Forgiveness in Orthodox life is
not a simple act of magnanimity, nor an emotional impulse that depends on
whether the other person acknowledges their fault. It is, above all, a mystery
of the heart. An invitation from God to man to pass from darkness into light,
from the prison of thoughts into the freedom of the spirit. Saint Seraphim of
Sarov emphasized that the peace of the soul is an invaluable treasure, and that
every movement that unites us with grace has the power to bring light not only
within us, but also to the world around us. Forgiveness is not the liberation
of the other, it is our own liberation. It is not the justification of
injustice; it is the healing of the wound. It is not a denial of pain; it is a
confession that pain is not the final word. The soul that forgives, even when
the other remains unrepentant, becomes a vessel of divine peace. Where it was
struck and bled, there precisely a space opens for grace.
Why, then, should one forgive
when not even a word of apology is heard? Why offer something the other does
not ask for? The answer is not found in the other, but within us. Man has been
created in the image of God, and God causes His sun to rise upon the evil and
the good; He does not wait for us to ask forgiveness in order to grant us life.
His love precedes our repentance. Forgiveness, therefore, is not imitation of
man—it is imitation of God. When the soul holds on to resentment, it freezes,
it hardens. It shuts the pores of the heart, which are made to breathe grace.
It is like a man holding a burning coal to throw it at another, but in the
meantime the coal burns his own hands. Saint Seraphim, with the gentleness that
characterized him, used to say that anger drives away the presence of the Holy
Spirit from the heart. And without that presence, there is no joy, no light, no
consolation.
Forgiveness, as understood by the
Church, is not a feeling—it is a decision and an ascetic practice. It is the
conscious movement of the heart to abandon the thought of self-justification
and to place humility in its stead. It does not mean that we forget, it does
not mean that we excuse, it does not mean that we allow injustice to continue.
It means that we remove the sin of the other from our heart so that it does not
become our own burden. Saint Seraphim taught that a person’s peace is a candle
that gives light. If the candle is extinguished by anger, jealousy, or
injustice, then not only do we remain in darkness, but also those around us
lose a source of light that God has given them. Forgiveness, then, is a
ministry both to ourselves and to the world.
But there is a deeper dimension.
Many times, the other person does not ask for forgiveness—not because they do
not want to, but because they cannot. Their heart is wounded, confused,
darkened. They have not yet reached the point where they can clearly see their
fault. The fall saturates one’s vision with confusion. They may have grown up
in such a way that they never learned what repentance means. They may be bound
by passions, pride, fear. When this becomes a way of life, it leaves no room
for self-reproach. This is why Christ on the Cross did not wait for those who
crucified Him to ask for forgiveness. He prayed for them, saying that they did
not know what they were doing. Ignorance does not justify the act, but it
explains the depth of their delusion. When we forgive someone who does not ask
for forgiveness, we often imitate this stance. We see behind the sin the person
who is ignorant, who is unable, who is struggling in darkness. Forgiveness then
becomes a prayer for enlightenment and healing.
Forgiveness does not concern only
others; it also concerns how we see ourselves. Many times, we struggle to
forgive not because we desire justice, but because pride dominates within us.
He offended me, he wronged me, he belittled me. The ego becomes the center of
our existence. The ego demands rebellion. Saint Nektarios said that the most
subtle form of pride is our wounded speech—pretending to seek justice, while in
truth we seek vindication. When we allow ourselves to be saturated with such
thoughts, we become enslaved. But humility breaks the chains. It moves us from
demand to freedom, from bitterness to peace, from pain to light. Forgiveness
does not oppose the justice of God—it opposes our own hardness of heart. The
heart that forgives becomes a place where the Holy Spirit finds rest. Saint
Seraphim taught that the Christian must strive to acquire the Holy Spirit,
because then everything within him is transformed. And forgiveness is among the
first gifts that spring up where grace dwells. The heart cannot be full of
light and at the same time hold a dark corner for any person. Light does not
compromise with resentment. When we hand over the injustice to God, when we
give space to divine justice and do not demand punishment or validation for
ourselves, then the soul is set free. It is no longer hooked onto the past.
Memory no longer devours its own flesh. Man becomes light, agile, full of
peace—and then he can pray with a clear mind and goodness for all, even for
those who caused him pain. Yet there is something more. Forgiveness opens the
path for the miracles of the heart. How many times has change occurred in
people's lives simply because someone forgave them even though they did not
deserve it? How many times has a person who remained hardened been moved by
another’s magnanimity and repented? God works through these silent movements of
love. Forgiveness often becomes the first step for someone to encounter the
light. Even if we never see any result, forgiveness is never wasted. It is not an
act of social courtesy—it is a spiritual act, and every such act is inscribed
in the heart of the one who receives it, even if they do not realize it at the
time. When we do not forgive, we are, in fact, dependent on the other. We carry
their existence within us in a negative way. We become slaves to the memory of
the injustice. Forgiveness is the rupture of this bondage. It is the
declaration that our heart is not ruled by the words of men, but by the peace
of God. Saint Seraphim, with his radiant gentleness, often said that whoever
keeps peace within becomes like a still lake in which the heavens are clearly
reflected. If the lake is disturbed by winds of anger, resentment, and
bitterness, then one can see nothing in its depths, and on its surface, there
is only murkiness and darkness. Forgiveness restores serenity. To forgive
without being asked for forgiveness is perhaps the most silent form of love. It
has no cries, no triumphs, no explanations. It is a secret act seen only by
God. And yet, this act has the power to change the world within us and around
us.
The person who forgives becomes a
bearer of peace. His heart becomes prayer. His life becomes testimony. When we
forgive, we enter into an inner state that surpasses the limits of human
reasoning. We no longer calculate who was right and who was wrong. We consider
what the will of God is—and His will is clear: to love, to show mercy, to be
peacemakers. What Saint Seraphim of Sarov saw and lived is neither small nor
simple. It is the transcendence of the ego, the experience of divine peace, the
path of healing and rebirth.
Whoever forgives becomes a
partaker in the grace of God, because forgiveness is not a human invention—it
is a divine gift. And when we offer it, even if the other does not have the
strength to ask for forgiveness, then we too become light in a world that is in
pain. We become a witness of love that knows no bounds. We become those who
open paths of peace where everything seems closed.
Forgiveness is the way by which
the heart keeps heaven open. And where heaven remains open, there grace
descends, there God finds rest, there the soul breathes.
Greek source: https://entoytwnika1.blogspot.com/2025/11/blog-post_21.html
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