At this time of year, as we prepare to gather and to share with the people we hold dear — and attend the more obligatory holiday events — there is one thing that might be the best preparation of all. Before we make the trip or sit at the table or pour the cocktails, we should consider forgiving. What would the new church year be like if we walked into it unencumbered by the burden of held grievances?
Forgiveness is one of the hardest teachings of Christ, not because we don’t understand it, but because we do. Jesus is clear when he said that we will be forgiven as we forgive others (Lk 6:36; Eph 4:32). We know this is important. We pray these words every time we say the Our Father. Yet when a wound is real — and especially when it is repeated, unacknowledged or unresolved — our hearts resist. We might think we’re trying to forgive, but the hurt returns like a tide.
Part of the struggle is that many of us learned distorted definitions of forgiveness. We think forgiveness means pretending something didn’t happen. Or that forgiveness requires us to immediately return to closeness or trust. Or we should suppress anger, pain, or our sense of injustice. We think that if we forgive, we put the grievance in a box, put a bow on it, and tuck it all safely away. But the church does not ask this of us.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church calls forgiveness a work of mercy and reminds us that mercy is a fruit of charity. That means forgiveness is something God grows in us from the seed of love. It is not something we manufacture by the force of our will. Forgiveness begins with opening our hands to let God help us do what we cannot do on our own. Surrender is instrumental to forgiveness.
We can also acknowledge that forgiveness and reconciliation are not the same thing. Nor is forgiveness contingent upon reconciliation. Forgiveness is something we can do with God, even privately. Reconciliation requires a change of behavior, rebuilding trust, repairing a relationship. Reconciliation requires another party. And sometimes reconciliation is not possible right now, or not safe. Setting boundaries — physical, emotional or conversational — is not contrary to forgiveness. In many cases, boundaries are the conditions in which forgiveness can finally breathe enough to take root and grow towards reconciliation.
It may help to understand that there are two forms of forgiveness: decisional and emotional. Decisional forgiveness is an act of the will: “Lord, I choose to release this person from the debt they owe me. I place the matter into your hands.” Emotional forgiveness takes longer. It is the gradual healing of the heart, the easing of anger or grief. This part unfolds over time, often through prayer, spiritual accompaniment and sometimes counseling. There is no shame in that. In fact, the church acknowledges that interior healing is a work of conversion, a process that unfolds throughout a lifetime.
It can be helpful, too, to notice the thoughts that rise around a wound. Sometimes a single painful experience becomes surrounded by assumptions: “She did that because she never cared.” Or “If I forgive, they’ll think it didn’t matter.” These thoughts deepen the wound. Slowing down to notice, name and challenge them — especially in the presence of Scripture or before the Blessed Sacrament — can begin to soften the grip of resentment and make the soil more receptive.
Forgiveness is rarely a single moment. It is usually a patient, grace-filled path in which we let God look at our wounds with us, rather than hide them. We forgive because we have been forgiven. And we forgive imperfectly, sometimes with tears, and always with Christ.
Finally, forgiving doesn’t always mean forgetting. Forgetting is a bit of a miracle, an act of God. There is grace in letting go of the grievance so completely that you do forget it. Actively pursuing forgiveness is the first step towards forgetting. You begin with the decision to forgive. You ask for the grace and the guidance to do it well. You decide and you surrender. It’s between you and God. It’s a movement of your soul. Then, one day, your brain catches up and acknowledges that it’s fully safe to let the pain go. God is so tender towards you that not only is the burden of the grievance lifted, but the weight of its memory is but a whisper.
My prayer is that this holiday season is as weightless as clouds of whispers.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
