Let it go,
Let it go,
Let it go;
For if you hold on to a grudge,
There is nothing but misery and woe.[1]

Once there was a man named Bob who held a grudge against his neighbor, Frank. He had been carrying it around for so long that he finally decided it was time to put it to rest. So he sat down and wrote Frank a letter. It was short. “Dear Frank. We've been neighbors for seven tumultuous years. When you borrowed my tiller, you returned it in pieces. When I was sick, you blasted rap music. And when your dog went to the bathroom all over my lawn, you laughed. I could go on, but I'm certainly not one to hold grudges. So I am writing this letter to tell you that your house is on fire. Cordially, Bob.”

Grudges have a way of attaching themselves to other things, frustration, despair, anger, fear, resentment. And before long, what we thought we were holding against someone else begins to hold us. That is why forgiveness is so difficult. It is especially difficult when we have been hurt. It is difficult when we have been treated unfairly. And it is difficult when the damage is real and the memories are painful.

In September of 2024, Hurricane Helene came ashore and changed the landscape of our community and, for many, changed the landscape of their lives. Some people lost homes. Some lost businesses. Some lost possessions that could never be replaced. And here at Calvary, we experienced our own devastating loss.
When you walk through a flooded building and see what water can do, you quickly discover that there are some things you cannot simply “let go.” They must be cleaned up. They must be repaired. Some things must be rebuilt entirely. But eventually, there comes a point when we need to ask a different question: How do we move forward? How do we live with what happened without allowing what happened to define us? How do we rebuild without carrying bitterness into the future? That is not only a question for people recovering from a hurricane. It is a question for every Christian. Because storms come in many forms.

In the days of Moses, there was a storm, not merely in the weather, but in the circumstances of an entire people.[2] Israel had been enslaved in Egypt for generations. Then, at the Red Sea, they found themselves trapped between the water in front of them and Pharaoh's army behind them. Moses stretched out his hand, and the sea was divided. The waters became a path of deliverance for Israel and a place of destruction for the army of Pharaoh. Israel had been delivered. But they still had to learn how to live as free people. They had to learn how to let go of Egypt. They had to leave behind the identity of slaves and become the people God had called them to be.

And then we come to Jesus.[3] Peter asks Him a question that sounds almost reasonable: “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Peter probably thought he was being generous. Seven times! The rabbis commonly spoke of forgiving three times. Peter doubles that number and adds one for good measure. Seven times seems like a lot. But Jesus says: “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” Some translations render it “seventy times seven.” Either way, Jesus is not giving Peter a mathematical formula. He is telling him that forgiveness is not something we keep on a calculator. Jesus is teaching His disciples that God's mercy cannot be reduced to a number. And there is something fascinating about the number seven in this passage because Jesus is reaching all the way back to Genesis.

Lamech, a descendant of Cain, boasts about vengeance.[4] Cain's violence had begun a cycle of sin and retaliation, and Lamech carries that cycle even further. Jesus takes that ancient language of vengeance and turns it upside down.

The world says: “Remember what they did to you.”
Jesus says: “Forgive.”
The world says: “Make them pay.”
Jesus says: “Have mercy.”
The world says: “Hold on to the debt.”
Jesus says: “Let it go.”

And this teaching becomes even more important when the Church begins to spread beyond Jerusalem. Paul would carry the Gospel to Gentiles, people whom many Jews had considered outsiders, unclean, and unworthy of fellowship.[5] The early Church had to learn how to live with people who were different.
Different backgrounds.
Different traditions.
Different histories.
Different understandings of what it meant to be faithful.

And Paul reminds them that all of them, Jew and Gentile, strong and weak, will ultimately stand before the judgment seat of God. The Christian life is not about keeping score. It is about learning to live under the mercy of God. And that brings us back to the storms of our own lives. Whether we stayed during a hurricane or evacuated is not a measure of our faith. Whether our house flooded or remained dry is not a measure of God's favor. Whether we lost everything or very little does not tell us who God is. Storms do not discriminate.

But what we do after the storm reveals something about who we are becoming. We can rebuild with bitterness. Or we can rebuild with grace. We can spend our lives asking, “Why did this happen to me?” Or we can begin asking, “Lord, what would you have me do now?” We can carry our anger into tomorrow. Or we can place it into the hands of God. And forgiveness does not mean that what happened didn't matter. It doesn't mean there are no consequences. It doesn't mean we ignore injustice or pretend that wounds don't exist. Forgiveness means that we refuse to let the wound become our master. We acknowledge the hurt. We entrust justice to God.

And then, by His grace, we begin to walk forward.
That is what the Israelites had to do.
That is what the disciples had to do.
That is what Paul and the early Church had to do.
And that is what we must do.

After Helene, we learned that rebuilding a building takes time. But rebuilding a heart can take even longer.
A wall can be repaired.
A roof can be replaced.
A floor can be cleaned.

But only God can take a heart that has been broken by anger, fear, disappointment, or grief and make it new. And that is precisely what Christ came to do. Because when Jesus tells us to forgive, He is not asking us to do something He has not already done for us. We come to Him carrying our own failures, our own sins, our own debts. And what does He do? He forgives. He goes to the cross carrying the weight of our sin. He stretches out His hands, not to strike His enemies, but to save them. And from the cross comes the prayer: “Father, forgive them.”

That is the mercy we have received. And that is the mercy we are called to give. So perhaps today, there is something, or someone, we need to place into God's hands.
Perhaps it is an old grudge.
Perhaps it is anger.
Perhaps it is something that happened years ago that we are still carrying today.
Perhaps it is something that happened last week.
Perhaps it is even something we are angry with God about.
Whatever it is, hear the invitation of Christ: Let it go.
Not because it didn't matter. Not because the wound wasn't real. But because Christ is greater than the wound.

Let God carry the justice.
Let God heal the hurt.
Let God rebuild what has been broken.
And let us move forward, not forgetting the storm, but trusting the One who brought us through it.

Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.
In God's hands is justice.
In God's hands is mercy.
And in God's hands is our future.

[1] The Rev. Jon Roberts
[2] Exodus 14:19-31
[3] Matthew 18:21-35
[4] Genesis 4:24
[5] Romans 14:1-12