I Hate Hating You

Text: Matthew 18:21-35 (with Ephesians 4:31-32 and Colossians 3:12-14)

Opening

There’s a particular kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. It comes from carrying someone around in your head: the replayed conversation, the speech you’ll never give, the flinch when their name comes up, the way a song or a street or a holiday can drag them back into the room.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, you catch yourself, maybe in the car, maybe at 3 a.m., and you think: I hate that I hate you.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t sign up to be bitter. You used to be a more generous person than this. And now you’re watching yourself rehearse arguments in the shower and feeling a small, ugly satisfaction when something goes wrong for them. Then the shame arrives: Is this who I’ve become?

If that’s you this morning, hear this: you are not a bad Christian. You are a wounded one. The very fact that the hatred bothers you is evidence that something in you is still resisting it. A heart that’s truly gone hard doesn’t grieve over being hard. Yours is grieving. That’s grace already at work.

So let’s look at what Jesus says to people carrying this weight.

1. The question behind Peter’s question

Peter comes to Jesus with what he thinks is a generous offer. “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?”

Seven was already generous. The rabbis taught three. Peter is doubling it and adding one for good measure. But notice what he’s really asking: Where’s the limit? When do I get to stop? Underneath that is something every one of us understands: How long do I have to keep absorbing this?

Jesus answers, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times” (or seventy times seven, depending on your translation). The point isn’t that on offense number 78 you’re free to snap. The point is that Jesus is smashing the calculator. Forgiveness isn’t a transaction with a quota. It’s a posture, a way of living.

And then, because Jesus knows we’ll say “but you don’t understand what they did,” he tells a story.

2. The servant who was forgiven everything

A king decides to settle accounts. A servant is brought in who owes him ten thousand talents. A single talent was roughly twenty years of a laborer’s wages. Ten thousand talents is a number so absurd it’s almost comic. It’s more than the entire annual tax revenue of the region. Jesus is describing a debt that cannot be paid in a thousand lifetimes.

The servant falls on his knees and says, “Be patient with me, and I will pay you everything.” Which is ridiculous. He couldn’t. And the king, moved with compassion, does something no one expected: he doesn’t restructure the loan. He doesn’t give an extension. He cancels it. All of it. Gone.

Now watch what happens next. That same servant walks out the door, finds a fellow servant who owes him a hundred denarii, about three months’ wages. Real money, a real wrong, but a tiny fraction of what he’d just been forgiven. And he grabs the man by the throat and says, “Pay what you owe.”

The man falls down and says the exact same words: “Be patient with me, and I will pay you.” The same words the first servant had just spoken to the king. And he refuses. He throws the man in prison.

Here’s what I want you to see: the first servant didn’t forgive because he never actually received his forgiveness. He heard the words, he took the benefit, but it never sank in. He walked out of that throne room still living like a man who owed everything and had to protect himself.

When we can’t forgive, it’s often not because the offense is too big. It’s because we’ve never let ourselves feel how much we’ve been forgiven.

3. Unforgiveness is bookkeeping

Look at what the unforgiving servant was doing. He had a ledger. He was keeping accounts. And that’s exactly what bitterness is: bookkeeping.

We keep a ledger on the person who hurt us. Every entry is accurate. What they said. What they did. What they didn’t do when we needed them. And we hold that ledger, waiting for payment: an apology, an acknowledgment, a little suffering on their side, some proof that they know what they did.

But here’s the problem. They may never pay. They may not even know they owe. They may be sleeping fine tonight, and you’re the one awake doing the math.

Now look at the end of the parable. Who ends up in jail? The servant who wouldn’t forgive. Jesus says he was handed over to the jailers until he should pay all his debt. Unforgiveness doesn’t imprison the one who wronged us. It imprisons us. We become the jailer and the prisoner, guarding a cell that has our own name on it.

The old saying is that resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to get sick. It’s worn out from overuse, but it’s worn out because it’s true.

4. What forgiveness is not

Before we go further, we have to clear up what forgiveness is not, because many of us resist it for the wrong reasons.

Forgiveness is not pretending it didn’t hurt. Jesus never called evil fine. The king in the parable didn’t say the debt was imaginary. He acknowledged it, and then he bore the cost himself. Forgiveness begins with honesty about the wound.

Forgiveness is not reconciliation. Forgiveness takes one person. Reconciliation takes two. You can forgive someone who’s never apologized, who’s no longer in your life, or who has died. Rebuilding trust is a separate process, and trust must be earned. If someone remains dangerous to you, forgiving them does not mean handing them the keys again. Boundaries and forgiveness are not enemies.

Forgiveness is not a feeling. You may forgive someone and still feel the sting for months. You may wake up Tuesday having forgiven on Monday and find the anger back at the door. That doesn’t mean it didn’t work. Forgiveness is a decision your will makes, and your emotions follow behind, often slowly, like a tired dog trailing its owner.

Forgiveness is not excusing. You can only forgive what was truly wrong. If it were no big deal, there’d be nothing to forgive. Forgiveness says: this was real, this was wrong, and I am releasing you from owing me for it.

So what is it? Forgiveness is the decision to cancel the debt, to close the ledger, to release the person from your courtroom and hand the case over to God, who is a far better judge than you or I will ever be. “Vengeance is mine,” says the Lord. Not because he doesn’t care about justice, but because he’s the only one who can hold it without being poisoned by it.

5. You can only give what you’ve received

Look at the order in Paul’s words to the Ephesians: “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” And in Colossians: “Bear with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgive each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.”

Paul doesn’t say try harder. He says remember.

We try to forgive from an empty tank. We scrape together willpower, we grit our teeth, we say the words, and nothing in us moves. Paul says to start somewhere else. Start at the cross. That’s where you were the debtor with the impossible bill, and it was paid, not waived or overlooked, but paid, in full, in blood.

Think about the ten thousand talents. Your sin against a holy God isn’t a small clerical error. It’s a debt you could never have settled. And yet the King came down, and he did not merely cancel the debt; he absorbed it into himself. Every time we sin, he does it again. Every day, mercy is new.

The more deeply you know how much you’ve been forgiven, the less the debt against you weighs. This is the secret. Forgiveness flows downhill from the cross. You are not the source. You are a channel. You don’t have to manufacture mercy; you only have to stop blocking the flow.

6. Practical steps for the person who’s stuck

So what do you do on Monday morning, when the hatred is still there?

Name it honestly to God. Not the polished version. The real one. The Psalms are full of people telling God exactly how furious they are. He can handle it. He’d rather have your honest rage than your polite distance.

Name the debt specifically. Vague forgiveness is easy to fake. What exactly did they take? Respect? Years? Safety? Say it out loud. Then say: “I cancel this debt. I release them from owing me for it.” You may have to say it daily for a season.

Refuse to rehearse. Every time you replay the scene, you’re pulling the ledger back off the shelf. When the thought comes, don’t fight it with shame; redirect it with a short prayer. “Lord, I’ve given this to you. Take it again.”

Pray for them. Jesus said to pray for those who persecute you, and it’s not because it’s easy. Something shifts when you ask God to bless someone you’d rather curse. You can’t keep hating someone you’re sincerely praying for, at least not at the same intensity. Start with something small: God, do for them what you did for me.

Get help if it’s heavy. Some wounds are too deep to work through alone. A pastor, a counselor, a trusted friend: there is no shame in that. Sometimes the church is the hands God uses.

Be patient with yourself. You are on a journey, not at a finish line.

Closing

Maybe you can’t say “I forgive you” yet. Maybe you don’t even want to. Then start smaller. Start with the prayer that I think God loves to hear:

“God, I hate that I hate them. I don’t have the strength to let go. So I’m asking you to do it in me.”

That’s not weak faith. That’s the first honest step out of the jail cell. And here’s the good news: the door was never locked from the outside. The King already paid for your release. You can walk out whenever you’re ready, and he will walk with you.

Let’s pray.

Forgiving yourself

 Set Free from the Prisoner You See in the Mirror

Romans 8:1, 1 John 1:9, Psalm 103:12

Some of us in this room have already been forgiven by God, by the people we hurt, and even by the person we wronged, and we still can’t forgive ourselves.

We replay the conversation. We rehearse the mistake. We carry a verdict nobody else is still holding. If that’s you, I want to say plainly that you are not alone, and the Bible has a lot to say to you.

First, understand what self-condemnation really is.

Paul writes that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Notice he doesn’t say less condemnation. He says none. So when you keep condemning yourself, you are reopening a case that heaven has already closed. You’re acting as a judge in a courtroom where the verdict has already been given.

We sometimes call that humility. It isn’t. It’s quietly deciding that your guilt is stronger than Christ’s sacrifice.

Second, remember how far God puts your sin.

The psalmist says that as far as east is from west, so far has God removed our transgressions from us. Look at the image he chose. You can travel north until you reach the pole, and then you start heading south. But you can never travel east until you start heading west. God picked the one direction that never ends. That’s how far your sin has been carried from you.

Third, learn from Peter.

Peter denied Jesus three times, and he did it just hours after swearing he never would. Then he wept bitterly. He knew exactly what he had done.

When the risen Jesus meets him on the shore, he doesn’t give a lecture. He cooks breakfast. Then he asks Peter three questions, one for each denial, and each time he answers the same way: feed my sheep. Jesus doesn’t ask Peter to punish himself first. He restores him and gives him work to do.

That’s the pattern for self-forgiveness. You don’t earn your way back by suffering. You receive grace, and then you get up and serve.

So how do we actually do it?

Name it honestly. First John says that if we confess, God is faithful and just to forgive. Faithful means he keeps his word. Don’t minimize what you did, and don’t inflate it. Say it plainly and bring it to him.

Make it right where you can. Apologize. Repay what you owe. Change what you can change. Forgiveness doesn’t erase consequences, but it does end the shame.

Refuse the replay. When the old accusation returns, answer it with truth: “That’s been forgiven. I’m not going back to that courtroom.”

Let grace make you gentle. Those who have been forgiven much love much. Your worst chapter can become the reason you comfort someone else.

Stand In Awe - Bethel Music and Paul & Hannah McClure

 

Sensory overload

 

A Sermon for the Overstimulated Soul

Sensory overload. Dopamine. Doomscrolling. And the God who calls us to be still.

Main text: Psalm 46:10 — “Be still, and know that I am God.”

We live in a world that never stops talking.

The phone lights up. The notifications keep coming. The videos never end. One more scroll. One more reel. One more piece of news. One more hit of entertainment.

And somehow, after consuming so much, we feel emptier than before.

Our eyes are tired. Our minds are racing. Our bodies are exhausted, but our fingers keep scrolling. We want peace, yet we keep reaching for the very things that leave us restless.

Perhaps the problem is not simply that we have too little time with God. Perhaps we have become so accustomed to constant stimulation that silence itself has started to feel uncomfortable.

And maybe, in the middle of all that noise, God is inviting us to come home.

1. Your attention is being discipled by something

Romans 12:2 tells us not to be conformed to this world, but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds.

Think about that.

Every day, something is shaping the way you think, what you desire, what you fear, and what you consider important.

Short videos train us to expect something new every few seconds. Endless feeds offer unpredictable rewards that can keep us checking for more. Outrage keeps us watching. Comparison makes us look again. Boredom sends us reaching for our phones before we have even understood what we are feeling.

Dopamine is involved in motivation, learning and anticipating rewards. It is not evil. God made our brains capable of pleasure, curiosity and desire.

But when every uncomfortable moment becomes an opportunity to seek another digital reward, we can lose our ability to sit with ourselves.

• We feel lonely, so we scroll.

• We feel anxious, so we scroll.

• We feel bored, so we scroll.

• We feel overwhelmed, so we scroll.

And then we become more overwhelmed.

The thing we use to escape our discomfort can become another source of it.

Church, the question is not whether technology is inherently evil. The question is whether we are using our tools wisely, or whether our habits are beginning to rule us.

First Corinthians 6:12 says, “I will not be brought under the power of any.”

Not everything that is permissible is beneficial. Not everything that captures our attention deserves our attention.

Your attention is part of your life. What repeatedly captures it will inevitably shape you.

2. Sensory overload can make it harder to hear the still, small voice

unfoldthebrain.com

In 1 Kings 19, Elijah encounters powerful wind, an earthquake and fire. But the Lord's presence is revealed to him in a gentle whisper.

We often imagine that God must compete with the loudest things in our lives.

But God does not need to shout over every notification to prove that He is present.

Sometimes, we are simply too distracted to notice what has been there all along.

When our senses are overloaded, even ordinary things can feel overwhelming: another conversation, another demand, another decision, another sound. We might become irritable, restless or desperate to withdraw.

This is not necessarily a spiritual failure. Sensory overload can be a genuine nervous-system response, and it can have many causes.

You do not need to condemn yourself for feeling overwhelmed.

Instead, consider this: perhaps your next spiritual step is not to consume more spiritual content, but to create space to receive what you already know.

You may not need another sermon playing in the background.

You may need five minutes without anything playing.

You may not need another motivational video telling you to change your life.

You may need to sit quietly, breathe naturally, and remember that your life is not held together by your constant activity.

Psalm 23 does not picture the Shepherd driving His sheep through an endless stream of stimulation. It pictures Him leading them beside still waters and restoring their souls.

There is a difference between running away from God and being too exhausted to pay attention.

Let the Shepherd restore you.

3. Doomscrolling feeds the illusion that constant awareness equals control

We scroll through disasters, conflicts, tragedies, scandals and other people's opinions.

We tell ourselves we are staying informed.

Sometimes we genuinely are.

But sometimes we are searching for certainty in a world that refuses to give it to us.

We think, If I read one more article, perhaps I will finally feel prepared. If I check one more update, perhaps I will finally feel safe.

But the next update arrives, and our anxiety remains.

Jesus asks in Matthew 6:27 whether anyone can add a single hour to their life by worrying.

He is not telling us to ignore suffering or become indifferent to the world. Christians are called to love their neighbours, pursue justice and respond to real needs.

But there is a difference between being informed enough to act and being consumed by information we cannot change.

You can care deeply without watching everything.

You can pray for suffering people without repeatedly exposing yourself to distressing images.

You can be responsible without being permanently available.

You can acknowledge uncertainty without demanding another scroll to make it disappear.

Philippians 4:8 invites us to direct our minds towards what is true, honourable, just, pure, lovely and worthy of praise.

This does not mean pretending terrible things do not exist. It means refusing to let the terrible things become the only things we can see.

The world has real needs. Your soul has real limits.

You are not God. You were never asked to carry the entire world inside your nervous system.

4. Jesus is not another source of stimulation

Here is the danger: we can turn even our faith into another dopamine loop.

We watch sermon after sermon. We save Bible verses. We listen to worship music while doing everything else. We collect inspirational quotes and Christian content.

And yet, we never stop long enough to practise what we hear.

We consume messages about prayer without praying.

We consume messages about peace while keeping ourselves constantly stimulated.

We consume messages about surrender while trying to control every possible outcome.

There is nothing wrong with sermons, music or Christian media. They can teach, encourage and strengthen us.

But spiritual consumption is not the same as spiritual formation.

Jesus did not merely invite people to hear His words. He called them to follow Him.

Sometimes, following Jesus means closing the app.

Sometimes, it means leaving a question unanswered until tomorrow.

Sometimes, it means resisting the urge to fill every silent moment with noise.

Sometimes, it means sitting with God without demanding that the experience feel exciting.

Faith is not measured by how stimulated you feel during worship or how emotionally moved you are by a sermon.

Faith is also formed in ordinary obedience, quiet trust and the repeated choice to turn towards God.

You do not need to manufacture a spiritual high.

You need a relationship with the living God.

5. Practise a holy interruption

mybiblesong.com

Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

Notice the invitation: be still, and know.

Stillness is not a technique for earning God's love. It is not a productivity hack disguised as spirituality. And it is not a guarantee that your mind will instantly become quiet.

It is an opportunity to stop obeying every urge for stimulation and remember who God is.

Try this simple practice today.

First, put the phone down.

Not forever. Just for a little while. Turn off unnecessary notifications or leave your phone in another room for ten minutes.

Second, let your senses settle.

Notice your breathing, the chair beneath you, the light in the room. If silence feels uncomfortable, begin with just one minute. You do not have to force yourself to feel peaceful.

Third, speak honestly to God.

You do not need impressive words.

“Lord, my mind is tired. I keep reaching for things that do not satisfy me. Help me be present. Help me receive Your peace.”

Fourth, read a small portion of Scripture slowly.

Perhaps Psalm 23, Matthew 6:25–34, or Philippians 4:4–9. Read a few verses and sit with them rather than immediately searching for another explanation.

Fifth, return to real life.

Drink some water. Eat a meal. Take a walk. Speak to someone you love. Do one necessary task. Rest if you need rest.

The goal is not to escape the world. It is to return to it with greater presence, wisdom and love.

And if sensory overload is frequent or severe, practical support matters too. Reducing stimulation, protecting sleep, taking breaks and seeking professional help when needed can be wise acts of care, not signs of weak faith.

A closing sermon: You do not have to answer every notification

Church, listen carefully.

Every notification does not deserve an immediate response.

Every thought does not deserve your attention.

Every fear does not require another hour of investigation.

Every uncomfortable feeling does not need to be escaped.

And every moment of silence does not need to be filled.

You can let the phone ring.

You can leave the feed unfinished.

You can allow the world to continue spinning while you sit quietly in the presence of God.

You can be a faithful Christian without being constantly connected.

You can love people without making yourself endlessly accessible.

You can be informed without being consumed.

You can experience boredom without treating it as an emergency.

And you can experience a restless mind without concluding that God has abandoned you.

The invitation is not to hate your brain, shame your habits or fear every pleasure.

The invitation is to recover your freedom.

To become a person who can enjoy technology without being ruled by it. A person who can encounter discomfort without immediately escaping. A person who can sit in silence without needing to prove anything.

A person whose attention is not entirely dictated by the loudest voice in the room.

Jesus says in Matthew 11:28, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

He does not say, “Come to me when you have fixed your attention span.”

He does not say, “Come to me when you have finally defeated every bad habit.”

He says, come to Me.

Come distracted.

Come tired.

Come overstimulated.

Come ashamed of how much time you have lost.

Come with the restless mind and the exhausted body.

And begin again.

Your phone can wait. Your feed can wait. The next video can wait.

For this moment, you are allowed to be still.

For this moment, you are allowed to be human.

For this moment, remember that you are not sustained by an endless stream of information, but by the grace of God.

Let us pray

Father, in a world that constantly demands our attention, teach us to recognise what deserves our attention.

Forgive us for the times we have sought endless distraction instead of bringing our restlessness to You. Give us wisdom to recognise unhealthy patterns without falling into shame.

When our senses are overwhelmed, help us slow down. When anxiety drives us to keep scrolling, remind us that we are not in control of everything, and that we do not need to be.

Renew our minds. Restore our souls. Teach us to use technology with wisdom, to care about the world without being consumed by it, and to receive silence as an invitation rather than a threat.

Help us to seek You not only through the content we consume, but through the lives we live, the people we love and the quiet obedience of each ordinary day.

Lord Jesus, teach us to rest in Your grace.

In Jesus' name, amen.

One final thought to carry with you today:

You do not have to feed every craving for stimulation. You do not have to follow every anxious thought. You do not have to consume one more thing to become worthy, whole or loved.

Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is put the phone down, take a breath, and remember that God is here.