Over 30 years ago, I lost a dear friend to a drunk driver. At her funeral, her mother prayed for the man who had taken her daughter’s life—for his forgiveness. At the time, I couldn’t understand that. In fact, it made me angry. It made me wonder how a mother could love her daughter and pray for her killer? I’ve rarely thought about it since—until this morning.
Today, I was reading about Stephen, the first Christian martyr, and it brought that memory rushing back. It also reminded me of a conversation I had recently, when someone asked me if they were expected to forgive someone who hadn’t repented. I said yes—we’re called to forgive, and I pointed to Jesus’ words to Peter: “Forgive seventy times seven.” I also mentioned how Christ went to the cross for me, knowing every sin I would ever commit.
If I carry someone’s wrongs from yesterday into today, and judge them by who they were, not who they are now—or who they could become—then I withhold the possibility of reconciliation. That’s not forgiveness. That’s a prison of my own making.
But Stephen’s forgiveness went even deeper. While being stoned to death, he prayed for his killers. Not after. Not once he was safe. In the middle of the pain—while rocks were still flying. That kind of forgiveness can only come from total trust in God’s sovereignty, and a heart full of His grace. The same grace that is greater than all our sins.
If Stephen could forgive in the midst of suffering, how can I not forgive long after the fact? How could Zhoanna’s mother not pray for the man who killed her daughter? How can I withhold forgiveness from those who’ve wronged me?
The answer is: I can’t—not if I remember how much I’ve been forgiven. David said, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.” My sins are ever before me. I know who I am without grace. My righteousness is nothing but filthy rags. How could I ever say someone has sinned against me? I’m not the standard. I’m the recipient of mercy. And if I’m asking God to forgive me, how can I not extend that same forgiveness to others?
So today, I’m reminded that forgiveness isn’t something I give because others deserve it—but because I’ve been forgiven so much myself. Grace doesn’t wait for an apology. It flows from the heart that knows just how much mercy it has received.
May we walk in that kind of grace. The kind that frees us from bitterness. The kind that looks like Stephen’s. The kind that Zhoanna’s mother chose. The kind that looks like Jesus.
Who do you need to forgive today?