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Matthew 18 — Humility, lost sheep, confrontation, and a lesson in forgiveness nobody wanted
8 min read
The had a question. And it was the kind of question that reveals exactly where your head is at. They'd been watching teach, heal, and gather crowds for months. They'd seen the momentum building. And so — naturally — they wanted to know who was going to come out on top.
What followed was one of Jesus' longest sustained teachings on how his community is supposed to actually work. , protection, pursuit, confrontation, and . Every piece of it pushed back against the way the world organizes itself. By the end, nobody would be asking about greatness anymore.
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The walked up to and asked the question that was apparently eating at them:
"Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?"
It's a power-ranking question. Who's at the top of the org chart? Who gets the corner office? Jesus didn't answer with words first. He called a child over and stood the kid right in the middle of the group. Then he said:
"Here's the truth — unless you turn around completely and become like children, you won't even enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles themselves like this child is the greatest in the kingdom. And whoever welcomes a child like this in my name? They're welcoming me."
Think about what he just did. They asked about status, and he pointed to the person in the room with the least of it. A child in the first century had no rank, no influence, no resume. They were completely dependent. That's the model. Not the person climbing the ladder — the person who isn't even thinking about the ladder. The question was "who's the greatest?" and the answer was "whoever stops trying to be."
Then the tone shifted. Hard. was still talking about children — the vulnerable, the new believers, anyone who's just starting to trust him. And he made it very clear how seriously he takes their protection:
"But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble — it would be better for them to have a massive millstone hung around their neck and be drowned in the open sea.
Woe to the world because of things that cause people to stumble. Temptations will come — that's unavoidable. But woe to the person who brings them.
If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. Better to enter life missing a limb than to be thrown into eternal fire with both hands and both feet. If your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out. Better to enter life with one eye than to be thrown into the fire of Hell with two."
This is Jesus at his most intense. He wasn't being metaphorical about the stakes — he was being metaphorical about the surgery. The point is: if something in your life is causing you or others to fall, the response should be drastic. Not "I'll manage it." Not "I'll be more careful next time." Remove it. Whatever it costs you, it costs less than where the alternative leads. And if you're the one causing someone else to stumble — someone who's young in their , someone who's vulnerable, someone who's watching how you live — the weight of that responsibility is enormous.
pulled back from the intensity and told a story. But don't miss the connection — he was still talking about the "little ones":
"Don't look down on any of these little ones. I'm telling you — their Angels in heaven are always in the presence of my Father.
Think about it. If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders off, doesn't he leave the ninety-nine on the hillside and go search for the one that's lost? And when he finds it — honestly — he's happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that never wandered off.
That's how it is with your Father in heaven. He does not want a single one of these little ones to be lost."
Here's what's remarkable about this . Most organizations write off their losses. You lose a customer, a follower, a member — the math says focus on the ones who stayed. The ninety-nine are the smart investment. But God doesn't do portfolio management. He goes after the one. Not because the one is more valuable than the ninety-nine, but because every single one matters enough to pursue. If you've ever felt like you wandered too far to be worth finding — this story says otherwise.
Next, pivoted to something incredibly practical. Conflict. Not theoretical conflict — real, between-you-and-another-person conflict. And he gave a step-by-step process that most people skip entirely:
"If your brother or sister Sins against you, go talk to them about it. Just you and them. Privately. If they listen, you've gotten your relationship back.
But if they won't listen, bring one or two others along — so that everything can be confirmed by witnesses. If they still refuse to listen, bring it to the church. And if they refuse to listen even to the church — treat them as you would a Gentile or a tax collector."
Notice the order. Step one is not "tell your small group." Step one is not "post about it vaguely online." Step one is not "cut them off and never speak to them again." Step one is go to them. Directly. Privately. That's the part almost nobody does. We'd rather talk about someone than talk to them. Jesus designed a process that protects the relationship at every stage — escalation only happens when someone refuses to engage. And even the final step isn't about revenge. It's about honesty when has been refused.
Then said something that gave his community real authority — and real responsibility:
"What you bind on earth will be bound in heaven. What you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.
And I'm telling you — if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, my Father in heaven will do it for you. Because where two or three are gathered in my name, I am right there with them."
That last line gets quoted a lot — usually to make small gatherings feel better about low attendance. But in context, it's about something much weightier. Jesus was talking about community decisions, about confrontation, about the serious work of holding each other accountable and seeking God together. When believers come together around his name — not just physically present, but genuinely united in purpose — he says pays attention. That's not a consolation prize for a small group. That's a about presence.
had been listening to all of this — the , the conflict resolution, the community responsibility — and he wanted to know where the line was. So he stepped up with what he probably thought was a very generous offer:
"Lord, how many times should I forgive someone who sins against me? Seven times?"
Seven was already more than most required. Peter was being generous. He probably expected a nod of approval. Instead, said:
"Not seven times. Seventy-seven times."
He wasn't giving a number to count to. He was destroying the idea that forgiveness has a cap. Peter wanted a limit — a point where he could say "I did my part, I'm done." Jesus said that's not how forgiveness works. It's not a transaction you complete. It's a posture you live in.
To make sure nobody missed the point, told a story. And it's one of the most unsettling he ever told:
"The Kingdom of Heaven is like a king who decided to settle accounts with his servants. One servant was brought before him who owed ten thousand talents."
Pause on that number. Ten thousand talents was an absurd amount — we're talking billions in today's terms. An amount no individual could ever repay. It was deliberately ridiculous.
"The servant couldn't pay, so the king ordered him sold — along with his wife, his children, and everything he owned — to cover the debt. The servant fell on his knees and begged: 'Be patient with me. I'll pay you back everything.'
And the king had compassion. He released the servant and forgave the entire debt."
That should be the end of the story. A man drowning in debt he could never repay, and a king who wiped the slate out of pure . But it wasn't the end.
"That same servant went out and found a fellow servant who owed him a hundred denarii — a few thousand dollars. He grabbed him by the throat and demanded: 'Pay what you owe me.' The fellow servant fell down and begged: 'Be patient with me. I'll pay you back.' But he refused. He had the man thrown into prison until the debt was paid."
Read that again. The same words. The same plea. "Be patient with me." And the man who had just been forgiven billions wouldn't forgive thousands.
"When the other servants saw what happened, they were horrified. They went and told the king everything. The king summoned the servant and said: 'You wicked servant. I forgave you that enormous debt because you begged me. Shouldn't you have shown the same mercy to your fellow servant that I showed to you?'
In anger, the king handed him over to be imprisoned until he could pay back everything he owed."
Let that sit for a moment. This isn't a story about a bad person. This is a story about a forgiven person who forgot what forgiveness felt like the moment he had power over someone else. And honestly — that's most of us at some point. We know what it feels like to be let off the hook. We know the relief of . But the second someone wrongs us, we want . We want them to pay. Jesus is saying: you cannot receive mercy and withhold it. The two don't coexist. If you really understand the size of what you've been forgiven, the debts other people owe you will start to look very, very small.