Forgiveness is Mercy in Action

 Tuesday of the Third Week in Lent: Daniel 3:25, 34-43, Matthew18:21-35.

Today’s readings slide from Azariah’s beautiful placement of his fate in God’s hands to the damning of the unmerciful servant in the gospel. If ever there was a day to consider the term fear of God, this is it. The Books of Psalms and Proverbs mention fear of the Lord many times, calling it “the beginning of wisdom” and the “fountain of life” and proclaiming that the person who lives in the fear of the Lord is “blessed.” St. Thomas Aquinas reminds us that fear of God is one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and it is best understood not in terms of fearing something evil but fearing being separated from our Father – a filial fear.

Detail from A Hermit Praying (1663), Gerbrand van den Eeckhout | Image from

Fear is a gift? How gauche, how antiquated! We live in a time when liberation holds the highest cultural value. Women are speaking up about abuse, blacks and other people of color are stepping out from the yoke of persecution, and people (alive and dead) are being “cancelled” if they have racism, sexism, or other some other form of aggressive prejudice in their past. In large part, these are laudable things — women and people of color should be respected and held up as equal humans — perhaps with the exception of the “cancel culture” where we are playing judge and executioner rather than passing along God’s mercy (more on that below). But as we are swept up in this moment of enforcing equality, we have to remember that no one is equal to God, and that is right and just. We cultivate a fear of God because He is so absolutely other. He is uncreated, not on the same level of being as us in any way. He is absolute love, goodness and truth, and the only real power, glory and honor belong to Him. In comparison, we are but dust and owe our Maker the respect and love that He is due. To help us, the Holy Spirit gives us the gift of fear of God, something that aligns us spiritually, that endows us with the appropriate humble stance in front of our Creator.

This is the way we should be thinking about the fear of God as we examine today’s readings: a gift to be treasured, one that gives us wisdom and blesses us, a feeling in our gut that we never want to be separated from our Father and the knowledge that our actions and hearts must be in line with God’s will in order to stay united with Him and His grace.

This type of fear of God is evident in Azariah in the first reading. This is part of the much-celebrated episode when the three young Jews Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael are punished by Nebuchadnezzar for refusing to worship the gigantic golden idol he builds on the plain of Dura. They respond to the accusations against them by saying, “we have no need to present a defense to you in this matter. If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us.” In a rage, he sentences them to be bound and cast into a fiery furnace so hot that it burns to death the men who throw them in.

Dancing Hebrew youths, Mishael, Azariah and Hananiah, in a fiery furnace of Nebuchadnezzar (contemporary) Zoriy Fine | Image from

We read the Prayer of Azariah in today’s readings, which he offers to God when they are inside the furnace. Importantly, Azariah prays not for the three of them, but for the entire nation of Israel, “for the sake of Abraham, your beloved, Isaac your servant, and Israel your holy one.” He notes how depleted Israel is (indeed, they’ve been conquered by the Babylonians and many have been dragged to Babylon). In a clear reference to the psalms, he says he has no offering but his “contrite heart and humble spirit.” (Psalm 51 reads: “For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased. The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”)

Having declared his pure intentions, he says, “we fear you and seek your presence.” As we shall see in the gospel reading, this deep respect, this profound obeisance, is key to our request for mercy. The entire prayer reaches its climax with his request: “deal with us in your patience and in your abundant mercy. Deliver us in accordance with your marvelous works, and bring glory to your name, O Lord.” How important that Azariah understands that all must point back to God and his glory! He asks for deliverance not just out of a selfish desire for his own life, but knowing that Nebuchadnezzar would be amazed at the power of God to save his people. Most importantly, he models for us what a gift fear of God is.

Spoiler alert: the three young men are saved by God and not harmed in the fiery furnace.

Upon their deliverance, the three young men dance and sing in the furnace a great canticle of thanksgiving, one that we use in our liturgy: Week 1 Sunday Morning Prayer of the Divine Office, and repeated for each solemnity and other high feast days. The canticle is one of my favorites to chant during the Liturgy of the Hours because it starts by blessing God and then goes through all of creation, encouraging everything to bless the Lord. This canticle is important because Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael not only model for us the fear of God and heartfelt pleas for mercy, but also the correct response once you’ve received His mercy: sharing that mercy with all of creation.

The Parable of the Unmerciful Servant in today’s gospel reading starts strong. The servant who owes an impossible amount of money to the king follows the lead of Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael, showing proper respect for and dependence on the king. The original Greek uses the verb προσεκύνει (a form of proskynesis), which is often translated as “worship” elsewhere in the Bible and means to bow on your knees in a display of supplication and reverence. 

Further examination of the Greek helps us understand the exchange between the servant and the king. Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis writes in Volume II of his masterwork Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word, “God responded at once to the servant’s plea because the man used one of God’s dearest names in adoration of him: ὁ Μακροθύμος—’the Long-suffering One’. The man’s plea is said to have affected the almighty King’s very viscera (σπλάγχνα), hidden under all his golden robes … ‘the Lord of that servant was viscerally moved to compassion'” (647-648). The king is so moved that he forgives his entire debt! In this way, Jesus is describing God the Father in his overflowing forgiveness and mercy, far beyond our expectations. 

The parable then turns, however, and reveals that the servant’s display of respect was only skin deep. He finds a fellow servant who owes him a much smaller debt and instead of forgiving this debt in turn, as his king forgave him, he chokes him, refuses to show him mercy, and has him imprisoned. This is a grievous sin.

Parable of the Wicked Servant (La parabola del servo malvagio), 1620, Domenico Fetti | Wikimedia Commons.

The king’s action is not merely a good example for the servant. God’s mercy is a thing, alive, needing to course through us into the world. His mercy is the living force of love in the world. Leiva-Merikakis beautifully describes this, “Our vocation is to ignite conflagrations of love and forgiveness all around us. God’s light intends to be refracted through our being: it shines upon us not only for our own benefit, to dispel our own darkness, but also to stream through us and beyond us” (649). 

Our very “vocation,” our purpose on the earth, is to share God’s mercy in the world. By so doing, we accomplish God’s will. But refusing mercy is the perversion of the Spirit. In the parable, the unmerciful servant shows that he does not have the type of fear of the Lord that is wholesome and transformative. The other servants must react at his perversion of the Spirit: “Now when his fellow servants saw what had happened, they were deeply disturbed, and went to their master and reported the whole affair.” Not sharing mercy with others is a cardinal sin. This leads us to the conclusion of the parable and a glimpse of divine justice.

Even if it makes us uncomfortable, we must accept that God rightfully expresses anger when His goodness is hoarded and discarded. Divine justice hinges upon how we use the gifts God bestows on us, principally mercy: is it shared and given forth to others in acts of charity and love or is it discarded and replaced by selfishness, greed, and sadism? When we discard the energy of God Himself, we embrace the energy of evil, of the devil. What’s more, we reject ourselves, our purpose, to help bring others to God and into the Kingdom. We become an abomination of everything God has created us to be.

The Unmerciful Servant (1864), artist: After Sir John Everett Millais, Engraved and printed by Dalziel Brothers | Creative Commons, courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

So, we read that “in anger his master handed him over to the torturers.” Let’s look closely at the original Greek as we wrap our heads around God’s righteous anger and act of divine justice in this passage. The verb for his anger is ὀργισθεὶς (orgistheis), which can be translated as “moved to anger” or “provoked to anger.” Here we see that the king is provoked or moved by the actions of the servant; it is a response to something the servant has done. We must recall that while God is indeed all that is good, He is also the source of moral behavior, moral decision making, and moral valence (that is, what is good vs. what is bad). As such, he stands as the judge of behavior, and a judge is not silent when presented with something. Actions either uphold the good or go against the good. Being “moved to anger” means that He stands in His role as judge and proclaims the evil that He sees.

Why anger? Why not sadness or emotionless judgment? Well, let’s return to the kind of God we know we have: one who overflows with love for his people and his creation. Is this the sign of impassivity? Should we expect a divinity so pure and full to not react viscerally to both the goodness He finds in us as well as the evil He finds in us? As it appears in today’s reading, God is viscerally moved to compassion — σπλαγχνισθεὶς (splanchnistheis) where the word σπλαγχνα (splanchna) means interior organs or intestines — and we can expect that he can be viscerally moved to something other than compassion when encountering evil. I don’t presume to know what he is moved to, but the scriptures tell us many times that he is moved to anger, so I take divine revelation for what it is.

In his anger, the king “handed him over”: παρέδωκεν (paredōken), which occurs 18 times in the New Testament, notably when Judas hands over Christ to the chief priests, when Pilate hands over Christ to be crucified, and when Christ gives up his spirit in death. This is an irrevocable step in delivering something. And to whom does the king hand over the servant? The torturers, who will enact pain upon him “until he should pay back the whole debt” (200,000 years, I guess). We can rightfully say that in His goodness God does not take pleasure in this torture and note that He does not inflict it Himself. Gehenna/Hell is set up for this purpose, a place for the people who pervert the Spirit and undermine God’s law.

So as to not end this reflection as a total downer, let’s end with some wise words from Leiva-Merikakis, for whom today’s reading in part gives him the title for his three-volume work on St. Matthew’s gospel.

The only thing we should be afraid of is not being merciful as our heavenly Father is merciful, for it is from unmercy that the most dire consequences flow, the ones reaching most deeply and devastatingly into both our psyche and our eternal destiny. For the Kingdom of Heaven is a kingdom of mercy, and mercy is never realized in the abstract but only through a concrete exercise of forgiveness. … Therefore, the ability to forgive our brother unceasingly and from the heart should be one of the primary concerns of our prayer, one of the most earnest pleas we make before the Throne of Grace (654).

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