A Day in the Life
“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.” — Matthew 6:12
When I walk slowly through the Lord’s Prayer, I notice how Jesus does not allow me to linger long in comfort before He brings me face to face with my need. In the same breath that I ask for daily bread, I must ask for daily forgiveness. That alone tells me something about the rhythm of a disciple’s life. I require mercy every single day. The word Jesus uses for “debts” is the Greek opheilēmata, meaning that which is owed. Sin is not merely a mistake or a lapse in judgment; it is a moral obligation left unpaid before a holy God.
Few experiences are more freeing than genuine forgiveness. When someone I have wronged looks me in the eye and says, “I forgive you,” something heavy lifts. The burden loosens. That is what happens in prayer. Jesus teaches me to ask the Father to cancel my debt, to release me from what I cannot repay. As Paul later writes, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). Forgiveness is not peripheral to Christian faith; it is central to it.
Yet Jesus does something startling. He ties my experience of forgiveness to my willingness to forgive others. Just a few verses later, He warns, “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you” (Matthew 6:14–15). The Greek word for trespasses there, paraptōmata, refers to deviations, false steps, missteps that cause harm. I know how that feels. I have taken false steps. Others have taken them against me.
This is where the life of Jesus becomes personal and searching. God revealed His character to Moses as “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Exodus 34:6–7). Forgiveness flows from who He is. If I claim to follow Christ, I cannot hold tightly to resentment while asking freely for grace. John Stott once wrote, “Once our eyes have been opened to see the enormity of our offense against God, the injuries which others have done to us appear by comparison extremely trifling.” That is an insightful way to say what Jesus is pressing into my heart: perspective reshapes resentment.
There are no disclaimers in Jesus’ teaching. He does not say, “Forgive small offenses, but keep the big ones.” He does not say, “Forgive when it is easy.” In fact, when I think of Jesus on the cross praying, “Father, forgive them” (Luke 23:34), I realize He forgave in the very moment of injustice. Dietrich Bonhoeffer observed, “The forgiveness of sins is the only ground for all Christian fellowship.” If I refuse forgiveness, I quietly undermine not only my relationships but my worship itself.
Jesus makes this connection unmistakable in Matthew 5:23–24. If I bring my gift to the altar and remember that my brother has something against me, I am to leave the gift and seek reconciliation first. That means my prayers, my songs, even my sermons are hollow if I am nursing bitterness. Worship and unforgiveness cannot coexist peacefully in the same heart. The Spirit will not allow it.
So as I walk through this day with Jesus, I must ask uncomfortable questions. Is there someone whose name stirs irritation in me? Is there a conversation I replay with subtle anger? Are there “dark corners” in my heart where I have justified my resentment? The Holy Spirit gently exposes these places—not to shame me, but to free me. When I remember how often God has canceled my debt, how many times He has restored me after my own failures, my grip on others’ offenses loosens.
Forgiveness does not mean denying hurt. It does not mean trusting unwisely or enabling harm. It means releasing the debt into God’s hands. It means saying, “I will not collect what God has chosen to cover.” In this way, forgiveness becomes an act of discipleship. It reflects the heart of the One I follow.
If you would like further biblical insight on practicing forgiveness, consider this helpful article from Christianity Today: https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2007/september/30.76.html
Today, as I pray the words Jesus taught me, I am reminded that forgiveness is both a gift I receive and a grace I extend. I cannot separate the two. When I forgive, I mirror the Father’s heart. When I refuse, I distance myself from the very mercy I claim.
And so I pray, not lightly but deliberately: “Lord, forgive me—and make me forgiving.” That prayer reshapes my relationships, my worship, and my walk with Christ.
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