What Kind of Fudge Is Forgiveness, Anyway? A Personal Reflection on Healing and Faith

What Kind of Fudge Is Forgiveness, Anyway? A Personal Reflection on Healing and Faith

By a.d. elliott | Take the Back Roads - Art and Other Odd Adventures

Dear Henry,

As someone who has walked through more than a few traumas in my life, the topic of forgiveness comes up constantly. Honestly, sometimes I want to channel Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride and say, “You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means.”

For years, I didn’t understand forgiveness at all. Like many abused children, I was taught that forgiveness meant pretending nothing bad had happened. You stopped crying, acted normal, and the relationship resumed immediately, with no consequences for the person who harmed you.

Let me say plainly: that definition is entirely and unequivocally false.

My journey toward understanding forgiveness began with definitions, because as Joan Didion wrote in Slouching Toward Bethlehem, “The ability to think for oneself depends upon one’s mastery of the language.” Proper definitions matter.

“The ability to think for one’s self depends upon one’s mastery of the language.” 
—Joan Didion

Modern definitions tend to frame forgiveness as “ceasing to feel anger,” “releasing resentment,” or “letting go emotionally.” While well-intentioned, I think these ask far too much, especially of people carrying deep wounds.

I prefer the 1828 Webster’s definition: to pardon a debt, to overlook.
It is simple, straightforward, and aligns perfectly with the original Greek.

In Scripture, when Jesus commands us to forgive, He uses the word aphiemi, meaning to release, to let go of an obligation or debt. He does not tell us to like our offenders. He doesn’t tell us not to hurt. And He absolutely never commands us to forget.

The word for God’s forgiveness is different: aphesis, a complete pardon, as though the offense never happened. Only God grants that kind.

All we mortals can do is hope that, when the final accounting comes, God will not hold our human limitations against us.

Often, forgiveness begins simply with realizing there is nothing productive left to say. As Khaled Hosseini writes in The Kite Runner:

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.” —Khaled Hosseini

Still, even with that understanding, I have felt condemned, by myself and others, for choosing distance from those who harmed me. But sometimes being in the same room with someone is physically dangerous and spiritually devastating.

People often say, “Think about how Jesus forgave.” And that’s true. But here’s what I didn’t grasp until recently:

Jesus forgave His persecutors, but He did not resume a relationship with them.
After the Resurrection, Jesus appears to His disciples, to those who loved Him. He does not seek out Herod, Pilate, or the people who mocked Him. He did not walk back into those courts.

Trying to be “more forgiving” than Jesus, and forcing myself into unsafe relationships, wasn’t holy. It was harmful.

And yet… I still carried anger about everything I “never had” and “still don’t have.” Then I came across this line from C.S. Lewis:

“Whatever men expect they soon come to think they have a right to.” —C.S. Lewis

In The Screwtape Letters, Lewis argues that once a human believes they have a right to something, they will destroy themselves trying to keep that right.

Despite what the world insists, our fundamental human rights are few:
Our thoughts, our feelings, and what we choose to put on our souls.
Everything else, including our relationships and even our lives, can be taken from us.

That realization changed everything.

Accepting that my expectations were not guaranteed, not owed, helped loosen the grip of resentment. It helped me see the blessings I did receive, rather than obsessing over the ones I was denied.

It also freed me from the guilt of distancing myself from the people who harmed me. Maintaining unhealthy relationships simply because someone else believes they have a “right” to access me is neither holy nor required. And God certainly doesn’t expect that of me.

And that, truly, was a wonderful thing to realize.

xoxo,
a.d. elliott

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a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller living in Salem, Virginia. 

In addition to her travel writings at www.takethebackroads.com, you can also read her book reviews at www.riteoffancy.com and US military biographies at www.everydaypatriot.com

Her online photography gallery can be found at shop.takethebackroads.com

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