Forgiveness Is a Miracle, a Gift

Forgiveness is one of the most beautiful and misused concepts in Christian life. We are taught that Jesus said, “Forgive seventy times seven.” And he did. But he also said, “Don’t throw your pearls before swine.” He said, “Let the dead bury their own dead.” He said, “Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”

Jesus knew the spiritual life would require not just love, but discernment. Not just compassion, but clarity.

Forgiveness is not denial. It’s not approval. It’s not pretending something didn’t happen. And it is not a blanket invitation to remain in harm’s way.

Forgiveness is often presented as a shortcut—a way to restore order. But it also gets used to strategically avoid conflict or the truth.

Real forgiveness is not transactional. It’s transformational.

It’s not a badge of holiness or a performance of virtue. It’s the slow, sacred work of saying: I refuse to carry what was done to me any longer. I give it to God. I entrust even the person who harmed me into God’s hands.

That’s what Jesus meant when he said, “Forgive seventy times seven.” He wasn’t telling us to tolerate abuse or forget evil. He was inviting us into a practice of spiritual release—an ongoing surrender of bitterness so we don’t become like what or who hurt us.

But Jesus also said, “Do not throw your pearls to swine, lest they trample them and turn to attack you.” He knew some hearts are not ready to receive the treasure of your vulnerability. Forgiveness doesn’t mean handing your soul to someone who has shown they will not honor it.

When Jesus said, “Let the dead bury the dead,” he was calling his disciples to leave behind what could no longer bring life and follow Him to new life. Some relationships, patterns, or systems are dead. No amount of niceness or second chances will resurrect them for the purpose God has for you. Forgiveness does not mean dragging a rotting thing into your future. Sometimes, it means blessing them and walking away with a holy ache and a lighter soul.

And then there’s “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” This is not a call to enable evil. It’s a call to release yourself from hate. To pray for your enemy is not to approve of them—it’s to refuse to let their actions shape your heart more than the love of God does. It’s to entrust their transformation to a God who sees more than we do. It is a call to humility to acknowledge that you too have done wrong and “knew not what” you did.

Forgiveness, in Jesus’ world, is not sentimental. It’s not polite. It’s powerful. It is a refusal to carry someone else’s cruelty inside your own nervous system. It is the sacred decision to say, “I will not be owned by what you did. I will not become you. I will hand you over to God and walk on.”

And true forgiveness also tells the truth. Jesus never pretended harm didn’t matter. He named betrayal, he wept at grief, and he stood with the vulnerable before the powers-that-be when they demanded false peace. There is no forgiveness without truth.

You may not be ready to forgive. That’s okay. Start with telling the truth to God. Let your tears and anger be your prayer. And when the time comes, forgive—not because they earned it. But because you were never meant to carry that weight forever.

To forgive is to say: I am not your victim. I am God’s beloved. And I’m choosing freedom, not forgetting.

And when you do, you join the long line of saints who handed their pain back to God, again and again. Maybe even seventy times seven.