COSTLY, DIFFICULT, AND HOLY
In a recent gathering, we spoke about how forgiveness is both a pathway of faith and a pathway to faith.
Someone asked, almost in a whisper, “What if I’ve chosen to forgive, but the pain won’t leave me? Does that mean I haven’t really forgiven?”
Few words in Scripture ask as much of us as this one: forgive.
“Forgive us our debts,” Jesus said, “as we forgive our debtors.”
It’s a single line, but the order matters. Forgiveness received and forgiveness given flow together like river and rain. We cannot drink deeply of one without tasting the other.
But then comes the question that lives quietly inside so many of us:
What happens when the wound stays open long after the words "I forgive you" have been spoken? What of the ache that wakes us at night, or the memory that startles us in the middle of an ordinary day?
You may have whispered forgiveness through tears and still felt the sting of hurt cut through your peace. That doesn’t make your forgiveness false. It simply makes you human, still healing, still learning how to breathe in grace.
Forgiveness, as scripture shows us, is not the same as forgetting. It is not pretending. It is an act of will that leans hard on grace. To forgive is to release, to say, You no longer owe me. But that release does not erase memory. It simply places justice in God’s hands, where it belongs. And in that place, the wound becomes something holy, a space where His mercy can reach us.
When Jesus forgave from the cross, the nails were still in his hands. He was still bleeding. The pain was still sharp. Forgiveness came before relief, not after it. When we struggle while still hurting, we are standing in holy company, following His pattern of mercy before comfort, obedience before ease.
Sometimes, though, we hold tight to our hurt because it feels like armor. This is where bitterness can seep into our hearts masquerading as hurt. Bitterness becomes a small hidden weapon, proof that we were wronged. The problem is that our weapon of bitterness does not protect us. It cuts inward, wounding us over and over again.
Forgiveness unclenches the fist. It lets God fill the space with something soothing, something kind.
As we forgive - haltingly, imperfectly - God tends to the tender places inside us that were never meant to carry the burden. He washes the wound, not with denial, but with compassion. Over time, scar tissue forms. Not a mark of hardness, but of healing. We will still remember, but the memory will lose its power to hurt. The pain will no longer define our story - grace will.
Today, if you find yourself still hurting, take heart. The One who calls you to forgive is the same One who promises to restore. Lay your pain before Him. Let Him meet you there, right in the midst of your ache. In time, forgiveness - costly, difficult, holy - will be the very road that leads your heart home to peace.
May we think on these things!