Category Archives: Matthew

Finding the Dry Ground

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A Sermon for the Salem United Church of Christ of Harrisburg, PA

by Rev. James Eaton, Interim Pastor ©2026

16th Sunday After Pentecost/A • Date

Exodus 14:19-31 • Matthew 18:21-35

“Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” That’s part of the Lord’s Prayer, a prayer we offer every Sunday. How often have you prayed this prayer? How often have you said these words? Not all Christians say the prayer this way. Methodists inherited saying trespasses and trespassers from their Anglican roots. I worked in a Methodist church when I was in seminary and trying to keep straight whether to say debts or trespasses was one of the hardest part of leading worship for me. Luke’s version of this prayer has the words ‘sins’ and lately I’ve noticed more and more churches using that version. But Matthew gives us the prayer in 6:12 with a Greek word that literally means debts and that’s what we use here. Debts are easy to understand; they have to do with what do I owe others, and what do others owe me? We have some agreed principles that govern things. My older daughter Amy announced one of these years ago regarding eating out: “The Dad pays”. I never questioned this. But now I have coffee almost every day with May, who makes a lot more money than me. So May quietly modified this; three days a week, I pay for her coffee, Saturdays she buys me breakfast. The debts is satisfied on both ends. 

But what happens when the issue isn’t as simple as dinner or coffee? What about injury? We have this little proverb you may have said: “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.” In other words, if you injure me once and then I forgive you and let you do it again, that’s my fault, not yours. So: forgive once. The Rabbis’ of Jesus’ time had settled on a more generous idea: forgive three times. That’s part of the background to the story we read in the gospel today. Jesus has ben talking about how we should treat each other and Peter brings up the issue of forgiveness. “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” [Matt .18:21] You see what he’s doing? He’s upping the count from three to seven. Jesus replies, “Not seven times, but I tell you, seventy-seven times.” [Matt. 18:22] That’s another way of saying, “Endlessly!”.

Then he tells a parable. What’s it like when God reigns? Well, it’s like a king who is owed 10,000 talents unbelievably forgiving it all. Do you know how much 10,000 talents is? It’s more than all the taxes for the whole Roman Empire for a single year. Our country currently owes about 41 trillion dollars. I have no idea how much that is, do you? It’s beyond counting. That’s the amount Jesus has in mind: something beyond counting. And look what the king does, he simply casually says, “Forget it”.  The debtor says, “oh, I’ll pay it”, but honestly it can’t be paid and the story says that out of pity for him, the king lets him go. But as he goes, he finds someone who owes him a hundred denarii; a denarius is a day’s pay, figure a hundred day’s pay. For me, that’s about $10,000, a little less than a third of what you pay me. It’s a lot of money but it’s payable. The guy asks for more time but the same man who had just been forgiven 10,000 talents, refuses and has him locked up. I’m guessing, just like the other slaves in the story you’re thinking, “that’s so unfair!” And the king thinks the same thing so he has the first guy imprisoned and the story concludes with him being tortured. Wow: where’ the gospel in this? Where’s the happy ending?

For that, you have to go back to the beginning. Remember Peter’s question? Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” [Matt .18:21] When Jesus replies, he’s not really setting a new number: he’s rejecting the whole notion of counting. In the parable itself, the King brings it back to just what we say in the Lord’s Prayer. The king says, “I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should not you have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?” [Matt. 18:32bf] The slave who was forgiven hasn’t done anything to his fellow slave outside custom or law. It’s the King who has moved outside those limits. The King forgave an unplayable debt so his slave could move forward. But the slave didn’t move forward, he didn’t see the new possibility of having his debt forgiven. In the same way, Jesus has been talking about God’s forgiveness but Peter hasn’t understood the point: just like the first slave in the parable, God forgives—but there is s purpose and the purpose is to allow God’s people to move forward, not to keep doing what they’ve always done, not continuing to count the debts of others. 

This is the key point about forgiving: it moves us forward. This is God’s will for us. We see this in the story of the Exodus. God’s people have been oppressed by the Egyptians and their cries come to God as the cries of the oppressed always do. God sends Moses to lead the people out of captivity but oppressors do what oppressors always do: they turn to violence. In the story of the Exodus, God’s people are led out by an angelic figure seen as a pillar of fire. When the Egyptian army pursues them, the power of God moves between the Egyptians and the fleeing slaves. Meanwhile, the wind of God moves on the water barring their way, moving it, dividing it, creating a dry path for them to walk. And they escape, they move farther on the way to the promised land, to the fulfillment of God’s promise, God’s purpose.

We don’t have to look far to see this. In April, 1963, the people of Birmingham, Alabama, rose up against the injustices of the system of segregation that prevented them from living the full lives God meant to give them. The campaign was led by children and it culminated in a march, meant to be a peaceful group of people going to their government to demand their rights. But just like the Egyptians, the powerful in that place responded with terrible violence. One of the leaders of that march was a young man named John Lewis. Lewis was beaten bloody that day but he never gave up. He became a leader and an example and served a long distinguished career in Congress. Lewis told this story.

A few years ago, a man from Rock Hill, inspired by President Obama’s election, decided to come forward. He came to my office in Washington and said, “I am one of the people who beat you.I want to apologize. Will you forgive me?” I said, “I accept your apology.” He started crying. He gave me a hug. I hugged him back, and we both started crying. This man and I don’t want to go back; we want to move forward. – Rep. John Lewis

Moving forward is God’s hope for all of us. And the way forward begins when we celebrate how God forgives us by forgiving others.

In a few minutes, we’re going to have an opportunity to pray the Lord’s Prayer again. In a few minutes, we’re going to be invited to say again, “Forgive us out debts as we forgive the debts of others.” In a few minutes, we are invited by these words to move forward. That’s God’s hope for us. That we will not be like the unforgiving servant and end up imprisoned by our past, by the endless counting of what others did to us, what others owe us. Instead, we are invited to find the dry ground the power of the resurrection is making for us. So today, I want to say, don’t worry about the walls of the past that loom like the water the people of God walked through; walk on the dry ground. Don’t worry about the walls of anger, walk on the dry ground of forgiveness. Don’t worry about the walls of bitterness, leave them behind and walk on the dry ground to the kingdom. That way begins with forgiveness and leads toward a life lived knowing, as Paul said, “We do not live to ourselves and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord, so then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.” [Romans 14:7f]

Amen

Hello?

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A Sermon for the Salem United Church of Christ of Harrisburg, PA

by Rev. James Eaton, Interim Pastor ©2026

Second Sunday After Pentecost • June 7, 2026

Genesis 12:1-9 * Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

I want to begin today with something that won’t make sense to some younger folks and I apologize for that. I want to take you back to a time when all phones were connected by wires to the wall. Do you remember that? Some were black things with a dial that had numbers and letters; in 1959 AT&T shocked us with the introduction of the Princess Phone, a curving bit of plastic that had a base but held the dialing wheel right on the phone. Back then, when the phone rang you generally picked it up and you had no idea who it was on the other end. It could be a friend, it could be a family member; it could be good news, it could be bad news, it could be someone who just wanted to chat. You let the call interrupt your day. There was no signal that said “likely spam” so you knew not to answer; there was no special ring tone for your best friend. Just the same ring for everyone, and you picked up the phone and said, “Hello?” All calls began the same way: picking up the phone, saying “Hello?” and then hearing the other voice telling you who it was and why they called.

Today, of course, calls are very different. Almost all of the calls I get are from people who want to make money off me; I get a lot of calls every single day from loan companies that want to give me money—so I will pay it back with interest. Some of the calls want me to give to good causes or campaigns for various candidates. All these have in common that they aren’t in my phone book so they first flash a message that says, “Likely spam” and generally I don’t answer, I hit a cancel button. I try not to cancel calls from any of you; those are what I call the “Hello?” calls, people I’m happy to hear from. Calls interrupt us; they ask for attention when we are paying attention to something else, they ask us to respond. That’s what’s happening in two of the stories we read today.

Matthew invites us to imagine Jesus walking along. Where is he going? We aren’t told. He’s not alone; he has some disciples with him, perhaps others, maybe some of the Pharisees who show up later. He sees a tax collector booth, the way we see toll booths on the highway. No one likes paying taxes and in this time, tax payers were especially hated because they were a symbol of Roman oppression. Everything had a tax on it, what you did, what you earned, and every time you crossed a bridge. Tax collectors paid a fee upfront for the right to collect the tax on something so there was a built in incentive to get as much as possible. They were people shunned in their community. Yet here is Jesus, walking by, and simply saying, apparently out of the blue, “Follow me.” 

It’s an interruption, a phone call out of the blue. We aren’t told what happens next but it must have been positive because in the next sentence, Jesus is at Matthew’s house, having dinner with him and other tax collectors and people who are described with the catchall term, “sinners”. Sinners means people who for whatever reason are thought of as not worthy to come before God. It’s shocking and some good church folk ask his disciples about it: Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” [Matt 9:12] Eating tougher is surrounded by customs in this time; no one just sits down with strangers. Yet here Jesus is, with a bunch of the unworthy, sinners, tax collectors, people no one wants. This is his answer: “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’  For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.” [Matt 9:13] It’s a 700 year old quote from the prophet Hosea. Jesus is looking back into the Biblical tradition to remind these Bible teachers of what the tradition truly teaches: God’s mercy for all, no distinction, no one left out, no one left behind.

Before they can say anything, there’s another interruption, another “Hello?” moment. A local leader—Mark calls him a leader of the synagogue—begs Jesus to come resurrect his daughter who has died. So they all leave the dinner and go off to deal with this crisis and on the way yet a third “Hello?” moment occurs. A woman with a woman who has been bleeding for years touches Jesus; in another version of the story, she grabs the fringe of his cloak. Women who are bleeding are definitely among those who are seen as unworthy, in Biblical terms ‘unclean’. No good and righteous man has contact with them but Jesus stops stock still and turns and says, “Take heart daughter, your faith has made you well”. He takes the time to heal her even though he’s apparently in a hurry.

Notice that he doesn’t examine Matthew’s fitness before he calls him; he doesn’t ask that the dinner guests be vetted before he eats with them, he doesn’t tell the woman to prove her goodness, he just heals her. These are all stories of interruption; these are all “Hello?” moments that show Jesus flinging God’s grace into the world as casually as a homeowner watering the lawn. No one waters just one section, or one bit of grass; you water the whole lawn. Jesus comes to save the whole world. He does it one table, one dinner at a time, because eating together is a way we have of connecting to each other. One writer said, 

I have many food-related memories from childhood. Food bank lines stacked with government-issued blocks of processed cheese my scrawny arms could barely carry. Mean lunch ladies who told me that free lunch kids like me could only have the white milk, not the chocolate milk. I learned early that food could divide people or make someone feel excluded. I learned the economic difference between white milk and chocolate.

I have other memories of food, such as my mother’s fried chicken. I remember those rare Sundays when she wasn’t working as a nurse’s aide, when she would invite folks from her church to Sunday dinner. It didn’t really matter who you were—you would lose your sense of etiquette trying to negotiate your favorite piece of that golden brown bird. I learned that food could make one feel welcome. I learned that hospitality—and, symbolically, food—could not only mediate social relationships but even break boundaries. Whom we ate with could be inclusive and recalibrate relationships. It was always powerful to see my mother as host and pastors and parishioners as grateful guests. God’s hello’s interrupt but they also break boundaries; God’s hello’s come out of the blue but lead us to God’s path.

We see the same patten in Genesis. The very word means beginnings and from Chapter 1, which we read last Sunday, until just before today’s reading, we have a series of stories that move from creation through humanity’s fall from grace to Noah and the flood and the rainbow covenant, God’s promise to never again wipe out all life. Then we’re given an explanation in the Tower of Babel of how languages are invented because of human pride followed by a long genealogy that takes us from Noah’s sons to Terah, the father of Abram. Suddenly the progression of legends and myths is interrupted. God speaks to Abram, a man just like any other man, and says, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land I will show you.” [Gen 12:1] Wow—in a time when your clan was all, when most people lived and died in the same area, this is a tremendous “Hello!”, an interruption of all life.

The section before this contains a long genealogy in which Abram’s wife, Sarai, is noted and we’re given this note: Sarai was unable to have children. Certainly this is significant in the culture where the primary job of a woman was to have children. What makes it even more stunning is that when God promises blessing, part of the blessing is, “I will make you a great nation.” How will this promise be realized with a woman who is barren? What did Sarai think about this call; what does she think about leaving everything? Surely she’s leaving her family and home too. No more visits to see them; no more going home for holidays, just a husband and his calling and his journey. Her life is being interrupted also: she doesn’t object, but it’s not clear she agrees.

Still, they go forward. God’s promises this: 

I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.

I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” [Genesis 12:2-3]

Go forth: become a blessing to everyone who will ever be. 

So they go, first to Canaan, which is now Israel, through Shechem. Now the interesting thing about Shechem is that it’s up in the hill country of what will later be Northern Israel and still later Samaria, a part of Israel conquered by the Assyrians and in Jesus’ time, a land of people who are rejected by the Jews themselves. That’s where Abraham builds the first altar to our God. There is where Abraham responds to God with his own hello. 

This is the beginning of our whole faith story. This is how God comes, interrupting lives, sending people to new places and new directions. What happens to Matthew when he follows Jesus? He stays with the disciples after Jesus’ crucifixion; he’s there after the resurrection, he becomes an evangelist. Early church leaders believed he wrote down stories of Jesus that became the Gospel of Matthew. Some legends say he was an preacher in what’s present day Iran where he angered a local king and was killed for his faith, becoming a martyr. The interruption became his life.

What happens to Abram and Sarai is that they continue to journey beyond Canaan. We’re going to hear more of their story this summer. The interruption becomes the foundation of their lives and the fountain that produces three great religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. All revere Abram and claim this story of the great interruption of his life as the beginning of their history with God.

These stories invite us to ask where God intends to interrupt our lives. Where is God saying hello to you today? Our church life is like our personal lives: it tends to float along day to day without much change. Where is God trying to interrupt our church? How would accepting that Hello change us?