AS WE CONTINUE to work our way through the Lord’s Prayer, let’s take a few moments to revisit the Beatitudes, in which Jesus sketches a portrait of blessedness that has nothing to do with the things that normally count as success in life. That point is made even sharper by the version of the Beatitudes we see in Luke 6. There, Jesus proclaims counterintuitively that those who are poor, hungry, weeping, or hated are somehow blessed. Then he turns right around and pronounces woe on those who are rich, well-fed, happy, and respected.

That’s not how anyone understands blessing. Who wants to be either “poor in spirit” or just plain “poor”? Not me, and I suspect you don’t either. And what’s wrong with being happy or well-fed? Nothing, as far as it goes.

But Jesus is transforming our understanding of blessing. We’re not blessed because our circumstances are pleasant. Everything around us can be upside-down. What makes us blessed is our relationship to God, a God full of grace and compassion, a God who throughout the Old Testament is portrayed as having a soft spot for the poor and needy, the destitute and oppressed.

What’s the problem for those who seem to have everything they want in life? It’s not necessarily that what they have is intrinsically bad; it’s that what they have becomes their god. Whether it’s in Luke 6 or Matthew 6, Jesus teaches that if all we want are earthly goods and social standing, then we’re welcome to enjoy them while we have them. But we shouldn’t expect any reward of eternal significance.

Jesus, in other words, is giving us a big-picture view of blessing: it’s not just about the present, but about the future; not just about how things are going now, but how things will be when God’s redemptive work is complete. That’s why those who are poor in spirit, mourning and the like can count themselves blessed. If God is their God, they have a lot to look forward to.

If we have the kind of eschatological imagination to see ourselves as blessed even when things are out-of-kilter, if we believe that God is working to restore wholeness to a broken and sinful world, then we’ll want to get in on the action. We’ll hunger and thirst to see things put right. We’ll work to bring moments of God’s shalom. And we’ll learn to be people of mercy and compassion. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matt 5:6, NIV), Jesus taught. This, too, is an eschatological promise: those who embody the mercy of God to others will one day be full recipients of that mercy themselves.

THE GOSPEL IS a story of the extraordinary mercy of God. And in the kingdom of heaven that Jesus taught, the truly righteous are merciful in turn.

What does that look like, though? We’re not God. Quite the contrary: in poverty of spirit, we know that we are flawed and sinful. But Jesus is calling us to what we might call an “ordinary” kind of mercy, and teaching us to pray to the Father for it regularly:

And forgive us our debts,
    as we also have forgiven our debtors. (Matt 6:12)

There are two sides to the petition. On the one hand, we pray for God’s forgiveness. The verb translated as “forgive” is a versatile one; it suggests sending something away or letting it go. In Matthew 26:56, it’s even used to describe the disciples forsaking Jesus in Gethsemane. Thus, while a righteous and holy God has every right to hold our sin against us, we pray that he would drop the charges instead.

On the other hand, however, we don’t take that forgiveness lightly. It’s not a “get out of jail free” card that we simply play and move on with the game. Jesus teaches us to pray that we would become more and more like our heavenly Father. We pray for God to forgive our sins, but also forgive others for their sins against us.

At this point in the Sermon on the Mount, that should come as no surprise. The prayer expresses what Jesus has already taught about kingdom righteousness. Instead of being people who feel self-justified in our anger and contempt toward others, we remember that others are angry at us and seek to be at peace with them. We are humble and generous toward others, even when we think we have the right to retaliate or hold a grudge. And we love our enemies — imperfectly, to be sure, but in the confidence that the Father will make us more complete in this way too.

BUT HANG ON. Is the prayer saying that we have to forgive others before God will forgive us? It can certainly sound that way, particularly if we add what Jesus says immediately after the Lord’s Prayer:

 For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. (vss. 14-15)

That may not sound much like a gospel of grace. Indeed, if the words are taken to an extreme, it can sound like Jesus is saying that the extraordinary mercy of God can only be ours when we are perfect at being people of ordinary mercy. Mess up one time, fail or forget to forgive, and that’s it: Sorry, you’re not good enough. No forgiveness for you.

Obviously, that reading would go against everything the New Testament teaches about grace and the gospel. But how should we understand what Jesus is saying? Let’s revisit something he teaches elsewhere in the gospel of Matthew: the parable of the unmerciful servant.