Asking for Patience, Receiving Grace

a misinterpretation of history, when I was a kid, based on a simple verb

Good morning everyone, Today I'd like to share with you a personal misinterpretation of a biblical parable—one shaped by my limited vocabulary as a child and a logic I instinctively constructed to make sense of the story.

The parable in question is The Parable of the Unmerciful Servant (Matthew 18:23–35). A king decides to settle accounts with his servants. One of them owes him ten thousand talents—an astronomical sum. Unable to pay, the king orders that the man, his family, and all his possessions be sold to cover the debt. The servant falls at the king’s feet, begging for patience. Moved with compassion, the king pardons him the entire debt.

But then, that same servant encounters a fellow servant who owes him a hundred denarii—a much smaller amount. He grabs him, chokes him, and demands repayment. The second servant pleads for patience, but the first refuses and has him thrown into prison.

When the king hears what happened, he is furious. He summons the unmerciful servant and tells him he should have shown the same mercy he had received. Then he hands him over to the jailers until he repays the entire debt.

Central message: Jesus concludes by saying that the heavenly Father will do the same to those who do not forgive their brother or sister from the heart. It’s a powerful parable about forgiveness, mercy, and the hypocrisy of receiving grace without extending it to others.

Now, here’s where my childhood misunderstanding comes in. When I was little, I thought that “pardoned” meant “I give you more time.” For context, my parents had a Gospel translation that used more formal or technical language. As a child with a limited vocabulary, I would have immediately understood if the text had said “cancelled,” “erased,” or “forgave.”

So I interpreted “pardoned” as “granted an extension,” based on what happened next. I reasoned:

“Maybe he needed those 100 denarii to start repaying the king. Why didn’t he explain that? Why didn’t he wait? His friend only asked for more time—certainly less than what he himself had needed to raise ten thousand talents.”

Now that I understand the true meaning of “pardoned”—that the debt was completely forgiven—a new question arises:

Why did he still demand the 100 denarii? If his debt had been erased, he no longer needed that money. His actions become not just harsh, but irrational.

Even though my misinterpretation slightly softened the servant’s behavior, it didn’t change the core meaning of the parable. Jesus uses this story to expose the inconsistency of those who receive forgiveness but refuse to offer it. The servant had done nothing to deserve mercy, yet he demanded full repayment from someone else. It’s a denunciation of hardness of heart—the inability to see others through the same eyes with which we ourselves have been seen.

And to think: He had only asked for patience, and the king granted him pardon—a gift far greater than he had requested. His companion, in turn, asked for the same thing—just patience—and was denied even that.

Think about it: The servant didn’t ask for pardon; he asked for patience. And the king gave him much more—not just time, but total freedom from debt. An act of mercy beyond all expectations.

Then, when his fellow servant asked for the same—just a little time—he refused. He didn’t offer pardon, and he didn’t even offer patience. No grace, no trust, no hope.

This parable reminds us how easy it is to forget the grace we’ve received, and how hard it is to transform it into compassion. The servant was given a gift that could have freed him internally as well—but he chose to remain a prisoner of the logic of debt.

It’s a story that could serve as the title for an entire reflection on forgiveness, humanity, and the difficulty of recognizing our own fragility in others.

“We often ask for patience and receive forgiveness. But if we’re not willing to forgive, are we even able to offer patience?”