Remember God's covenant, overlook faults

By John Pearring

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/091320.cfm
Sirach 27:30—28:7
Romans 14:7-9
Matthew 18:21-35

I’ve taken the readings for September 13 for my reflection this week. Rather, God plopped them in my lap. I need to attend to something. I must overlook the faults of others. Some of us are better at this. Sirach speaks about the stranger in his verses about overlooking other’s faults. It’s not the stranger, really, that’s so hard to deal with. It’s the ones we love. I am randomly and skittishly adroit at forgiving my loved one’s faults.

I do not mean to leave out the heinous overlords of life when I make this generalization. I know about controlling people who impose themselves upon folks. Yet, I would propose it is the spouse, the sibling, the parent, and the children who exact the worst kinds of pain. If that’s not true for you, then just insert that despicable person, or that specific despicable part of a person, that can make your life a living hell.

I’m making a huge assumption here. Everyone one of us has that needling thing fraught upon us by some beloved relative which sends us up the wall. I am personally experiencing that from several family members, so none of them can expect they are the culprit. And, the direction of this reflection isn’t the culprit. It is, as Sirach says, us. We are in charge of what must be addressed. It is me who must take the better path.

When caught in a nightmare of a recurring oppression, which is really only truly possible with a loved one, as I propose, the quagmire isn’t our situation. According to Sirach, that is. The quagmire is our refusal to offer mercy. Our situation is really unimportant. Mercy is the thing.

Wrath and anger are hateful things,
yet the sinner hugs them tight.

I have fallen into this hugging dilemma, grasping at my sanity and my source of decorum, failing to realize that the wrath and anger is coming from me. It’s no easy recognition. It’s not a logical answer to place the problem of tightly held sin upon ourselves, rather than our oppressor. Yet, our anger and wrath turn into vengeance, that familiar and gritty animalistic solution to our pain, which then overwhelms the sin of some other person.

The vengeful will suffer the LORD’s vengeance,
for he remembers their sins in detail.

Dang. Again the voice of God through Sirach’s ancient reporting specifies that the ready sin of vengeance is ours. The sin of oppression is another’s issue. Instead, God insists that we forgive our love one’s injustice as the solution to both our sinful ways.

“… then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven.”

I’m convinced quite easily that such a response to injustice makes more sense than vengeance. The resulting tightness of sin in its evil calculations are quite familiar, though. Convinced and implemented are two very different processes. I pray you grasp the conviction also. My stronger prayer effort is that you can implement Sirach’s urging. He is wholly correct. No other thing can address oppression and misery better than prayer. Prayer opens our arms, lightens our grip, and places God in our midst. In that midst, God works with us in cooperation, rather than holding us back on flailing leashes. Without cooperation God holds onto us like dogs gone nuts.

Such a clear-headed writer Sirach is.

Could anyone nourish anger against another
and expect healing from the LORD?

Certainly not. God can only send in a referee, or if things go too far, a coroner. Rabid dogs can muster quite a strength against even the strongest of handlers. Yet, beyond the obvious skirmishes, there is another point here. Sirach continues with further clarity.

Could anyone refuse mercy to another like himself,
can he seek pardon for his own sins?

Of course, we cannot. For everyone is like us. Not just in many ways, but in too many ways. Our faults hammer on the patience of those who love us. We know too well that those faults will likely remain with us for our whole life. It’s not just our personality that is at fault, but our practiced, formed, and scheduled sinfulness. Hopefully, we reckon more quickly that we have repeated these sins. We fall more quickly to our knees in shame, seeking God’s immediate washing away, so we can return to him and to our loved ones with joy. These joyful moments may seem less often, but I’d put money on the stretching of time between our sinful repetition when we turn quickly back to God. I’d take that bet.

If one who is but flesh cherishes wrath,
who will forgive his sins?

Sirach nails the reason for centering on our sinful reaction to oppression, rather than the situations where we find ourselves. The ugliness of hateful things is the deeper sin of cherishing the familiar harbor of wrath. The place where we  park our boat of anger. 

Can we be blamed for our sin when a steady blunt object pounds at our heart? I’m afraid so. One we love cannot stop their oppression because their fault is too well fixed. Just like ours. What goodness comes from our wrath, though? Our loved one needs our prayers, and our unflagging mercy. As do we.

If we must swallow something hard in order to pray for them we’re missing the point. That’s a too terrible thing about this whole set of verses. Prayer and mercy are not an internal tightening of our grip upon wrath, as if we could squeeze it away. Prayer and mercy move God into our innards, where our heart and our mind resides. We must loosen all grips.

How do we shift to God and so away from our tortured pain?

Remember your last days, set enmity aside;
remember death and decay, and cease from sin!

Death and decay are the results of this age’s temporary state, a dwindling amount of time left in the grip of other’s wrath and anger. The hateful things do not win. And the list of hateful things spawn from ten scriptural trunks of rooted evil, outlined in the Mosaic tablets.

Think of the commandments, hate not your neighbor;
remember the Most High’s covenant, and overlook faults.

So, dagnabit, we must “overlook” the faults of others. Most especially those we love. The Most High’s covenant was embellished and renewed at Jesus’ rising and his promise to us. We are redeemed. God gathers us under his wing, and welcomes us into his heavenly abode. As brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, and even kings and queens. 

That’s the internal shift that lives among us, and allows us to eagerly pray and call for God’s mercy.