Wednesday Read: The Poison of Unforgiveness
Joseph had every reason to hate his brothers. They had sold him into slavery, destroying his family relationships and derailing his future. Years later, when famine brought them begging to Egypt, Joseph held their lives in his hands. He could have executed them, enslaved them, or simply le
Joseph had every reason to hate his brothers. They had sold him into slavery, destroying his family relationships and derailing his future. Years later, when famine brought them begging to Egypt, Joseph held their lives in his hands. He could have executed them, enslaved them, or simply let them starve. Instead, he wept and declared, "You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good" (Genesis 50:20). Joseph's forgiveness wasn't based on his brothers' repentance—they hadn't even recognized him yet. It was based on his understanding of God's sovereignty over human evil.
Unforgiveness is soul cancer. It promises justice but delivers bondage, offering the satisfaction of resentment while slowly poisoning the one who harbors it. When we refuse to forgive, we don't hurt our offenders—we hurt ourselves, replaying painful scenes endlessly, rehearsing grievances that grow more bitter with each repetition. Jesus knew this when he commanded us to forgive "seventy-seven times" (Matthew 18:22)—not because repeated forgiveness benefits the offender, but because it liberates the forgiver.
The parable of the unforgiving servant reveals forgiveness's radical mathematics. A man forgiven an impossible debt—10,000 talents, roughly equivalent to billions of dollars today—refuses to forgive his fellow servant's tiny debt of a few thousand dollars. Jesus's point is devastating: if God has forgiven our infinite debt of sin, how can we withhold forgiveness for finite offenses against us? "Should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?" (Matthew 18:33).
But forgiveness doesn't mean minimizing sin, excusing bad behavior, or pretending offense didn't happen. Joseph acknowledged that his brothers "meant evil" against him. True forgiveness faces the full reality of the wrong suffered and chooses to release the right to revenge. It's not a feeling—it's a decision. It's not forgetting—it's choosing not to use past hurts as weapons in present conflicts.
Here's the confronting reality: unforgiveness is pride disguised as justice. When we refuse to forgive, we're claiming the right to judge, punish, and determine others' worthiness of mercy. We're setting ourselves up as gods over those who've wronged us. But if God forgave you while you were his enemy (Romans 5:10), what right do you have to withhold forgiveness from those who've sinned against you? Who in your life are you keeping in debtor's prison through your unwillingness to forgive?
