πᾶν^[7] ρῆμα^[8] ἀργὸν^[9]) they speak (λαλήσουσιν, a form of λαλέω).^[10]

A man who owed ten thousand talents was brought to the king.^[11]  When he was not able to repay it, the lord ordered him to be sold, along with his wife, children, and whatever he possessed, and repayment to be made.^[12]  I suggested that the only account that matters at a moment like this is, God, be merciful to me, sinner that I am!^[13]  That is essentially the account this slave gave.  He did not try to dispute the debt.  He threw himself to the ground before him, saying, “Be patient (μακροθύμησον, a form of μακροθυμέω)^[14] with me, and I will repay you everything.”^[15]

Love is patient (μακροθυμεῖ, another form of μακροθυμέω),^[16] so, The lord had compassion on that slave and released (ἀπέλυσεν, a form of ἀπολύω)^[17] him, and forgave (ἀφῆκεν, a form of ἀφίημι) him the debt.^[18]  I can’t help but connect ἀπέλυσεν (a form of ἀπολύω) here with λύω^[19] in, I tell you the truth, whatever you bind on earth will have been bound in heaven, and whatever you release (λύσητε, a form of λύω) on earth will have been released (λελυμένα, a form of λύω) in heaven.^[20]  It causes me to suspect that Jesus has his thumb on the scale of binding and releasing in favor of releasing, and that this metaphor is also aimed back at that statement.

After he went out, the metaphor about the kingdom of heaven continued, that same slave found one of his fellow slaves who owed him one hundred silver coins.^[21]  The fellow slave asked for the same patience, but the first slave threw him in prison until he repaid the debt.^[22]  Then his lord called the first slave and said to him, “Evil slave! I forgave (ἀφῆκα, a form of ἀφίημι) you all that debt because you begged me!  Should you not have shown mercy (ἐλεῆσαι, a form of ἐλεέω)^[23] to your fellow slave, just as I showed it (ἠλέησα, a form of ἐλεέω) to you?”^[24]

That brings me back to the beginning of this essay: And in anger his lord turned him over to the prison guards to torture (βασανισταῖς, a form of βασανιστής) him until he repaid all he owed.  So also my heavenly Father will do to you, if each of you does not forgive (ἀφῆτε, a form of ἀφίημι) your brother from your heart.^[25]  So it seems that debt in the metaphor is equivalent to sins in the kingdom of heaven.

If I accept Edward’s contention that Jesus’ heavenly Father is the superlative torturer, then this metaphor seems to describe how one might expiate his own sins by becoming God’s victim, by satisfying some portion of the Father’s desire to torture someone for some unspecified period of time.  That interpretation would make this a unique passage in all the New Testament to say the least.  And it doesn’t offer much guidance why this “Torturer” would let some off easy.  Why should any escape the torture he so desired to give them by forgiving sins, the very currency that justified the “Torturer’s” torture?  In fact, why would this “Torturer” ever forgive anyone’s sins at all, or encourage such forgiveness?

On the other hand, if I consider that a man who could not pay a debt before being handed over to daily torture is unlikely to raise the funds after he is so preoccupied, then I might consider that—So also my heavenly Father will do to you—means that the unforgiving will never get out of the prison into which He confines them.  That sounds like Christians, the forgiven, who do not forgive others will go to hell.

Most Christians I know have rules against that.  In fact, I suspect that most Christians I know would not consider themselves to be great sinners who were forgiven much and were called by God to forgive lesser sinners than themselves.  I think most would consider themselves to be more like the second slave, relatively good people who deserve to be forgiven for their relatively few sins but are not forgiven, rather they are persecuted by greater sinners than they are and long for the day when God will rise up and send their persecutors to hell.

This is one of the first times I’ve used the term Christian in these essays.  I’m not sure if the Christians I know would be willing to accept me as a Christian if they read these essays.  Frankly, if Christian has come to mean something other than little Christ, a repentant sinner following Jesus into the righteousness of love, I’m not sure I would fight very hard over the word.  It can go the way of charity and temperance for all I care.  For all I know more people would repent of their sinfulness and follow Jesus into the righteousness of love if they didn’t have to become Christians to do it.  But fundamentalist Christians are my people by birth.

I still feel embarrassment and shame that the word Christian is practically synonymous with unforgiving.  Still, I can’t say that the Holy Spirit has brought this metaphor to my mind to remind me to forgive others.  My daily prayer asking the Lord to forgive us as we ourselves have forgiven^[26] others has been sufficient for that.  The only time this metaphor comes to mind is when my Christian friends use their rules or reasons to attempt to persuade me that I am too forgiving.

I don’t think I respond to this metaphor in fear of hell or torture.  I think I recognize that I am not an Apostle.  I don’t present the Gospel with the signs of an apostle…by signs and wonders and powerful deeds.^[27]  Except for the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control, and the willingness to forgive others that the Lord can force into, and wrench out of, this repentant sinner my Gospel presentation is idle talk; and the kingdom of God is demonstrated not in idle talk but with power.^[28]

Still, this metaphor includes a category of lesser sinners.  Is this my error?  I have assumed that—I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my flesh^[29]—applied to Paul.  Not all Christians do.  For I want to do the good, Paul continued, but I cannot do it.^[30]  That certainly applied to me, and I reasoned backward that—nothing good lives in me, that is, in my flesh—also applied to me.  But beyond that I have assumed that it applied to all sinners.  I am completely dependent on God’s mercy and grace, no question about it.  But are there others who are not so dependent?

Are there Christians who are lesser sinners?  Christians who are mostly righteous by their own innate goodness and/or their own obedience to the law?  Christians who require less forgiveness, less of the fruit of God’s Spirit, less grace and less mercy than I require because of their own righteousness?  I don’t see that in Scripture, but does that mean it isn’t there?  Or is it due to my own blindness because I am such a great sinner?  Are the things that concern me in these essays just nitpicking persecution of the good Christians who are more righteous than I am?  Or are the good Christians in error when they assume that—nothing good lives in me, that is, in my flesh—could not have applied to Saul after he was called by Jesus as the Apostle Paul?  Do they overestimate their own righteousness when they assume that—nothing good lives in me, that is, in my flesh—could not possibly apply to them as the redeemed of the Lord?

As a repentant great sinner I have no objective place to stand to answer those questions.  I need to approach it differently.

In Matthew’s Gospel account I read, Meanwhile the boat, already far from land, was taking a beating (βασανιζόμενον, a form of βασανίζω)^[31] from the waves because the wind was against it.^[32]  Here, βασανιζόμενον, a form of βασανίζω, the root word of βασανιστής (βασανισταῖς, torture, is a form of βασανιστής), expressed the conflict of a contrary wind.  And in Mark’s Gospel account Jesus saw his disciples straining (βασανιζομένους, a form of βασανίζω) at the oars, because the wind was against them.^[33]  Here “torture” is the strain of rowing against a contrary wind.

As I considered these things I saw the film “Adore.”  It became a thought experiment in forgiveness.  I will be spoiling the film for anyone who things it spoiled by knowing its plot.

Lil and Roz were best friends since childhood.  They grew up and had sons, Ian and Tom, also best friends.  One day, lying on the beach together, watching their grown sons surf, they marveled, “Did we do that?”

“They’re beautiful,” Roz said while Lil nodded.  “They’re like young gods.”

Ian was first to make a play for Roz.  She tried to restrain herself, but what mortal woman can resist the amorous advances of a young god?  When Tom saw what his mother was up to, he made a spiteful play for Lil.  Lil held out a scene longer than Roz but eventually she, too, fell prey to another young god.  And so far, even as a Christian, I can follow this tale.  Though she may withstand the charms of a thousand mere mortals, the young god will not be denied apart from the ἐγκράτεια of the Holy Spirit

When Tom came home one morning after being out all night, Roz asked, “Hey, where have you been?”

“At Lil’s, doing to her what Ian’s been doing to you,” her impertinent son replied.

Roz slapped him and went off to confront Lil.  I could hear the contrary wind howling and see the storm clouds brewing.  Obviously this film intended to recount the tragic tale of a friendship ripped apart by fateful indiscretions.   But, no.  As lifelong friends and repentant sinners Roz and Lil forgave each other instead.  And I call them repentant sinners because they both acknowledged that they were wrong and that it could never happen again.  While a repentant sinner may find it relatively easy to forgive another for the very same sin she is guilty of, it is a more difficult matter for Christians.

Lil was a widow and Tom was a young single man, but they had sex before they were married.  That is sexual immorality according to most contemporary Christians.  (It was marriage according to some of their ancestors.)  Ian was a young single man but Roz was married.  That is adultery.  A Christian cannot forgive sexual immorality or adultery unless the sinner repents in a more formal way, demonstrates some sorrow over sin, and promises to take appropriate steps not to repeat that sin.  Looking into one another’s eyes and seeing into another’s heart may be good enough for repentant sinners, but Christians have rules to maintain.

Roz and Lil couldn’t stop sinning.  They decided they didn’t have to.  They decided to enjoy the time they had, knowing full well their young gods would get bored with them eventually.  One might say, For the joy set out for them they endured the cross of being rejected for younger, prettier women, disregarding its shame…^[34]  So Roz and Lil forgave each other for their lack of ἐγκράτεια (translated, self-control).

This forgiveness is a bit more difficult even for repentant sinners.  Others may question, even the sinners themselves may question, whether they are repentant sinners at all or simply unrepentant sinners.  I’ll continue to accept them as repentant sinners since they were resolved to accept the painful consequence of their sin.  What Roz and Lil discovered was not so much a change in the state of their repentance as an inability to quit their sin.

Forgiving continual, repetitive sin may be the most difficult of all for Christians.  Rules are flouted flagrantly.  Any demonstration of repentance seems dishonest at best.  But continual, repetitive sin is what Peter referred to when he asked, Lord, how many times must I forgive my brother who sins against me?  As many as seven times?^[35]  Not seven times, I tell you, Jesus answered, but seventy-seven times!^[36]  The note in the NET reads: “Or ‘seventy times seven,’ i.e., an unlimited number of times…”  Discovering one’s own inability to quit sin is a watershed moment for Christians.

It is that time when we may understand, and join in with, Paul, saying, Indeed we felt as if the sentence of death had been passed against us, so that we would not trust in ourselves but in God who raises the dead.^[37]  It is that time when we either learn to rely on the credited righteousness of God, the fruit of his Spirit, or we turn from Christ to take cold showers, think about baseball, or whatever other strategy we might come up with to establish our own righteousness, develop our own virtue, and maintain our own pride.

Roz and Lil were oblivious to all of this.  Neither studied Paul’s letters.  No one knowledgeable in the Scriptures came forward to teach them.  But they loved one another and they forgave one another.  Ian and Tom were also best friends.  Their story is not told in as great of detail but apparently they loved one another and forgave one another, too.  All four settled into their new life for a time.

Sunning themselves on the floating dock Roz and Lil swam to as children became the visual metaphor for peace and tranquility in the film (fig.1).  It is a beautiful counter-image to the contrary-wind-straining-at-the-oars image Jesus promised those who refused to forgive one another.

I’m not suggesting that forgiveness alone facilitated this idyllic equilibrium.  The two couples had shared a meal that functioned as a wedding feast in their microcosm.  Ian stood after dinner.  “Where are you going?” Roz asked.

“To your room,” Ian said as he walked away.  It was an awkward moment.  Roz had been publicly summoned to attend to the amorous desires of her young god.  It was an expression of Ian’s desire to be sure, but it was also a command no less than David’s summons of Bathsheba.  Lil knew it was no way for her son to speak to her best friend.  Tom knew it was no way for his best friend to speak to his mother.  But Tom also understood what was at stake.

“See you at yours,” Tom announced to Lil, and left the women alone to decide their next move.  They were free within the constraints of their joy and pleasure to accept or reject the boys’ assertions of rights over them.  Young gods they might be, but they were not kings.  It may seem like blackmail to some, but the women had the same joy and pleasure to offer.  They could have called their sons’ bluffs and waited them out at the dinner table to negotiate more favorable terms.  Apparently they surrendered to their lovers’ demands unconditionally.

From then on it was clear.  Though Roz was Tom’s mother, she was also Ian’s woman.  Though Lil was Ian’s mother, she was also Tom’s woman.  Though Tom was Roz’s son, he was also Lil’s man.  And though Ian was Lil’s son, he was also Roz’s man.  Yet Roz and Lil were still less than wives.  For they were still mothers and grandmothers-in-waiting who fully expected their sons to discard them for younger more fertile women.  The women not only relinquished the honor due them as mothers, but the fidelity due them as wives.  Clearly, they gave the most for these idyllic moments of peace and tranquility.

Tom was first to break the peace.  He journeyed to Sydney to direct a musical.  Lil knew that he was enchanted by Mary, his leading lady, even before he did.  She could hear it in his voice on the phone.  When Tom returned Lil sadly backed away to give way to Mary.  Roz, whether devoted to Lil or conscience-stricken herself, cut Ian off and sent him out to find a young woman of his own.  Both women promised to be good mothers-in-law, pillars of the community and grandmothers.

Roz’s uncharacteristic moral absoluteness seemed like an unjust and foreign law to Ian, like conquest and enslavement by an alien king.  He was content to remain faithful to his lover.  He couldn’t understand why he should be punished for Tom’s sin.  He took up with Hannah at Tom’s wedding to spite Roz.  He returned to Roz later that night.  He banged on her locked door, but she wouldn’t let him in.  Hannah, however, was devoted to him.

“She’s great,” Ian said of Hannah.  “She couldn’t be nicer.  I just…You know.”

“Yeah,” Tom replied.  He not only understood how Ian yearned for Roz, it was apparent he shared that yearning for Lil.

“Pretty soon I’m going to have to give her the elbow,” Ian said of Hannah.  But Hannah was pregnant.

Years passed before the next scene: Roz and Tom and Mary and their daughter scampered down to the beach with Lil and Ian and Hannah and their daughter.  The two little girls seemed to be on their way to becoming best friends.  Apparently Roz and Lil and Ian and Tom had forgiven one another again, and reached a new idyllic equilibrium, that included Hannah and Mary and their daughters.  But it didn’t last.

Ian discovered Tom and Lil that night and realized they had carried on a secret affair.  Though Ian had apparently resigned himself to Roz’s alien law he was clearly not a poet of it, but an actor, a hypocrite.  Angrily, resentfully, he blew the whistle on Tom and Lil in front of Hannah and Mary, and all the details of their pasts came to light.  Hannah was hurt and confused, but seemed to want to understand.  Mary, the actor, the hypocrite who seduced Tom as he attempted to be faithful to Lil, would have none of it.  She woke her daughter and left that night, encouraging Hannah and her daughter to leave with them.

In the end Roz and Ian, Lil and Tom were together again on the floating dock, though it was not so idyllic as before (fig. 2).  Mary and Hannah and their daughters were missing.  It was not hard to imagine angry waves beating against their little ships, as they strained at the oars against a contrary wind.  Mary could blame her circumstances on Tom’s and Lil’s sin.  Hannah could blame Ian and Roz.  But would they ever see that it was their own unforgiving hearts that had abandoned them to torment?

Roz had made room for Hannah and her daughter in her heart (as the filmmakers made room for them on the floating dock).  Ian was clearly a one woman man.  Admittedly, forgiveness might have come harder for Mary.  Lil had no self-control.  Tom gave no evidence that his harem would be complete with only two women.  But even Mary could do worse than to live among such forgiving repentant sinners.  Still, I don’t think the filmmakers intended to produce a treatise on forgiveness.

That was the mood I was in and the subject of my meditation when I saw it.  If “Adore” had some point beyond being an interesting, provocative movie I suppose it was a feminist cautionary tale.  Roz and Lil would have created less havoc in their sons’ lives if they had simply become lesbian lovers rather than expressing their love for each other by proxy, through their sons.  It’s not hard to see why “Adore” wasn’t a fan favorite among Christians.  This is the kind of film that makes Christians feel like Lot, living among the people of Sodom, day after day, that righteous man was tormented (ἐβασάνιζεν, a form of βασανίζω) in his righteous soul by the lawless deeds he saw and heard…^[38]

And I don’t mean to suggest that Lot (or Christians for that matter) should unilaterally forgive people to escape such torment.  We forgive repentant sinners because God has forgiven us.  Apparently, there were no repentant sinners in Sodom for Lot to forgive.  The inhabitants of Sodom were descendants of Canaan.  The origin of the Canaanites for better or worse is traced back to Noah’s curse.

Noah drank wine and exposed himself in a drunken stupor.  His son Ham saw his father’s nakedness and told his two brothers.^[39]  Apparently Ham’s attitude was more judgmental and derogatory than mere reportage.  When Noah awoke from his drunken stupor he learned what his youngest son had done to him.^[40]  So he cursed Ham’s son, Cursed be Canaan!  The lowest of slaves he will be to his brothers.^[41]

I’ve heard it preached that Noah was such a holy prophet God was honor-bound to fulfill even his curse.  This interpretation made some sense when I believed that Noah found favor in the sight of the Lord^[42] because Noah was a godly man; he was blameless among his contemporaries.  He walked with God.^[43]  As I began to believe that God has mercy on whom he chooses to have mercy, and he hardens whom he chooses to harden,^[44] I began to believe that Noah found favor in the sight of the Lord because the Lord chose to have mercy on him.  It followed naturally that Noah was a godly man, and was blameless among his contemporaries, and walked with God because he found favor in the sight of the Lord, because the Lord chose to have mercy on him.

Even a prophet, a herald of righteousness,^[45] like Noah could have a bad hangover one morning, slip the leash, so to speak, of the Holy Spirit’s ἐγκράτεια (translated, self-control) and say something foolish.  Despite the enormity of its impact tracked over many generations I don’t think Noah’s curse had any more or less power than any other grandfather’s hateful words to his grandson.

Though he died about forty-one years before Sodom was destroyed (fig. 3), he lived long enough to see what Canaan’s descendants became.  [Addendum: January 14, 2019 I may have been a bit too uncritical here of the dates in the Masoretic text.  See: Were the Pyramids Built Before the Flood?]  The Bible doesn’t say whether Noah regretted that curse or spent his last three centuries or so trying to justify it.  But it seems to me, even as a Christian, that it would be better to forgive my son’s offense, even unilaterally, than to curse my grandson for it.

As I consider how difficult it is for Christians to forgive anyone for anything, it becomes easier to understand why Jesus threatened us with torture.  I hope others can forgive me for refusing to see Matthew 18:35 as a proof-text for Jonathan Edward’s claim that God is the superlative torturer.