Audio recording Sermon manuscript: That we already understand forgiveness is something that we can take for granted—particularly as Christians. There is nothing more central to Christianity than the forgiveness of sins. Accordingly, we talk about forgiveness a lot. Since we talk about it a lot, we assume that we must already understand it. But maybe familiarity is not enough to understand forgiveness. For example, if forgiveness is to be forgiveness it seems to need to be somewhat surprising. If it is not surprising, then it turns into something else. In Jesus’s parable of the prodigal son, the prodigal son is forgiven. It is surprising. He was hoping that his father would take him on as a hired hand. Instead he is received back with love and honor. This is a delightful surprise. But suppose we change the story a little bit. Suppose we have this younger son who has wasted his father’s estate with prodigal living. He’s off at a bar, far away, chatting away with his buddies. He tells them he has to make a trip home: “I’ll just go back to the old man. He’s got plenty of money. He can give me some. I’m his son, after all, and he has to give it to me.” Relationships like this are by no means uncommon—especially with rich kids. Rich kids get a taste of the good life, and they assume that they can always get some more from dear old dad. Sometimes dear old dad gets sick of this and cuts them off. This, then, is another surprise. The rich kid has certain expectations about what the father will do. He’ll always forgive—that’s just the arrangement that we have in place. Then, all of a sudden, there’s no more forgiveness. But we probably shouldn’t call this forgiveness. Forgiveness that is assumed is not really forgiveness. Probably a better word for this kind of arrangement is abuse. The rich kid abuses his father until the father won’t put up with it anymore. And sometimes, even when father doesn’t want to put up with it anymore, he can be compelled. Fathers can be weak. If the father tries to cut off the kid, and the kid is psychologically brazen enough, the kid can intimidate and threaten the father—crush the father, if you will—until the father has no other choice but to continue with the gravy train. What if we tried to do this kind of thing with God? What if we thought of God as a rather weak character who could be bullied into forgiving our sins? Our theology says that God has to forgive. It’s part of the rules. In such a situation a person could assume that it doesn’t matter how much a person sins. God will forgive. He has to. While this might be what some theologians believe, Jesus plainly teaches something different. You cannot bank on sinning as though you can always count on be forgiven. Jesus says, “Strive to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able. Once the master of the house gets up and shuts the door, you will begin to stand outside and knock on the door saying, ‘Lord, open for us!’ He will tell you in reply, ‘I don’t know you or where you come from.’ Then you will begin to say, ‘We ate and drank in your presence and you taught in our streets.’ And he will say, ‘I don’t know where you come from. Depart from me, all you evildoers.’” God is not like the weak father in our pretend scenario. He cannot be bullied into letting us into heaven. If we haven’t cared one bit that our sins have angered him, then it seems that he won’t care one bit when he bars us from heaven and sends us to hell. The Bible says, “God cannot be mocked.” Therefore we should not take Jesus’s gracious, merciful parable today as though some kind of principle of inexhaustible forgiveness is being laid down that enables me to sin with reckless abandon. If that were what the parable were teaching, then the father would be a ridiculous, lazy, weak coward.  I assure you, God is not like that. So what is our God like? He is just like he is portrayed in this parable. He is not lazy or weak. He