Is that a dream or is it a real possibility? Could someone possibly give to each of us a gift that would help to make such freedom possible?

We live our lives and most of us try to do our best and yet we seem to fail. We resent what others do to us. Frequently, we find ourselves angry about something or against someone. Or we find ourselves feeling guilty because of something we've done intentionally or unintentionally. We want to do the right thing and yet we do the wrong thing. Those things we would do, we do them not, and those things we would not do, yet we do them.

Does that sound familiar to some of you? Those are the classical words of the general confession of sin in the old prayer books. We don't like to say the word "sin" in these days. Nevertheless, we would but we do not. We would not, yet we do. How helpless we feel, and trapped -- not free, but caught in a bind that will not let us go.

And then there comes in that same ancient litany what are called the words of assurance -- You are forgiven. God forgives you if you come with true repentance and holy desire -- Go and let loose both guilt and resentment and try again to mend relationships, to take the blame, to let it go, to live and to love freely once again. To start again -- a fresh start.

Is it possible to be so "born again?" -- a phrase that is a fond phrase of those of evangelical faith -- to be so free and liberated that life with its joy and satisfaction and zeal can break loose with promise and possibility each day, in each relationship; in each opportunity to choose for justice and, thus, for peace; in each opportunity to forgive, to accept, to take responsibility and to receive the gift of grace -- to accept forgiveness for ourselves and our own willful, selfish and blind behavior? How can that be?

In the gospel according to Matthew, the story is told: "Jesus got into a boat and crossed the sea and came to his own town. And just then some people were carrying a paralyzed man lying on a bed. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, 'Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven.' Then some of the scribes said to themselves, 'This man is blaspheming.' But Jesus, perceiving their thoughts, said, 'Why do you think evil in your hearts? For which is easier to say, 'Your sins are forgiven' or to say, 'Stand up and walk?' So that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins' -- he then said to the paralytic -- 'Stand up, take your bed and go to your home.' And he stood up and went to his home. When the crowds saw it, they were filled with awe, and they glorified God, who had given such authority to human beings."

The story, the old, old story, is told again and again, always fresh, always new. In darkness, at times of need and pain, at times of discouragement and despair, of anger and guilt, God is still present directly through others and through you to forgive, to free, to wipe away tears, to ease the aching heart, to say, "I forgive you. Go and do likewise. Rise up and walk."

Lewis Smedes, in a wonderful little book called Forgive and Forget, shows us that with the power and authority of faith, forgiveness is not weakness but strength. If we cannot feel the strength of God's power, we cannot know forgiveness, and if we cannot feel that power, we cannot stand up to injustice and willful arrogance and wrongful authority and say, "You are forgiven, sin no more."

We say that, not out of our strength but out of our weakness made strong by God's power, God's authority, God's love and grace. We are able to see reality and name it, confront it and forgive it because we know we have been forgiven ourselves and are therefore free and strong with God's strength.

Walter Brueggemann, the Biblical scholar and teacher, refers us to the people of God in their exile as described in Isaiah 47 and he points out that "the prospect of being born again in exile is to be born to a new identity outside the empire." That is, to an identity which is outside what standard conventions, values and authorities claim. We can be born again to "practice dangerous promises" -- promises of faithfulness, obedience and forgiveness because we know our God forgives us and that gives us the courage and the freedom to forgive and thus break the bonds that shackle. That is dangerous talk because it is liberating talk. It means that the power and authority of coerciveness is broken and that other possibilities can be explored. Forgiveness is a dangerous promise we can practice.

But it starts with you and it starts with me in our own lives, in our families, in our closest relationships at work and with our neighbors and friends. And it is so hard. Forgiveness is a great gift, but the resentments, the anger, the hurt, the misunderstandings, the feeling victimized, the indignity and the loss of pride in saying, "I was wrong, I'm sorry, please forgive me," run so deep -- the tragedy of families separated, friendships broken, of marriages lived in destructive tension because of an inability to say "I'm sorry, forgive me," or to say, "It's OK, I forgive you. Let's start over again." Nonetheless, the resistances persist.

How truly difficult it seems to be to either forgive or to accept forgiveness and yet that is at the very heart of faith. "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that everyone who has faith in him may not perish but have eternal life. It was not to judge the world that God sent his Son into the world, but that through him the world might be saved." He said, even while being crucified, "Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing."

It is the story of Christmas and of Easter. It is the story of faith and of faithfulness. God so loved, that God gave and forgave and endured even the pain of death, that freedom might come. Not the freedom just to enjoy and to acquire, but the freedom to receive forgiveness and to give it.

Most of us, I'm sure, can tell a story from our own experience of when we've felt that liberating love, that precious gift. When I was young and struggling, my folks loaned me the money to buy a used automobile. I made payments but there was never enough money and I got behind. They never mentioned it but I felt the guilt. It was a burden in my life. Finally, I was able to get enough together to pay all that I owed. I wrote a letter to my mother and enclosed the check and put it in the mail in the morning. That evening the telephone call came that my mother had died suddenly of heart failure. We drove home and I went out the next morning to get the mail and there was my letter to my mother with the payment of my debt, but she was gone. My father said it was OK. She knew I was doing my best.

It took a long time before I was able to accept God's forgiveness in behalf of my Mother. And yet, you know, it was only when I was able to do that -- when I could say I am forgiven and therefore free -- that I was better able to give that gift sometimes in some ways to my own children. And the struggle continues, never won, but never lost.

When I was a very young minister, someone asked me, "What is the unforgivable sin?" After much thought and reflection I said, "There is no unforgivable sin. There is no sin beyond the reach of God's forgiveness." I still believe that.