How do you forgive someone who hasn’t apologised for hurting you . . . and hurts you yet again? A writer shares her journey.
How do you forgive someone who hasn’t apologised for hurting you . . . and hurts you yet again? A writer shares her journey.
Carrie Ng
Carrie Ng
How do you forgive someone who hasn’t apologised for hurting you . . . and hurts you yet again? A writer shares her journey.
Carrie Ng
I don’t want to forgive her, I told God.
I didn’t think she deserved my forgiveness. After all, it wasn’t the first time she did something wrong, and she didn’t apologise then. This time round, her words were not only deceitful, but they also slandered me.
Look at her, I told God. She hasn’t changed and she hasn’t learnt her lesson. Why should I forgive her?
If you knew the story, I’m sure you’d agree with me as well.
I first knew Freya through a college Christian ministry. Assertive, articulate, and ambitious, she was someone who knew what she wanted and how to get it. When she asked me to volunteer with her in a community programme outside of school, the opportunity appealed to me, and I quickly said yes.
Freya was a team leader in the programme, and many of the volunteers in our team became close friends as we served together and looked to Freya for her leadership.
Our work, however, was not without woes. Freya often complained about Carl, another leader, who was apparently fond of opposing our team’s work. According to Freya, Carl’s criticism of our plans delayed our work. This happened so frequently that we voiced our frustrations to the programme head.
Eventually, Freya left the programme after she got married, so we had to work with Carl. It was then that we gradually discovered he wasn’t the antagonistic, critical person Freya had made him out to be. In fact, he was objective, forward-thinking, and easy-going—completely unlike the image Freya painted.
As we spoke to other team leaders, my friends and I realised that Freya had been playing politics. She had been vying for greater prominence in the programme and sought to undermine Carl’s influence. She had fabricated stories about Carl, turned her volunteers against him, and instigated us to complain about him to the programme head.
I was sorely disappointed that the Freya I thought I knew—an exemplary Christian leader whom I looked up to—had turned out to be a power-hungry person. She had not only maligned her “competitor”, but had also used us as pawns in her quest for power.
Our team lamented about wronging Carl and trusting Freya too much. Having lost our trust in her and considering her busyness as a young mother, we decided not to confront Freya. And with her departure and the programme continuing, we focused on the work and put the matter behind us.
I thought that I had all but forgotten about what happened, but God knew that I had to deal with my heart. Many years later, when I was attending a silent retreat, the Holy Spirit reminded me of individuals in my life whom I needed to forgive. Including Freya.
By then, my memories of the episode had faded; I hadn’t seen Freya since she left the volunteer programme. But like a healing wound scratched open, the disappointment I recalled from the incident stung again.
In the silence of my room, I flipped through the Bible, looking for God’s word on forgiveness. He spoke clearly through Matthew 6:14–15:
“If you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”
In the silence of my room, I flipped through the Bible, looking for God’s word on forgiveness. He spoke clearly through Matthew 6:14–15:
“If you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”
I realised that forgiveness is not conditional on someone’s admission of wrongdoing and request for forgiveness.
I was called to forgive simply because God had forgiven me.
Although Freya hadn’t apologised for what she did, I was now willing to not hold her deeds against her.
When I met my volunteer friends after the retreat, I told them that I had forgiven Freya. Some were incredulous that I was willing to forgive her when she hadn’t acknowledged her wrongdoing nor apologised to us. But I explained that God had led me to do so.
Little did I know that my convictions on forgiveness would soon be tested.
Some time later, a fellow volunteer told me that Freya had invited her out for lunch. During the meal, Freya complained to her that some of the volunteers she had recruited—including me—had formed exclusive cliques back then. What’s more, she claimed, our team had ostracised Prisca, a fellow volunteer with a physical weakness, by refusing to let her take on key roles.
Hearing her account, a whole host of emotions welled up in me.
I was bewildered. It had been a good eight years since Freya had left the programme, and everyone had moved on. Why bring up the past now? What was she trying to achieve?
I was also disgusted by her allegations of discrimination. Unbeknownst to Freya, I was still catching up regularly with Prisca, even after she stopped volunteering. In fact, after Freya left, I had even tried to persuade Prisca to take on a key role in the programme.
I was infuriated by Freya’s character attack on us. I wanted to call up everyone—Prisca, Freya, and all the volunteers she had bad-mouthed—and have Freya repeat her words to everyone. Then we could see how two-faced she really was.
I was infuriated by Freya’s character attack on us. I wanted to call up everyone—Prisca, Freya, and all the volunteers she had bad-mouthed—and have Freya repeat her words to everyone. Then we could see how two-faced she really was.
Blindsided by the accusations, I tried to pray. But I could only summon words of anger. As anger simmered in my heart, I told God, I don’t want to forgive her.
At the next meeting with my fellow volunteers, I told them what I had heard. Even as I expressed my anger over Freya’s untruths, one of my friends asked, with a tinge of mockery in her voice, “I thought you had forgiven her?”
I had. But this time, it was different, I reasoned. Her attacks were personal, and that’s why it was so difficult for me to forgive again.
How Many Times Must I Forgive?
Unforgiveness has a way of gnawing at your insides. I had no peace because I kept ruminating on the wrongs Freya committed against me.
The Holy Spirit, however, gently nudged me towards God. I recalled how the apostle Peter—who may have had a similar issue with forgiveness—had asked Jesus: “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered: “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:21–22).
Jesus then told the parable of the unmerciful servant (vv. 23–35) who did not show mercy to a fellow servant even after he himself had received his master’s mercy. His master described him as “wicked” (v. 32), and demanded he repay his debt. Jesus warned His disciples:
“This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother or sister from your heart” (v. 35).
From your heart.
This verse told me that forgiveness can’t be perfunctory. It has to come from the heart—the seat of feeling, impulse, and desire.
Perfunctory forgiveness would be telling people, “I forgive her”—yet repeating Freya’s wrongdoings to anyone who cared to listen. Or seething in anger every time I thought of her.
Does true forgiveness mean, then, that when I recall an offence, I should no longer feel disappointed, angry, or betrayed?
I don’t think these emotions will go away easily, because Freya’s actions went against what I value most—integrity, humility, and kindness. But I also know that I need not—and should not—wallow in my emotions so much that they prevent me from forgiving her.
Each time the memory of Freya’s offence triggers my emotions, I can choose forgiveness.
Because forgiveness isn’t a one-time decision—it’s an ongoing process.
Because forgiveness isn’t a one-time decision—it’s an ongoing process.
Changing into Christ’s Likeness
Recently, I bumped into Freya at an event and even chatted with her. Because I’d forgiven her, I felt no ill will against her. And I have told myself that if she were ever to be in need of help, I would help her.
Recently, I bumped into Freya at an event and even chatted with her. Because I’d forgiven her, I felt no ill will against her. And I have told myself that if she were ever to be in need of help, I would help her.
But to tell the truth, I’m still wary about working with her again.
Reflecting on my wariness, I’m reminded that while forgiveness and reconciliation are related, there is a difference between the two. “Forgiveness clears the ledger; it does not instantly rebuild trust,” writes Bible teacher Gary Inrig. He adds: “Forgiveness isn’t the same as reconciliation. Reconciliation is earned.”
Till today, Freya has not admitted her fault. Perhaps one day, the two of us could talk about what had happened and understand each other’s perspective. Maybe she would see where she went wrong—or maybe she wouldn’t. Regardless, I can continue to pray for Freya, because she is a sister-in-Christ and God is still at work in her life, changing her to live with integrity and be more like Christ.
At the same time, God is also working in me through His Spirit—to make me grow in mercy and grace towards those who offend me.
Forgiveness is ultimately an act of the will and not a stirring of the emotions.
With the Holy Spirit’s help, I have decided to forgive Freya, again. And I know that I can do this because God has given me the desire to do so. I can show mercy because God has shown me mercy.
More On
