I was in my thirties when the coping mechanisms I had developed throughout years of abuse bumped up against the Christian imperative to forgive. Like many adults who suffer the mental turmoil of varying types of trauma, I was too psychologically wounded to forgive straight away. Conventional wisdom asserts that forgiveness is a choice, not a feeling. Feelings, I was assured, catch up later. But my feelings lagged like out of shape runners who had lost sight of the finish line. When they weren’t lagging, they ran fiercely ahead of reason.
I had invested in enough psychotherapy to understand that feelings are not facts. (I can feel bad on a good day and good on a bad day.) But the implication that “the passions,” i.e., feelings, emotions, and desires, held no significance in the choice to forgive exasperated me, albeit unknowingly to my pastor.
Little did I know, God would use this sticking point to reframe the choice to forgive, thereby breaking the bonds of dysregulated emotion. Much like the disciple Thomas, who doubted Jesus’ resurrection until he saw and touched his physical wounds, I needed Jesus to touch my emotional wounds if I were to fully embrace the hope of Easter. (John 20: 19-31.)
And so, with a litany of failed attempts to forgive outrageous harm, I ceased insincere “lip service,” boldly went to the throne, and invited Sacrificial Love into my pain. He, in turn, invited me to follow him into the heart of the matter. The moral of the story is that there is a sizable gap in pastoral and lay leadership capacity on how to broach the topic of forgiveness with the traumatized. I’ve watched the enemy weaponize this gap in churches and outreach communities for years.
The struggle to forgive is real. And so is the presence of Divine Mercy in every human struggle. For me, this is the plumb-line for the pursuit of mental and spiritual health—without stigmas, shame, or exclusion in our faith communities.
To learn more about a trauma-informed approach to forgiveness explore titles.
