One of the most difficult things anyone can do in this life is to forgive someone who has wronged them...especially if the transgressor refuses to ask for forgiveness.
It can create a particular problem for Latter-Day Saints, since modern revelation has taught us that "he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin." (Doctrine and Covenants, 64:9) Also, Mark said, "...if you do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses." (Mark 11:26)
I spent night after night tossing and turning over this dilemma. I needed, and continue to need, forgiveness for my own sins. But how could I forgive? How could I ignore the heartache, agony, and loss caused by others? How could I pretend I wasn't hurt? How could I say it didn't matter? How could I say it wasn't wrong?
While still struggling with this, I read the account of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in the book of Luke. And suddenly, the words which the Lord spoke while on the cross hit me with incredible force.
He didn't say, "Father, forgive them; it doesn't really hurt me." Because it did hurt him, beyond mortal understanding.
And He didn't say, "Father, forgive them; it doesn't really matter." Because it did matter, more than anyone could ever understand.
And He didn't say, "Father, forgive them; what they're doing isn't actually wrong." Because it was wrong, the most horrifying sin imaginable.
What He said was, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34)
I realized I could accept that about those who had wronged me. Did they know right from wrong? Absolutely. But so did the soldiers that ripped the raiment from Jesus' body and gambled for it.
So the question becomes: Could they know the extent of the destruction that their actions would cause? The devastating effects? The eternal consequence? No. I can believe that the full picture was not understood. Those soldiers knew they were doing wrong, but they did not believe they were martyring the Son of God. And those who hurt me knew I might get hurt, but didn't know life as I knew it would essentially come to an end.
The thought of forgiving such people myself was too much to bear. However, I could ask for the Lord's forgiveness for them. After all, isn't that what I ask for when I pray for myself? Justice dictates that if I sin, I cannot return to the presence of my Father. I pray for mercy, on behalf of the Savior's glorious atonement, to stay the hand of justice and encircle me in the salvation of God. And I could ask the same for them.
We are all sinners together. While the degree of sin may vary, the delicate balance of justice and mercy are the same for all. We must forgive another's sin for ours to be forgiven. There is no other option.
We must learn to trust that justice is God's dominion, not ours. For His justice is the only form that is accompanied by pure, unblemished, unbiased truth. He knows the darkest corners of every person's heart. He know the intention of every action. If you trust in the Lord's omnipotence, you must also trust in His judgement. There is not one sin in all the history of mankind that will remain unaccounted for at the last day. Therefore, our only option is to "let God judge between me and thee, and reward thee according to they deeds." (Doctrine and Covenants, 64:11)
Perhaps this is only the first step in a battle. But it is a step for those who feel they have none. And it is progress. We are not here to be instantly perfect, but to grow, learn, and progress. Since we are not perfect, it is our sacred duty to forgive one another, to build each other up, and above all, to love our fellow man with every ounce of strength we possess.
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