In Matthew 18, Jesus tells a parable to teach his disciples what the kingdom of heaven is like. As with many of his parables, everything in the account relates to Christ and his church.
Jesus begins by describing a king who calls his servants to account. Scripture says, “When he [the king] had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand talents” (Matthew 18:24). Here was a servant deep in debt. He owed the king the equivalent of hundreds of millions of dollars, an amount he could never pay back.
Jesus doesn’t tell us how this man fell into such incredible debt. Some versions of the parable say the man was a slave, and that his debt was an unpaid loan. Yet all we know from Matthew’s gospel is that he had access to great resources, and he squandered them.
Let me point out two important things regarding this parable. First, the servants in the parable represent believers, those who work in God’s kingdom. So the indebted servant here was no stranger to the king’s work. Second, we find out later (in Matthew 25) that God’s purpose in giving his people talents is to bring forth fruit. All who receive talents from the Father are commanded to invest them. God doesn’t just give out talents indiscriminately. He expects to reap fruit from the investments he pours into his people.
Evidently, the king in Matthew 18 was dealing with servants who’d been exposed for committing crimes. And the servant in great debt was one of the first offenders to be brought before him. This servant was probably a very gifted man, with much expected of him. (Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had access to all that he’d squandered.) Yet when he was called to account, “He had not [nothing] to pay” (Matthew 18:25). So the king made this judgment: “His lord commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and children, and all that he had, and payment to be made” (18:25).
This man had nothing of value to exchange for his criminal debt. He had no money, no goods, nothing of merit to offer. So, what did he do? “He fell down, and worshipped him, saying, Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all” (18:26).
It’s important to know the meaning of “worshipped” here. The Greek word means “to fawn or crouch to; to kiss like a dog licking its master’s hand.” This man wasn’t on his knees repenting. He was fawning, trying to butter up his master. He wasn’t asking the king for forgiveness, but for patience. He wanted another chance, pleading, “Give me some time. I can make up for my sin, and satisfy all your demands.”
The truth was, this servant couldn’t possibly pay for his crime. He could never amass all that was needed to repay the funds he’d misused and squandered. I liken his attitude to that of a Christian who’s caught in adultery. When his sin is exposed, his first reaction is a phony, fawning sorrow. He cries, “Oh, God, don’t let me lose my marriage, my family. Don’t take my career. Don’t let me end up bankrupt. Be patient with me. I just need another chance.” Then he begs his spouse, “Please, give me one more try.” Yet in reality, this man can never make up for what he’s done. It’s simply impossible.
Jesus continues the parable: “The lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed him, and forgave him the debt” (Matthew 18:27). Why would the king be moved with compassion toward this fawning man? The servant wasn’t repentant. In fact, he had no concept of the exceeding sinfulness of his sin. We find this out later in the parable, when his heart is revealed to be hard and without compassion.
This man was an actor, with no intention of changing. And surely the king discerned that. After all, the king here represents Christ himself. He had to know that the servant was trying to play on his feelings, to work up his pity. Yet, in spite of this, the king was moved with compassion for him. Why? It wasn’t because of the phony tears. And it wasn’t because the servant begged for patience and more time. No, the king was moved because of the awful sickness that plagued this man’s heart and mind.
You see, only a terrible delusion could cause this servant to believe he could actually repay his master. His attitude reflected just how insignificant he thought his sin was. To him, it was just a small mistake that needed time to be fixed. He was convinced that if he worked hard enough, he could use his wits to balance the books. But the king knew otherwise. No amount of merit or self-will could work off the huge debt this man had incurred.
Are you getting the message? According to Jesus, we aren’t truly repentant until we acknowledge that it’s impossible for us to atone for our own sins. We can’t ever repay God for our trespasses, whether through prayer, consecration or good intentions. The New Covenant makes this clear. In the Old Testament, adultery was declared a sin to be punished severely. Yet Jesus took the sin of adultery even more seriously. He said that if a person even looks at someone lustfully, he has already committed adultery. In short, under the New Covenant, God’s demand for holiness became even greater.
Now, the king in Jesus’ parable knew just how crushing the consequences of his servant’s sins were. And he could see that if he gave this man over to those consequences, the servant would be lost forever. After all, the servant was already blind to the awfulness of his sin. And if he wasn’t forgiven, he would grow even harder. He would spiral downward hopelessly, becoming hardened for life. So the king decided to forgive him. He declared the man to be free and clear, releasing him from all debt.
Let me say a brief word here about repentance. This concept is often defined as a “turning around.” It speaks of an about-face, a 180-degree turn from one’s previous ways. Also, repentance is said to be accompanied by godly sorrow.
Yet, once again, the New Covenant takes an Old Testament concept even further. Repentance is about much more than merely turning away from sins of the flesh. It involves more than sorrowing over the past and being sad for grieving the Lord. According to Jesus’ parable, repentance is about turning away from the mind-sickness that allows us to believe we can somehow make up for our sins.
This sickness afflicts millions of believers. Whenever such Christians fall into sin, they think, “I can make things right with the Lord. I’ll bring him sincere tears, more earnest prayer, more Bible reading. I’m determined to make it up to him.” But that is impossible. This kind of thinking leads to one place: hopeless despair. Such people are forever struggling and always failing. And they end up settling for a false peace. They pursue a phony holiness of their own making, convincing themselves of a lie.
That’s why Jesus gave us this parable. He’s holding up to us an example of a trusted, gifted servant who is suddenly revealed to be the chief of all debtors. Here is someone who’s undeserving, full of wrong motives, not worthy of compassion at all. Yet his master forgives him freely — just as Jesus did for you and me.
Tell me, what saved you? Was it your tears and earnest pleadings? Your deep sorrow over grieving God? Your sincere resolve to turn from sin? No, it was none of these things. It was grace alone that saved you. And like the servant in the parable, you didn’t deserve it. In fact, you’re still not worthy of it, no matter how godly your walk is.
Here is a simple definition for true repentance. It means saying, “I must turn aside, once and for all, every thought that I could ever repay the Lord. I can never work my way into his good graces. Therefore, no effort or good work on my part can wipe out my sin. I simply have to accept his mercy. It’s the only way to salvation and freedom.”
Did the king overlook his servant’s sin? Did he wink at his debt and merely excuse it? No, not at all. The fact is, by forgiving him, the king placed upon this man a weighty responsibility. And that responsibility was even greater than the burden of his debt. Indeed, this servant now owed his master more than ever. How? He was responsible to forgive and love others, just as the king had done for him.
What an incredible responsibility this is. And it can’t be separated from Christ’s other kingdom teachings. After all, Jesus said, “If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Matthew 6:15). His point is clear: “If you don’t forgive others, I won’t forgive you.” This word isn’t optional, it’s a command. Jesus is telling us, in essence, “I was forbearing with you. I handled you with love and mercy. And I forgave you out of my goodness and mercy alone. Likewise, you are to be loving and merciful toward your brothers and sisters. You’re to forgive them freely, just as I forgave you. You’re to go into your home, your church, your workplace, into the streets, and show everyone the grace and love I showed you.”
Paul refers to Jesus’ command, saying, “Even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye” (Colossians 3:13). He then expounds on how we pursue obedience to this command: “Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering; forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any… And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness” (3:12-14).
What does it mean to be forbearing? The Greek word means “to put up with, to tolerate.” This suggests enduring things we don’t like. We’re being told to tolerate the failures of others, to put up with ways we don’t understand.
So, how did the forgiven servant respond to his master’s grace and forgiveness? The first thing he did was to attack a fellow servant who owed him money. He strode up to the man, grabbed him by the throat and demanded to be paid on the spot. Incredibly, the amount was a mere trifle, less than three days’ wages. Yet the servant threatened his debtor, shouting, “I want it now!” The man had nothing, so he fell prostrate, begging for patience. But the servant responded, “Your time is up.”
I tell you, this is one of the most abominable sins in all the Bible. First, it is perpetrated by a servant of God. Tell me, what kind of person would act this shamefully? What kind of heart could be so ungrateful, so lacking even a fraction of the mercy he himself had been shown?
We’re being shown a glimpse of the blackness that was in this servant’s heart all along. In Romans 2, Paul describes this blackness: “Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest does the same things…. And thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God? Or despisest thou the riches of his goodness and forbearance and longsuffering: not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance?” (Romans 2:1, 3-4).
What does Paul mean when he says this person despises the riches of Christ’s goodness? The word for “despised” here means, “He could not think it possible.” In other words, this believer said, “Such grace and mercy isn’t possible. I can’t fathom it.” It didn’t fit into his theology. So, instead of accepting it, he set his mind against it.
Why couldn’t the ungrateful servant accept the king’s grace? There is one reason: he didn’t take seriously the enormity of his sin. He was too self-determined, convinced he could overcome his own debt. Yet the king had already told him, “You’re free. There’s no more guilt, no more claim upon you, no probation or works required. All you need to do now is to focus on the goodness and forbearance I’ve shown you.”
Tragically, a person who doesn’t accept love isn’t capable of loving anyone else. Instead, he becomes judgmental toward others. That’s what happened to this servant. He missed the whole point of the king’s mercy to him. You see, God’s forbearance and unmerited forgiveness are meant for one thing: to lead us to repentance. Paul states, “The goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance” (Romans 2:4). Paul knew this firsthand, having claimed to be the chief of all sinners.
It’s clear from the parable that this is the reason the master forgave his servant. He wanted this trusted man to turn away from his own works of flesh to rest in the king’s incredible goodness. Such rest would free him to love and forgive others in return. But instead of repenting, the servant went away doubting his master’s goodness. He wouldn’t let go of the thought that the king might change his mind. So, he determined to have a contingency plan. And, despising the king’s mercy, he treated others with judgment.
Can you imagine the tortured mind of such a person? This man left a sacred place of forgiveness, where he experienced his master’s goodness and grace. But instead of rejoicing, he despised the thought of such unmitigated freedom. I tell you, any believer who thinks God’s goodness is impossible opens himself to every lie of Satan. His soul has no rest. His mind is in constant turmoil. And he’s continually fearful of judgment.
I wonder: how many Christians today live this tortured existence? Is that why there’s so much strife, so many divisions in the body of Christ? Is it why so many ministers are at odds, why so many denominations refuse to fellowship with each other?
The judgmental spirit inside the church is far worse than any judgment that goes on in the world. And this flies in the face of what Jesus said: “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:35). I ask you, can the world possibly recognize God’s people by this standard? Do unbelievers say, “Those people truly are his disciples. I never see them fighting. They really love each other”?
I have been absolutely shocked by the deep divisions I’ve witnessed in the church. I saw it firsthand at a pastors’ conference overseas. When I arrived, several prominent ministers warned me, “Don’t cooperate with Reverend So-and-so. He’s into bizarre worship and all kinds of charismatic foolishness. You shouldn’t give him any prominence at the meeting.” Even the man’s fellow Pentecostals told me to avoid him.
But when I met that pastor and got to know him, I saw Christ in him. At one point, someone whispered to me, “This man is one of the greatest men of prayer in our nation. He spends two full days each week just praying.” Indeed, I found the pastor to be kind, gentle and loving — the very fruits Jesus says we all are to have.
When I spoke, I invited the minister onto the platform with me, along with others. This offended many, and afterward several pastors derided me. All I could think was, “These men know what it means to be forgiven a great debt. Yet, of all people, these leaders of God’s church refuse to forbear with a fellow pastor they don’t even know.”
At another conference, I witnessed various denominations cooperating joyfully. There was a wonderful sense of unity among the Baptists, Pentecostals, Lutherans and Episcopalians. Each night, a leader from a different denomination led the meeting. One evening, a Pentecostal bishop welcomed the gathering. He was followed by a Pentecostal worship group. The young worshippers were full of joy, clapping their hands as they led the jubilant worship. I was later told that some of them had been delivered from drug addictions and were grateful just to be present.
But when I looked at the bishop, his face was turning red. He was frowning, beginning to seethe. I realized then that his denomination didn’t believe in boisterous worship. And I had joined in freely. After the meeting, the bishop strode up to me and declared, “That was disgraceful, totally of the flesh. How could you allow it to go on? I’m leaving this conference, and I’m taking all 200 of my pastors with me.”
I was dumbfounded, speechless. I had spent weeks on my knees in prayer, preparing for these meetings. Yet now I wondered what I’d done wrong. The truth is, I was being choked by this man’s anger. It was like the scene in the parable: he had grabbed me by the throat and was making an angry demand. Thankfully, the bishop had a change of heart and didn’t leave the conference. But what would so possess a minister of God to refuse to forbear with a fellow servant of Christ? There was no patience, no mercy, no love for others of like precious faith.
For years, a bishop from a certain denomination had invited me to his country to hold meetings. He pleaded, “This nation needs to hear what God has spoken to you.” Finally, the Lord released me to go, but only on the condition that all denominations would be allowed to take part in the meetings. When the bishop heard this, he refused to participate. And he forbade all of his ministers to attend. Why? They had been separated from other denominations for years. An associate of this bishop called to blast me, saying, “Shame on you. How could a man of God cooperate with such people?”
Who, exactly, were the people he was talking about? As I discovered, they were a Lutheran bishop who was full of Jesus…a group of humble Pentecostal bishops…and a Baptist bishop who had been imprisoned under Communism, where he’d read a hand-copied version of my book, The Cross and the Switchblade. All of these leaders were eager to worship together, as one in Christ. Can you imagine any other Christian leader refusing to fellowship with such a group?
What is behind such judgmental strife? Why do servants of God, who have been forgiven so much personally, mistreat their brethren and refuse to fellowship with them? It all can be traced back to the most grievous sin possible: despising the goodness of God.
I came to this conclusion only as I searched my own heart for the answer. I recalled my own struggle to accept God’s mercy and goodness toward me. For years, I had lived and preached under a legalistic bondage. I tried hard to live up to standards that I thought led to holiness. But it was mostly just a list of do’s and don’ts.
The truth is, I was more comfortable at Mount Sinai, in the company of thundering prophets, than I was at the cross, where my need was laid bare. I preached peace, but I never fully experienced it. Why? I was unsure of the Lord’s love and his forbearance of my failures. I saw myself as so weak and evil that I was unworthy of God’s love. In short, I magnified my sins above his grace.
And because I didn’t feel God’s love for me, I judged everyone else. I saw others in the same way that I perceived myself: as compromisers. This affected my preaching. I railed against evil in others as I felt it rise up in my own heart. Like the ungrateful servant, I hadn’t believed God’s goodness toward me. And because I didn’t appropriate his loving forbearance for me, I didn’t have it for others.
Finally, the real question became clear to me. It was no longer, “Why are so many Christians hard and unforgiving?” Now I asked, “How can I possibly fulfill Christ’s command to love others as he loved me, when I’m not convinced he loves me?”
I think back now to the bishop who was enraged at the boisterous worship. I believe that man acted in fear. He saw God’s anointing on those singers, and he heard my sermon, which he knew was from God’s throne — and it threatened his traditions. He was clinging to a doctrine more than to Christ’s love. And that doctrine had become a wall that alienated him from his brothers and sisters in Christ.
Paul admonishes, “Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: and be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you” (Ephesians 4:31-32).
We must take to heart this word from Christ’s parable: “O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt… Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow servant, even as I had pity on thee?” (Matthew 18:32-33).
Nobody has been forgiven more sins than I have. I’m one of those who have been cleared of “sins over my head,” iniquities of flesh and spirit too numerous to count. I have disobeyed God’s Word, limited his work in my life, been impatient toward people, judged others while standing guilty myself. And the Lord has forgiven me of it all.
The question for me now — indeed, for every Christian — is this: “Do I forbear with my brethren? Do I put up with their differences?” If I refuse to love and forgive them, even as I have been forgiven, Jesus calls me a “wicked servant.”
Don’t misunderstand: this doesn’t mean we’re to allow compromise. Paul preached grace boldly, but he instructed Timothy, “Reprove, rebuke, exhort with all longsuffering and doctrine” (2 Timothy 4:2). We’re to be bold guardians of pure doctrine.
Yet we’re not to use doctrine to build walls between us. That was the sin of the Pharisees. The law told them, “Keep the sabbath holy.” But the command itself wasn’t enough for their flesh. They added their own safeguards, multiple rules and regulations that allowed the fewest possible physical movements on the sabbath. The law also said, “Do not take God’s name in vain.” But the Pharisees built even more walls, saying, “We won’t even mention God’s name. Then we won’t be able to take it in vain.” In some Jewish sects, this wall is still in force today. But it is a wall of man’s making, and not God’s. Therefore, it is bondage.
Today, the Lord tells us, “Be ye holy; for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16). But men have taken this command and used it to build walls. They’ve handed down dress codes, codes that restrict behavior and activities, impossible standards that even they can’t meet. These walls have built up an invisible fortress, and only those inside it are considered holy. All those outside the walls are condemned and to be avoided.
I tell you, this is wickedness of the worst kind. Jesus’ parable makes that clear. Such people are grabbing others by the throat and demanding, “It’s my way, or no way at all.” But none of the Lord’s commands were meant to be made into walls of alienation.
What was the king’s response to his servant’s ingratitude in Jesus’ parable? Scripture says, “His lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him” (Matthew 18:34). In Greek, this translates, “taken to the bottom to be tormented.” I can’t help thinking Jesus is speaking here of hell.
So, what does this parable tell us? How does Christ sum up his message to his disciples, his closest companions? “So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses” (18:35).
As I read this parable, I shudder. It makes me want to fall on my face and ask Jesus for a baptism of love toward my fellow servants. Here is my prayer; I urge you to make it yours as well:
“God, forgive me. I am so easily provoked by others, and too often I respond in anger. Yet I don’t know where my own life would be without your grace and forbearance. I am amazed at your love. Please, help me to understand and accept your love for me fully. That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to fulfill your command to love. Then I’ll be able to forbear with my brethren, in your Spirit of love and mercy.” Amen.