Homily for the 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A, September 13, 2026
“FORGIVEN TO FORGIVE: THE MERCY THAT SETS US FREE”
Friends, forgiveness is powerful. It can heal what medicine cannot heal. It can restore what time cannot restore. It can rebuild what anger has destroyed. It can open a door that pride has kept locked for years. And yet, forgiveness is one of the hardest things God asks of us.
We can forgive small offenses. We can forgive mistakes we quickly forget. But what about the betrayal that still hurts? What about the person who wounded us deeply? What about the family member who broke our trust? What about the friend who turned against us? What about the person who never apologized? What about the wound that happened years ago but still feels fresh?
Today's Gospel takes us directly into that difficult territory. Peter approaches Jesus and asks:
“Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive? As many as seven times?”
Peter probably thinks he is being generous. Seven times! That sounds like a lot. Perhaps Peter expects Jesus to say, “Yes, Peter. Seven times is enough.” But Jesus surprises him:
“I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times.”
In other words: Do not put a limit on forgiveness.
Jesus is not giving Peter a mathematical formula. He is describing a way of life. Christian forgiveness is not something we do occasionally. It is something we become. Because the Christian life begins with a profound realization: I am a forgiven person. Before I ask how many times I should forgive another person, I must remember how many times God has forgiven me.
The first reading from the Book of Sirach speaks with extraordinary directness:
“Forgive your neighbor’s injustice; then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven.”
And then it asks: “Could anyone nourish anger against another and expect healing from the Lord?”
What a question! Could I hold on to anger and still ask God for mercy? Could I refuse to forgive someone and then confidently pray, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us”?
Every time we pray the Lord's Prayer, we are making a dangerous and beautiful request. We are asking God to forgive us as we forgive others. Think about that. We are essentially saying:
“Lord, treat me with the same mercy with which I treat others.”
That should make us pause. Because sometimes we want God's mercy for ourselves but justice for everyone else. When we make a mistake, we say: “Please understand me.” When someone else makes a mistake, we say: “How could they do such a thing?” When we hurt someone, we say: “I didn't mean it.” When someone hurts us, we say: “I will never forget what you did.”
We want God to consider our circumstances. But we sometimes refuse to consider the circumstances of others. We ask for mercy when we are guilty. But we demand judgment when someone else is guilty. Today's Gospel reminds us: You cannot fully receive God's mercy while deliberately refusing to extend mercy to others.
Jesus tells a story about a servant who owes his master an enormous debt. The debt is so great that the servant could never possibly repay it. He falls to his knees and begs: “Be patient with me, and I will pay you back in full.” But the master does something astonishing. He does not negotiate. He does not reduce the debt. He does not give the servant more time. He simply forgives the entire debt. The man walks away free. Imagine that moment.
He came into the presence of his master carrying an impossible burden. He leaves carrying nothing. His debt has disappeared. His future has been restored. His dignity has been returned. He has received something he could never earn. Mercy. But then something tragic happens.
That same servant encounters another servant who owes him a much smaller amount. The man begs him: “Be patient with me.” The very words he himself had just spoken to his master. But he refuses. He grabs him. He chokes him. He demands payment. The servant who had been forgiven refuses to forgive. And Jesus asks us to see ourselves in that story.
Because sometimes we are that servant. God has forgiven us more than we will ever understand. He has forgiven our sins. He has forgiven our failures. He has forgiven our weaknesses. He has forgiven the things we regret. He has given us another chance. And yet sometimes we turn around and say to another person: “I will never forgive you.”
The tragedy is not simply that the servant refused to forgive. The deeper tragedy is that he forgot that he himself had been forgiven. And perhaps that is the greatest obstacle to forgiveness: We forget mercy. We forget how patient God has been with us. We forget how many times we have fallen and been lifted up. We forget how many times we have disappointed God and yet He did not abandon us. We forget how many times we have prayed: “Lord, have mercy on me.” And mercy came.
My brothers and sisters, forgiveness does not mean that what happened was acceptable. Forgiveness does not mean pretending that the wound never happened. Forgiveness does not mean that there should be no consequences for serious wrongdoing. Forgiveness does not always mean restoring a relationship to exactly what it was before. And forgiveness certainly does not mean placing ourselves back into situations where we may be harmed again.
Forgiveness means refusing to allow another person's sin to poison the rest of our life.
This is important. Sometimes we think that refusing to forgive gives us power over the person who hurt us. But often the opposite is true. When we refuse to forgive, we allow the person who hurt us to continue hurting us. They may have wounded us once. But our resentment can make us relive the wound every day. They may have walked away years ago. But we continue carrying them in our hearts. They may have forgotten what they did. But we continue remembering it. We replay the conversation. We revisit the betrayal. We rehearse what we should have said. We imagine what we would say if we saw them again. And slowly, the wound becomes part of our identity. Jesus comes today to set us free. He tells us: Let it go.
Not because what happened did not matter. But because your peace matters. Your soul matters. Your relationship with God matters. Your future matters. Forgiveness is not primarily a gift we give to the person who hurt us. Very often, forgiveness is the gift we give ourselves. It is the moment we say: “I will not allow this wound to control me anymore.”
There is another important lesson in today's second reading. St. Paul says: “None of us lives for oneself, and no one dies for oneself.” We belong to the Lord. That means my life cannot be built entirely around my wounds, my anger, my pride, or my grievances. I belong to Christ. And if I belong to Christ, then I must learn to love as Christ loves. Christ did not forgive only the people who deserved forgiveness. From the cross, Jesus looked at those who were crucifying Him and prayed: “Father, forgive them.” That is the standard.
Christianity is not simply about loving those who love us. It is about allowing Christ's mercy to transform the way we respond even to those who have wounded us. And perhaps someone here today is carrying a name in his or her heart. You know the name. You know the face. You know the story. Every time you hear that person's name, something inside you changes. Your heart becomes heavy. Your anger returns. Your pain comes alive again.
Maybe today Jesus is not asking you to forget. Maybe He is asking you to release. Release the bitterness. Release the desire for revenge. Release the need to make the other person suffer as you suffered. Release the burden into the hands of God.
You may not be able to change what happened. But by God's grace, you can decide what that experience will become in you. It can become bitterness. Or it can become wisdom. It can become hatred. Or it can become compassion. It can become a prison. Or it can become a testimony of God's healing.
Forgiveness is often a journey. Sometimes we forgive today and discover tomorrow that the pain has returned. That does not mean we have failed. Sometimes forgiveness must be repeated. We may have to pray: “Lord, I forgive this person again today.” And perhaps tomorrow: “Lord, I give this wound back to You again.” And the next day: “Lord, help me not to hate.” And gradually, something begins to change. The wound may remain part of our story, but it no longer controls our heart. That is grace.
My friends, there are people who need forgiveness from us. But there may also be people who need to hear forgiveness from us. Perhaps a spouse. Perhaps a child. Perhaps a parent. Perhaps a sibling. Perhaps a friend. Perhaps someone sitting beside you in this church. And perhaps there is someone from whom you need to ask forgiveness. Sometimes the most powerful words a Christian can speak are: “I am sorry.” And sometimes the most liberating words we can hear are: “I forgive you.” We should not underestimate the power of those words. They can save marriages. They can reunite families. They can restore friendships. They can heal communities. They can bring peace to hearts that have been at war for years.
And so, my brothers and sisters, let us ask ourselves today: Whom have I not forgiven? Not theoretically. Not generally. Who is the person? What is the wound? What am I still carrying? And then let us ask a second question: How much has God already forgiven me? When we place those two questions beside each other, something changes.
My brother's debt may be real. My sister's offense may be painful. The betrayal may have been terrible. But when I remember the mercy I have received from God, I begin to see the other person differently. I begin to understand that I am not standing before God as a perfect person judging an imperfect person.
I am a sinner who has received mercy, standing beside another sinner who also needs mercy. That is the Church. That is the Christian community. That is the family of God. We are not gathered here because we are perfect. We are gathered here because Christ is merciful. We come carrying our failures. We come carrying our wounds. We come carrying our regrets. We come carrying our sins. And at this altar, we encounter the God who says: “I forgive you. Begin again.”
So let us not leave this church carrying the same hatred we brought into it. Let us not come before the altar asking God for mercy while deliberately withholding mercy from another. Let us not allow yesterday's wound to steal tomorrow's peace.
Jesus does not ask us to forgive because the person who hurt us deserves it. He asks us to forgive because we have received mercy. We forgive because Christ forgave us. We forgive because hatred is too heavy a burden to carry. We forgive because our hearts were made for love, not revenge. We forgive because we want to be free. And perhaps the greatest miracle of forgiveness is this: When we forgive, the past cannot be changed—but its power over our future can be broken.
Today, let us bring our wounds to Christ. Let us bring our anger to Christ. Let us bring the names of those who hurt us to Christ. And let us hear Him say: “As I have forgiven you, forgive.” May God give us the humility to ask for forgiveness, the courage to offer forgiveness, and the grace to forgive from the heart. May He heal every wounded relationship. May He soften every hardened heart. May He reconcile families that have been divided. May He restore friendships that have been broken. May He free those who have been imprisoned by resentment. And may we never forget the mercy we ourselves have received. For we are all debtors before God.
We have all been forgiven much. And because we have been forgiven much, let us forgive much. Because the heart that refuses to forgive remains imprisoned in yesterday. But the heart that forgives discovers the freedom of tomorrow. And when we forgive as Christ forgives, we do not merely imitate Jesus— we allow Jesus to live through us. May our lives therefore become living testimonies of the mercy we have received. And may we one day hear those beautiful words from our merciful Father: “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Amen.
Have a blessed week!
