3-10-2019 “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” ~ Luke 23:34

Sunday, March 10, 2019 ~ Lent I

Dr. John Tamilio III, Pastor

Sermon Series on the Seven Last “Words” of Christ

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” ~ Luke 23:34

According to the chronology of the seven last “words” of Christ, which is not at all clear, this is the first thing he said when he was nailed to the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” We interpret this verse as Jesus saying to God, “These people who are crucifying me do not know what they are doing.” Could Jesus be talking about people other than his executioners? The people who condemned Jesus to death did not know what they were doing. The guards who mocked and beat Jesus in the courtyard didn’t know what they were doing. The crowd who demanded his blood over Barabbas’ did not know what they were doing either.

But can we take this a step further? Maybe Jesus is also saying that Judas did not know what he was doing when he betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. Maybe Peter didn’t know what he was doing when he denied Jesus three times before the rooster crowed ushering in the day of death. Maybe the rest of the disciples didn’t know what they were doing, because they scattered like sheep when the shepherd was struck, just as Jesus predicted quoting the prophet Zechariah.

But maybe we can take it even further than the biblical narrative. Maybe Jesus is talking about us. Maybe we don’t know what we are doing — and, therefore, we are in dire need of God’s forgiveness.

Wait. Why did I even use the word “maybe” in the last sentence? There is no maybe. We don’t know what we’re doing. We think we do. We read the Bible, we pray, we worship God. We try to deepen our spirituality and follow God through acts of compassion and service. But do we really know what we are doing? More often than not, we get it wrong. What’s worse, we sometimes do this in the name of God!

That last point is a sermon in itself. Let’s stick with the other idea: that we often get it wrong and that Jesus prays for us in spite of this, just as he prayed for those who crucified him.

How is it that we do not know what we are doing? It has to do with the veil of sin.

The Reformation theologian Martin Luther saw sin as a veil that obscures our vision. It prohibits us from seeing things the way they really are. Just as the Jews had a curtain that separated the people from the Temple Tabernacle (the holiest of holies), so sin creates a veil that separates us from God. That’s how sin works. It isn’t something we consciously choose all the time, but it happens just the same. It is as if we are travelers who become lost, because we cannot see the road in front of us clearly. Maybe we get lulled into taking the easy way out. Maybe our culture justifies certain behaviors so much that they no longer seem wrong to us. That is partly how the veil of sin works.

Sometimes we pull the veil over our eyes ourselves, though. This occurs when we know what we are doing, but we justify our actions just the same.

“Everyone cheats on their taxes. Why can’t I?”
“What my wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Nobody was hurt by me lying, so who cares?”
“That person was mean to me, so she deserved what I did in return.”
A child might say, “My friend dared me to steal that candy bar. You can’t blame me!”

You can justify sins all you want, but they’re still sins.

Did the people who crucified Jesus know what they were doing? I’m sure they did. Maybe they didn’t realize who they were doing it to. Maybe that was the essence of Jesus’ prayer! (My seventh grade English teacher, Ms. Crowell, is rolling over in her grave right now. I should have said, maybe they didn’t realize to whom they were doing it.) Maybe that is the crux of this supplication from the condemned Christ.

The identity of Jesus is central to our theology. The beginning of any Christian theological system has to answer the question, “Who is Jesus?” This is not unlike the question Jesus asks his disciples. “Who do people say that I am?” They give him all kinds of answers. Some say you’re John the Baptist. Some say you’re Elijah. Some say you are Jeremiah or one of the prophets. But it isn’t until Peter says, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” that the proverbial bell sounds, and Peter is granted the keys to the kingdom. Unless our answer to this question is similar to Peter’s, then we do not know what we are doing either.

Regardless, the beauty of this passage is that Jesus intercedes for us even when we are at our worst. He asks for our forgiveness. Writing about this verse, Darrell L. Bock writes, “Thinking of others, Jesus still desires that they change their thinking…and that God not hold their act against them. Jesus’ love is evident even from the cross.”[1]

This is truly something divine. How often do we forgive? We have a hard time forgiving people for the pettiest offenses. Imagine if someone did something to us even close to being on par with crucifixion. Would we forgive them? Hardly!

In an article from the online magazine Issues I Face, Lynette Hoy (no relation to Jan; it’s spelled differently), Hoy writes, “Human behavior suggests that people are hardwired to retaliate when they have been hurt by another person. Our pride or self-esteem is injured. Our expectations or dreams are disappointed. We lose something very valuable to us and want recompense for the damages.”[2] Maybe that is why we are so quick to sue one another. Pride gets in the way. I also think that we like to hold on to anger. It gives us some bizarre advantage over others. I once heard someone say that withholding forgiveness is like drinking poison expecting that it will kill your enemy.

Most (if not all) of you know the line in the Lord’s Prayer that reads, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” We’re not saying, “forgive us God, because we have forgiven others.” We are saying, “Help us forgive others as you have forgiven us.”

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Maybe we do. Maybe we don’t. Regardless, the One who died for us, carrying our sins to the cross, forgives us for what we have done (and continue to do) to him through our many sins. May the Living Christ remain with us as we trod this stony, Lenten road. Amen.

[1] Darrell L. Bock, Luke, Vol. 2: 9:51-24:53 (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1996), 1850.

[2] Lynette Hoy “Why Is It So Hard to Forgive?” from Issues I Face, issuesiface.com.