The NY Times sports columnist, William Rhoden, was at the Westchester County Courthouse on Friday, following the saga of Marion Jones. Rhoden's story in the sports section on Saturday was almost like an obituary; it dealt with death - the death of honor. Jones, the greatest female sprinter of her era, had admitted to using performance-enhancing drugs. Admittedly, I use coffee and prayer as I write a sermon. Maybe you use coffee and prayer to survive one. But at this point in time, neither coffee nor prayer are banned substances. But what Jones did to make herself a better athlete was illegal and she may go to prison. It was sad to watch the agony of her public apology and listen to her plea for forgiveness. More importantly, what does she privately tell her family, especially her children? If Rhoden were not a sports writer, but a family therapist, this is what he would tell them: "Yesterday's moment does not make Marion Jones a bad person. It marks her as a tainted human being ... a person blinded by ambition that was perhaps rooted in insecurity."

In that brief statement, a sports writer summed up the basic human condition. Most of us are not bad persons ... all of us are tainted. Who knows? Gathered in the very sanctuary this morning may be some blinded by ambition rooted in insecurity. In Luther's famous definition on the subject, he labels each and every person a saint - and a sinner - simultaneously. To say it another way, every saint has a taint.

Every saint has a taint and every text has a context. Our Gospel text begins with this request from the apostles, "Lord, increase our faith!" What was the context which caused the disciples to recognize their faith needed a pick-me-up? The context, the preceding verses, are these: Jesus said, "If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, 'I repent,' forgive him." Somebody offends you seven times in a day, and seven times is sorry ... you must forgive him seven times. Small wonder the disciples want a performance-enhancing substance for their faith!

This is a silly illustration, but pretend Marion Jones has to run the hundred yard dash against her fastest competitors to qualify for the Olympics. She comes out of the locker room having rubbed a clear, undetectable substance on her legs; she defeats the competition in record time. She is confronted. She confesses. "Yes, I cheated. Please forgive me; give me one more chance." And she is forgiven and is allowed to run the race again. As the runners get in the starting blocks, Marion swallows a banned energy pill. She defeats the competition in record time. Again she is confronted and again she asks for another chance. The response? "Why sure Marion. We forgive you." The third time, unbeknownst to everyone, just before the starter's gun, Marion quickly ties together the laces of her competitors and they all trip and she wins the dash, again in record time - and you know what? Again she says she is sorry and again she is forgiven. A fourth time it happens, and a fifth and ... you get the idea: forgiving someone seven times is a monumental task ... and all in one day!

The rabbis have a saying that to forgive once is more-or-less expected. To forgive twice is a blessing. To forgive three times puts you right up there with the angels. Rabbi Jesus says, "You must forgive seven times - a day. Seven times." No wonder the disciples respond: "Lord, increase our faith." Perhaps another way of saying, "Lord, give us a break!"

Katelyn and Logan are mere babes in arms as they are carried this morning to the water. The Church is going to do publicly what we already know to be true privately; that is, we are going to acknowledge these two as children of God. I like this reality of infant Baptism. Logan doesn't know God from Adam. Kaitlyn doesn't know God from Eve. But ... God knows these two from the womb, and calls them by name. Kaitlyn cannot say the words, "I love you God." Neither can Logan. Not to worry. In this Sacrament, God says, "I love you both, Kaitlyn and Logan You are mine." Even before they can take a baby step in God's direction ... God has already bridged all gaps.

And God knows fully what we, at this point, only suspect. These babies who are going to be baptized - these oh, so innocent children - are one day going to reach the so-called age of reason. As sure as night follows day, they are going to do some unreasonable things, things which are far less than fully innocent. We don't need a crystal ball to make such a prediction. It is the nature of us each one of us to sin. And we know, we just know, Paul and Lynn and Gerard and Lisa will forgive their children even if, even when, they taint their diapers seven times a day. It is the nature of parents to forgive. Beyond that, forgiveness is the very nature of our God, the very essence of our God. God is dying to forgive us, because our God once died to forgive.

Think of just about the most familiar story Jesus told. The Prodigal Son. The young man who takes the money from his father and runs to the far country. And he keeps on running in the fast lane until he runs through his money ... and more-or-less crawls home, penniless. What did his father do when he arrived home? The same thing the parents of Logan and Kaitlyn would do, and undoubtedly will do, in the years to come. The same thing most any parent would do. His father runs out to greet him. To embrace him. To hold him close. We would do that ... would we not? Before the boy can say, "I'm home and I'm so sorry!" the father says, "You're home and I'm so glad!" The word forgiveness is not used, but look up the definition in the dictionary, as they say, and you'll see a picture of a loving father and a prodigal son. For certain, that kind of behavior does not often come easily - that kind of forgiveness.

Any of you have a son or a daughter who are in the "far country?" Or a sister or a brother? You argued. You left. Or they left. Doesn't really matter who did the leaving. Probably nobody can remember by now, anyway. And you haven't spoken for awhile. And perhaps the next time any words will be exchanged it will be at a funeral home where one or the other of you will be sobbing, "Why did we wait until it was too late?" And this question too: why is it, we wonder, that it seems easier to forgive an enemy ... than it is to forgive a friend? Easier to forgive a stranger than our own flesh and blood. No doubt you have seen families so splintered that the family tree seems ready for firewood. Civil wars - wars between members of the same family - are seldom civil.

I've mentioned before one of the most powerful moments in the movie Schindler's List. Oskar Schindler is speaking with the evil commandant of a concentration camp, Amon Goethe. Goethe is boasting of his power over the Jews. "What power?" asks Schindler. And Goethe replies, "The power of life and death. "If you have it in your power to say, "You - you shall die this day; and you, you shall live!" Truly that is power. But not to Schindler. Schindler says, "No, Amon, there is a power greater than the power of life and death. It is the power to pardon. The power to forgive." Later, as Goethe prepares to shave, he looks at himself in the mirror, deep into his own eyes. He reaches slowly and toward the forehead of his own image. And in a halting voice he says, "I forgive you."

One last thought: the bread and wine this morning are not banned substances ... but they are performance-enhancing as we stumble along on the hundred yard dash called life. Taste the bread upon your tongue and the liquid as you sip. And hear the words of a gentle Jesus, "I forgive you. Go, and do thou likewise!"