Forgiving the Unforgiveable

This week I watched a widow stand in front of a grieving nation and say three words that stunned the room: “I forgive him.” Erika Kirk spoke those words about the man who murdered her husband. No grandstanding. No score-settling. Just a clear, costly act of grace at a memorial service where sorrow was thick in the air. However you feel about public figures or the swirl of headlines, that moment wasn’t political—it was profoundly Christian.

What makes that kind of forgiveness possible? One word: Jesus.

On the cross, while nails still pierced His hands, Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). That’s not sentiment; that’s salvation breaking into human cruelty. Stephen, the first Christian martyr, echoed that prayer as stones rained down on him: “Lord, do not hold this sin against them” (Acts 7:60). Forgiveness didn’t start with us; it started with God. “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). We forgive because He first forgave us (see Ephesians 4:32; Colossians 3:13).

Let’s be honest, though. Many believers carry a name or a memory that still burns. Maybe it’s a betrayal, a wound from childhood, a church hurt, or a headline that reopened an old scar. We tell ourselves, “I can’t forgive that,” or “They don’t deserve it.” Here’s the hard truth wrapped in mercy: unforgiveness is not an option for followers of Jesus. Our Lord taught us to pray, “Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matthew 6:12). Then He added this sting: “If you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Matthew 6:15). He wasn’t threatening our status; He was exposing our hearts. A forgiven heart must become a forgiving heart.

“But what about justice?” Good question. Forgiveness is not the same as excusing, forgetting, or trusting. Forgiveness releases revenge to God; justice can still proceed through rightful authorities (Romans 12:19; 13:1–4). And forgiveness does not erase boundaries. You can forgive fully and still say, “For our safety and wisdom, we won’t restore access right now.” Grace isn’t gullible; it’s godly.

“So how do I move past the barrier?” Here’s a path, not a formula:

2. Name the wound before God. Be specific. “Lord, here is what happened and how it broke me.” God meets us in truth (Psalm 51:6).

4. Bring it to the cross. Picture Jesus absorbing both your pain and their sin. Say out loud, “Because You have forgiven me, I choose to forgive ___.” Forgiveness is first a decision of obedience, then a journey of healing (Matthew 18:21–22).

6. Release your right to revenge. Pray: “Father, I hand You the gavel. You judge rightly.” This isn’t denial; it’s surrender (Romans 12:19).

8. Ask for Spirit-power to bless. Jesus told us to bless those who curse us (Luke 6:27–28). Start with a simple blessing: “God, turn them from darkness to light. Save and transform them.” Your feelings may lag behind; keep blessing.

10. Set wise boundaries. Forgiveness is free; trust is rebuilt (or not) over time. Boundaries protect people, not pride (Proverbs 4:23).

12. Repeat as needed. Sometimes memories re-injure us. When they do, go back to steps 2–4. Forgiving “seventy times seven” may look like revisiting the cross every time the ache resurfaces (Matthew 18:22).

14. Remember your own ledger. Jesus’ parable of the unforgiving servant (Matthew 18:23–35) reminds us that our debt to God was unpayable. When I stare at the mountain He canceled for me, the pebble in my brother’s hand looks different.

16. Invite community into the process. A wise pastor, counselor, or trusted friend can help you sort safety, justice, and reconciliation without shaming your pain (Galatians 6:2).

Here’s the good news you can bank your life on: there is nothing and no one beyond the reach of God’s forgiveness. Not because sin is small, but because the cross is greater. When we forgive, we are not saying, “You were worthy.” We are saying, “Christ is worthy.” Forgiveness is not a trophy for the offender; it’s an altar to Jesus—an offering of grace and mercy from people who received grace and mercy first.

Maybe you’re thinking, “Tony, I don’t feel it.” Me neither, sometimes. Start with willingness. Tell the Lord, “I’m willing to be made willing.” He can grow a seed of willingness into a harvest of mercy. And when you feel stuck, pray Scripture back to Him: “Lord, be kind in me. Teach me to be tenderhearted, forgiving as You forgave me in Christ” (Ephesians 4:32).

One last picture: Joseph looked into the faces of the brothers who sold him, and he said, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Genesis 50:20). That’s resurrection logic. Only God can turn evil’s sharp edge into a healing tool. Only God can make a widow stand in a stadium of grief and choose grace. Only God can take your wound and weave it into someone else’s freedom.

If there’s a name on your heart right now, pause and whisper it to Jesus. Then begin the slow, holy work of forgiveness. Not because they deserve it, but because He deserves your “yes.” And who knows—on the other side of your obedience may be a freedom you didn’t think was possible.

Note: This reflection is about Christian forgiveness, not politics. I referenced the memorial moment simply because it’s a living picture of the gospel at work in the hardest place.

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