"Forgive us... as we forgive..."

Have you ever found yourself rehearsing an old argument in the shower, crafting the perfect comeback to words spoken years ago? Or perhaps you've lain awake at night, your mind replaying that moment when someone's careless words cut deep, the wound still tender despite the passage of time? We carry these hurts like stones in our pockets, their weight so familiar we sometimes forget they're there—until we reach for something else and feel their sharp edges again.

It is into this very human struggle that Jesus speaks one of the most challenging petitions of the Lord's Prayer: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." These words, prayed by millions daily, contain within them both a plea and a terrifying standard. We are, in essence, asking God to measure His mercy toward us by the yardstick of our own forgiveness toward others.

 

The Weight of Words: Understanding Our Petition

Before we can grasp the full implications of this prayer, we must understand what we're actually saying. The Gospel of Matthew uses the Greek word opheilēmata (ὀφειλήματα), which literally means "debts" (Matthew 6:12). Luke's version employs hamartias (ἁμαρτίας), meaning "sins" (Luke 11:4). The traditional English rendering as "trespasses" comes from William Tyndale's translation, using a legal term that suggests crossing a boundary or violating another's rights.

Each word carries its own nuance. "Debts" emphasizes what we owe—to God and to one another. "Sins" highlights our missing the mark of God's intention for human flourishing. "Trespasses" underscores our violations of sacred boundaries. Yet all three point to the same reality: we have failed in our obligations to God and neighbor, and we stand in need of forgiveness.

St. Augustine observed that this variety in translation actually enriches our understanding: "For the one debt is the one which we all of us always owe, not of silver, or of gold, but of love (caritas). For what does the Apostle say? 'Owe no man anything, but to love one another' (Rom 13:8). The debt of love is the only one you are commanded to pay, and yet always owe. You are commanded not to owe anything; you are commanded to love. You pay the debt by loving; when you stop loving, you stop paying. This one debt, which we are always paying and always owing, is the sum of righteousness." (Sermon 56, Chapter 6)

 

Teresa's Radical Insight

St. Teresa of Ávila, in her Way of Perfection, warns her sisters that this prayer is not for the faint of heart:

"We must be very careful, sisters, about what we are saying... Do you think it is a small thing to ask that God should forgive us as we forgive? …We are saying: 'Lord, as I have forgiven those who have offended me, so You forgive me.' And if we have not forgiven, what are we asking?" (The Way of Perfection, Chapter 36).

Teresa understands that many of us pray these words without truly considering their implications. We're essentially writing a blank check with our forgiveness, asking God to treat us exactly as we treat others. She continues with almost startling frankness: "If you have not forgiven, do not deceive yourselves into thinking you are praying at all."

Yet Teresa also recognizes the difficulty of genuine forgiveness. She distinguishes between natural temperaments and the supernatural grace of forgiveness that must be cultivated through prayer and practice. For Teresa, the ability to forgive is both a gift from God and a discipline we must develop, like a muscle strengthened through use.

 

The Witness of the Fathers

The Church Fathers wrestled deeply with this petition's implications. St. John Chrysostom called this prayer "a covenant" between God and humanity.

"You see how He makes us masters of the sentence we pronounce upon ourselves. If you forgive, you have forgiveness; if you do not forgive, you have no forgiveness." (Homily 19 on Matthew).

Yet Chrysostom also emphasizes the asymmetry in this exchange. What we forgive in others—finite offenses from fellow creatures—cannot compare to what God forgives in us: rebellion against infinite Love itself. "Consider the inequality," he urges. "You forgive a fellow servant a few coins, and God forgives you ten thousand talents."

St. Cyril of Alexandria adds another dimension, noting that unforgiveness doesn't merely block God's mercy; it poisons our own souls: "Hatred is a serious illness of the soul... How can a mind darkened by the smoke of resentment perceive the Sun of Righteousness?" (Commentary on Luke, Homily 73).

 

The Challenge of Conditional Forgiveness

Perhaps no aspect of this prayer troubles modern Christians more than its apparent conditionality. Jesus Himself emphasizes this in the verses immediately following the Lord's Prayer: "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses" (Matthew 6:14-15).

St. Thomas Aquinas, with his characteristic precision, helps us understand this not as God being capricious but as a description of spiritual reality. In his Summa Theologiae, he explains that unforgiveness creates a barrier within us that blocks the reception of God's mercy—not because God withdraws it, but because we have closed ourselves to it. It's like shutting the windows against the sunlight; the sun continues to shine, but we sit in self-imposed darkness.

20th Century Catholic theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar extends this insight, suggesting that unforgiveness represents a fundamental refusal of the logic of grace itself. To refuse to forgive is to insist on a world governed by strict justice rather than mercy—and in such a world, none of us could stand. As Balthasar writes, "The world is not saved by what we can do, but by the fact that the Son of God has already suffered and forgiven. Our forgiveness of others is only the necessary sign that we accept our own forgiveness." (Unless You Become Like This Child, p. 119). This highlights that our own act of mercy is merely an echo, but a necessary one, of God's perfect, prior mercy.

 

The Practice of Forgiveness

But how do we actually forgive, especially when the wounds are deep? Teresa of Ávila offers practical wisdom, distinguishing between the will to forgive and feelings about forgiveness. "The will can be controlled," she writes, "but not the emotions." We can choose to forgive even when we don't feel forgiving. This act of the will, repeated whenever resentment resurfaces, gradually transforms our hearts. You might be surprised, if you will to forgive, the emotions will follow eventually. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but in persistent prayer, our emotions will eventually align with our will. It's profoundly healing.

She also recommends a specific practice: praying for those who have hurt us. "Begin by forcing yourself to pray for that person," she counsels, "asking God to give them the very blessings you desire for yourself." This isn't sentimentality but spiritual warfare against our own hardness of heart.

The Desert Fathers offer another practice: the discipline of not speaking ill of those who have wronged us. Abba Poemen taught, "If a man has sinned against you, and you speak evil of him, you have sinned twice—once in not forgiving, and once in judging."

 

Forgiveness as Participation in Divine Life

Perhaps most profoundly, this petition invites us to participate in God's own life. As St. Gregory of Nyssa beautifully expressed it, "When we forgive, we become most like God, for God's very nature is mercy." (On the Lord's Prayer, Sermon 5).

This doesn't mean minimizing real harm or pretending wounds don't exist. Forgiveness isn't amnesia, nor does it necessarily mean reconciliation with someone who remains dangerous or unrepentant. Rather, it means releasing our right to revenge, entrusting justice to God, and refusing to let another's sin define our own spiritual state.

C.S. Lewis offers a valuable insight into the heart of Christian forgiveness. He clarifies that it's distinct from excusing the behavior or immediately feeling warm affection. Rather, it means "Treat them as if they had not done it. In fact, you are to love it exactly as you love yourself." (Mere Christianity, Book III, Chapter 7: "The Great Sin"). This isn't just letting go of the past; it's actively willing the spiritual restoration and well-being of the one who harmed you, just as you would for yourself. When we finally release the stones of unforgiveness, we are not just lightening our own load; we are opening our hands to receive the limitless, unmerited mercy of God, confirming our membership in the Kingdom of Grace. The terrifying standard becomes the path to profound freedom.

In Christ,

Judah