Introduction
The lectionary feels a bit misleading this week, because it skips over four crucial verses that set the stage for our Gospel text.
Right before our passage, Jesus says to his disciples:
“Occasions for sin are bound to come, but woe to anyone through whom they come! 2 It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to sin. 3 Be on your guard! If a brother or sister sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is repentance, you must forgive. 4 And if the same person sins against you seven times a day and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive.”
This moment is not isolated. It continues the conversation that follows the two parables we’ve heard the last two Sundays, and in fact, it stretches back into chapter 15, where tax collectors and sinners gather around Jesus. That larger context matters: it shows us that the parable of the dishonest steward and the parable of the rich man and Lazarus both carry undertones of repentance and response.
But more importantly for this week, this teaching about forgiveness is what drives the disciples to cry out: “Lord, increase our faith.”
Maybe they don’t want to be the stumbling block. But if the disciples were human like we are human, then this text is honing right back where we’ve been these last few weeks. Forgiveness is hard. And they are really struggling with the idea of forgiving someone again and again, seven times a day, every day.
Narrative Context
The disciples’ request makes a lot of sense: “Lord, increase our faith.” When faced with the staggering demand of forgiveness, their instinct is that they don’t have enough. They assume they need a greater supply, a bigger reservoir of faith to handle the impossible.
But Jesus’ reply flips that assumption upside down. He doesn’t hand out a faith upgrade. Instead, he says: “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”
This is not a scolding. It’s reassurance. Jesus is saying: You don’t need more faith. You already have enough.
Just a mustard seed’s size is enough. It’s tiny, almost invisible, but alive with possibility. A seed holds growth within it. And so, faith is not measured in bulk. It’s not about quantity or strength. It’s about who your faith is in.
And that’s where the disciples, and we, find hope. Forgiveness is not possible by sheer force of willpower. It flows from trusting God, even in the smallest, most faltering way. Even mustard-seed faith, rooted in God’s mercy, is enough to forgive again and again.
But there’s another layer here. When Jesus calls us to forgive, he’s asking us to place faith not only in God but also in the possibility of the other person. Not faith that worships them, but faith that God can still work in them.
In Luke’s context, forgiveness is always relational. Jesus is calling the disciples not only to trust God’s mercy but also to trust that God is at work in the other person. Forgiveness, after all, requires risk: the risk that the offender might repent, the risk that they might not, the risk that vulnerability might lead to healing. To forgive is to have a kind of faith in God’s ability to transform someone else.
To forgive is to trust that the Spirit has room to move in their life. It means believing they are more than their sin, more than the worst thing they have done. Forgiveness, in this sense, is an act of faith in God’s future for the other. And that kind of faith, Jesus says, doesn’t have to be big. Even the smallest seed will do.
The Servant Image
Then comes the second image, the servant plowing, tending sheep, and then preparing supper. To our ears, this section can sound grating, even cruel. “Would you thank the slave for doing what was commanded?” Jesus asks. For centuries, these verses have been twisted to justify slavery, hierarchy, and systems of oppression that treat some people as less than fully human. But to read it this way is to rip it out of context.
Placed right after Jesus’ call to radical forgiveness, the image is not about demeaning disciples but about reorienting expectations. Forgiveness, Jesus says, is not an optional extra. It is not a superhuman accomplishment reserved for saints. It is the ordinary, everyday work of discipleship, the work that flows naturally from belonging to the kingdom of God.
That is why this parable needs to tie back to the opening verses we didn’t hear. The call to forgive seven times a day sounds monumental, even impossible. The disciples want more faith to handle it. But Jesus insists: you don’t need more faith, and you don’t need applause for forgiving. Forgiveness is not some heroic spiritual achievement; it’s the foundation of life in God’s reign.
The servant in the parable doesn’t expect special recognition for doing what is expected. Likewise, disciples don’t forgive because it makes them extraordinary. They forgive because it makes them faithful. It’s about participating in the everyday rhythm of God’s mercy. It’s what disciples do, not to earn worth, but because in Christ they (the disciple and person being forgiven) have already been forgiven, already been made worthy.
Preaching Possibilities
Forgiveness is a Serious Command
I’ve written about this numerous times before but still I don’t think it’s ever enough. The command of Jesus to forgive is one of the most serious and common commands in the Gospels.
But we instinctively resist forgiveness because it feels impossible, even unfair. The command of Jesus to forgive repeatedly, seven times a day, every day, confronts our sense of justice, our pride, and our fear of being hurt again. Forgiveness is difficult because it requires vulnerability, humility, and trust in God’s work in both ourselves and the other person. Forgiveness is relational. It requires drawing closer, not shutting the other out.
Now, of course there is nuance and caution to this. This text is not a call to remain in abusive relationships, to ignore ongoing harm, or to tolerate injustice. Safety and boundaries matter. I need that to be clearly stated here.
Outside of those specific circumstances, however, Jesus’ call is for us to resist writing people off. Not writing off the rich person who steps over the one in need. Not writing off the political or religious leader who sneers. Not writing off the tax collector who swindles others. Not writing off the disciple who betrays. Not writing off the religious leader who persecutes the early church but then goes on to become an evangelist to the Gentiles. Forgiveness is the work of seeing God’s possibility in the other, even when it feels impossible.
And so, yet again, we can ask ourselves, who are we writing off? Who are we calling irredeemable? Who have we decided are beyond God’s reach?
Because the text today is not saying that forgiveness just rests with God. It is commanded to us, a responsibility for the life of the community. Jesus is calling disciples into active participation in God’s mercy, trusting that even the smallest act of forgiveness can participate in the renewal of God’s world.
In the end, this text reminds us that faith and forgiveness are not measured by magnitude. Even the smallest mustard-seed faith is enough to participate in God’s work of mercy. And forgiving others (again and again) is simply what life in Christ looks like. It is not a heroic feat or a rare act of virtue. It is the daily, ordinary practice of discipleship, grounded in the assurance that we ourselves have already been forgiven. As we go out into the week, the question is not whether we can forgive, but whether we will allow God’s mercy to flow through us, even when it feels impossible, even when it feels small.
Micah Krey 
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