Matthew 18:21-35 NRSV

My worst subject in school was always math. One day, I remember someone asking me, “Jarrett, what made you decide to go into the ministry?”  I responded, “They don’t have math in seminary.”

It is interesting that math is not the forte of most ministers I know. Someone told me that they once played golf with a pastor who always insisted that he keep score. He said: “At first, the other golfers and I didn’t mind the preacher keeping score, because surely a man of the cloth would never cheat. However, one day after looking over the scorecard, I had to speak up. I said: “Preacher, I don’t question your theology, and I don’t question your honesty, but I do question your mathematics.”

Now, I’m not completely ignorant when it comes to math. I can do simple math, good ol’ common sense math. One plus one equals two. Two plus two equals four. Three strikes and you’re out. But, when it starts to get more complicated than that, let’s just say I’m thankful for the calculator on my cell phone.

Like our gospel lesson this morning:

For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him.

Sounds like one of those fourth-grade math word problems that used to stress me out!

Unfortunately for me, as a sermon from United Methodist Bishop William Willimon once pointed out, there is, even in the gospel, a sort of mathematics.[1]  For when Jesus began teaching the ways of God, he brought us a new way of making calculations, and this math of Jesus is oftentimes very difficult for us to figure.

I am thinking about that woman who took nearly a quart of fine perfume, costing over a year’s salary, and poured it all over Jesus’ feet.  On his feet! The woman wastefully pours all that perfume, 60, 70, maybe 100,000 thousand dollars-worth all over Jesus, and then, Jesus has the audacity to praise her.  What kind of mathematics is that?

I am thinking about that time Jesus praises a shepherd who left behind 99 sheep, “in the wilderness,” in order to look for 1 lost sheep. What kind of math is that?

If you leave 99 sheep alone, vulnerable, in the wilderness, what do you think is going to happen when you are gone? When you get back from finding the one lost sheep, if you find it, common sense says you’re certain to return to far fewer sheep! How does that add up?

One day Jesus watched the rich making a big show dropping their bags of money into the temple treasury. Think about that: “A bag of money.” When’s the last time you’ve seen “a bag of money?” That’s a lot of money! But when Jesus saw a poor widow come and drop one penny into the temple offering, he said that she had given more than all the others put together.

Click on your calculator app and try to figure that one out!

And then there was a farmer who hired people to go to work in his vineyard. Some arrived at work just as day was dawning, others came mid-morning, others at mid-day, some in the afternoon, and then some slackers showed up just one hour before quitting time.

At the end of the day, this eccentric farmer called everybody together and paid everybody the exact same wage. Now, how on earth does he figure that one hour of work is worth the same amount as 12 hours of work?

Do you see the common theme which runs through all these parables? It’s an entirely different kind of math. In our mathematics one plus one equals two—one plus one always equals two, only two. But here, in this new math, the value of 1 may be equal to the value 99, depending on who’s doing the counting.

And one little coin is said to be worth more than several big bags of money, depending on who’s keeping the books.

When Jesus tells us the story about the farmer who hires servants to work in his vineyard, I suppose most of us hard-working, tax-paying, responsible citizens of the vineyard immediately identify with the servants who worked in the vineyard all day. To be told that somebody shows up in the vineyard just one hour before the end and gets the same as those who labored all day, well, that just doesn’t add up. And we are not ok with that.

However, if we could empathetically hear this parable from the standpoint of those workers who showed up late—the person who because of a disability, because of a family crisis, because of a lack of training, a lack of education, a lack of language proficiency, a lack of transportation, or for whatever reason, was only  hired at the end of the day but then  received the same wage as those who had been there the whole day—if we could hear it from their vantage point, I guarantee you, we’d be ok with it.

Yes, there’s a common theme running through these parables.  And it is not so much math as it is grace.

And if we are honest, this thing we call “grace” is sometimes difficult for us to figure.

We think to ourselves, “As far as God is concerned, if I do this, then I will receive that; and if I don’t do this, I will not receive that.”  But the truth is that our relationship with God is not a matter of what we do, or the way we figure it, but a matter of what God does, and the way God figures it.

Peter came to Jesus wondering how many times he should forgive someone who had wronged him. “Seven times?” The way we figure it, that number seems more than reasonable. Right? It’s hard enough to forgive someone one time, much less seven times.

But Jesus said, “You must forgive not seven times, but seventy times seven.” That’s a huge number, whatever it is.

“Built right into the heart of the gospel is an extravagant graciousness which refuses to be calculated.”[2]

Perhaps that is why many of us love the passage of scripture that comes right before our gospel lesson this morning.

Jesus said, “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone…if you are not listened to [STRIKE ONE], take one or two others along with you…If the member refuses to listen to them [STRIKE TWO], tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector [STRIKE THREE, YOU’RE OUT OF THERE!].”

Finally, something that we can figure out!  Some simple math—One plus one equals two. Be good and be rewarded. Three strikes and you’re out. Be bad and be punished.

But here’s the problem. When we place this mathematical calculation in the context of Jesus’ mathematics of grace, we get another result.

 As Eugene Boring has commented, Jesus’ “context is not of self-righteous vindictiveness, but of radical caring for the marginal and straying, and of grace and forgiveness beyond all imagining.”[3]

We like to think, “Yes! Treat them like tax collectors! Three strikes, they’re out!” But have you thought about how Jesus treated tax collectors?

Jesus called them to be his disciples. When they betrayed him, he washed their feet and served them from the table. And when they deserted him and denied him, he said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Then, he died for them.

The truth is, in our self-absorbed, self-centered, oftentimes vindictive little world, God’s math just doesn’t add up.

This time of the year I almost always hear someone comparing the losses that we suffer here from natural disasters to the losses suffered in poorer nations. They say things like: “the wealthy living on the coasts of Florida or Maui have much more to lose.” And if you think about it in terms of property values, the numbers might add up.

But that’s our math. It’s not God’s math.

Willimon would say that what they failed to calculate is that…

…small, insignificant numbers like one sheep, or one insignificant person, one little coin, one hour of labor, become very large in God’s mathematics. On the other hand, the impressive accomplishments and wealth of the rich and powerful are seen as nothing.  As the prophet says, God’s ways are not our ways. God’s measurements are not our measurements.

What we think adds up, doesn’t add up.

And here’s the really good news: because of God’s amazing grace, what we think doesn’t add up— adds up.

We look at something and say: “That just doesn’t make any sense. That doesn’t compute.  I don’t care how many times you count and recount, check and double check, that just doesn’t add up.”

And God responds: “Oh, yes it does! In the mathematics of my grace, it most certainly adds up!”

Spending several hours on a Saturday morning to feed our neighbors at Parkview Mission, yet going home feeling like someone has fed you—adds up.

Giving a $100 to disaster relief, not expecting one cent in return, yet feeling like someone has paid you ten times that amount — adds up.

Volunteering an hour to help someone in need when you do not have five minutes to spare, only to discover that you had plenty of time—adds up.

Going to a nursing home to bless someone, but leaving the nursing home having received a greater blessing—adds up.

Facing one’s own imminent death, yet feeling more alive than a newborn and more hopeful than a newlywed—adds up.

A congregation has a budget that is much smaller than it used to be because it is smaller than it used to be; yet, the congregation loves the people in their city so unconditionally, offers grace to others so unreservedly, and extends mercy so extravagantly, that it transforms not only their church, but their entire city, the region, even other parts of the world, in ways that are beyond their calculations—adds up.

One day, Pricilla, a dear friend of mine, called me to give me the news: “Brad and I have decided to adopt two more children from Ukraine.”

“Two more children!” I responded.

They had already adopted two the previous year, one was two and the other was three years old. They both had lived in an orphanage since they were born and suffered with PTSD and other issues.

As a concerned friend, I asked, “Do you really think that is wise? You’ve already adopted two children. And I know what a handful they are. Pris, I know you are a great mother, and I know Brad is a good father, but don’t you think there are limits?

Pricilla responded by saying something like: “When it comes to love, Jarrett, I have discovered there are no limits. I really don’t believe you can ever run out of love. The more love you give… the more love you seem to have.”

The good news is: In God’s mathematics, that adds up! Go figure!

---

[1]Idea for “Mathematics of Jesus” in the Matthean Parables was derived from William H. Willimon, The New Math (PR (33/3; Inter Grove Heights, Minnesota: Logos Productions, Inc., 2005), 49.

[2]Bruce Metzger, ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 27 NT.

[3]Leander Keck, ed., New Testament Articles, Matthew, Mark, The New Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary in Twelve Volumes, vol. 8 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 379.