Anger, betrayal, and forgiveness: finding a way through
This article addresses the pain of being hurt by someone close and the “death by a thousand cuts” that follows when wounds keep reopening. It affirms that anger has a place, while calling readers to obedience over emotion and responsibility over blame. It closes with a clear, practical understanding of forgiveness and an invitation not to give up on friendship.
- Anger can point to justice and remind us it matters how we treat each other.
- Healing requires responsibility, not prolonged victimhood through blame.
- Forgiveness is not “it’s okay,” not forgetting, and not trusting—it is choosing not to use the offense to hurt either of you anymore.
By Bill Mesaeh
“I’ve spent the better part of my adult life trying to be a shoulder for people to lean on, showing up when others are down. I answer phone calls I’m too tired to answer and carry burdens with strength I don’t have. When my dad died a month before I got laid off from my job, the absence of my friends felt like a punch to the gut. When neither my best friend nor my brother could find time to return my calls, it was as if I was drowning in an ocean of sadness and anger. Honestly, I don’t know if I’m ever going to get out of that ocean.”
Death by a Thousand Cuts
Many of us have a similar story: death by a thousand cuts. First comes the initial injustice—painful and unfair. Then the wound is reopened countless times by the (now-former) friend refusing to make things right. As far as you know, they moved on with their life, leaving you to bleed at even the slightest memory of what they did to you.
Sure, you’d like to see things fixed. But, depending on what they did to you, that may not be possible. More than anything, you’d like the freedom to move on with your life instead of reliving the event over and over again.
A Place for Anger
Without implying there was any good in what they did to you, I want to first suggest the value of anger in general. Anger has a place.
Anger reminds us there is still a right and wrong in the world. Injustice is wrong. Respect is right. Prejudice is bad. Love is good.
Universally, people of every ethnic group know this to be true. It goes beyond mere survival. Our capacity for anger isn’t the product of evolution. It’s the mark of being created by a God who pursues justice and hates evil (Isaiah 61:8).
Your anger is a reminder of this simple truth: it matters how we treat each other. It matters how people treat you, and it matters how you treat them.
Man of Sorrows
As followers of Christ, the first question we ask is, “Does the Bible address this situation? Are there words—divine words—to give voice to my pain?”
When the pain comes from a friend’s failure to be there when you need them most, the answer is an empathetic “yes.”
During his final night on earth, Jesus, alone and in agony, turned to his closest confidants: “My soul is crushed with grief . . . . Stay here and keep watch with me” (Matthew 26:36, New Living Translation).
Imagine the anguish washing over Jesus as he trembled back to his friends, only to find them sleeping while he suffered. Suffered alone and in the dark. When I read this story, I can almost smell the pain hovering in the garden. There’s an earthy mud mixed with salty tears and metallic blood, and it’s suffocating to a man who knows his breaths, however few he has left, are going to be taken alone.
I doubt you need much imagination to understand what happened here. One of the consequences of living in a fallen world is our capacity to both cause and experience suffering alongside those we love the most. While God does not choose to insulate us from that pain, he does enter into it. As a man of sorrows, well acquainted with grief (see Isaiah 53:3), Jesus lovingly reminds us: “I do know how you hurt, and there is a way through it.”
Obedience Over Emotion
As we watch Jesus in the garden that night, we see emotion—gut-wrenching emotion and distress. But we also see obedience and discipline driven by allegiance to his first love, that of the Father.
While emotions can be helpful indicators of which way our heart and our actions should lean, they must not become dictators, impatiently demanding we give way to their demands. Our emotions don’t always align with what we know to be best, occasionally urging us to seek revenge or to retreat when our Christian convictions would remind us that we are, through Christ, empowered for something better.
Refusing to Play the Victim
By definition, victims are rendered powerless. They are wounded, damaged, and forced to (at least in the short term) play a passive role, watching and waiting as things play out around them.
No one wants to remain a victim, but we choose victim status more often than we realize. How do you know when you’re playing the victim? It comes down to one word: blame.
To prolong our victimhood, we’ll blame almost anything.
- Our spouse: “If you knew me 20 years ago, I was a different person. But my wife is just impossible.”
- Our wrongdoers: “I could forgive and move on if he would just apologize. How can I forgive without knowing he’s sorry?”
Thankfully, victimhood does not have to be a life sentence. If we’re going to endure the pain of betrayal or failure by those closest to us, we must understand the difference between fault and responsibility.
Blame vs. Responsibility
Blame is about assigning fault. It answers one simple question: who’s wrong? While it’s sometimes helpful to sort that out, the answer won’t bring healing.
You already know this, but it needs to be said: Assigning fault can’t heal your heart.
If assigning fault could mend our wounds, we wouldn’t be having this conversation about the pain that envelopes our heart at the hands of a close friend. Blame and fault can only take us so far. To go the rest of the way, we need to assume responsibility.
Responsibility isn’t concerned with who’s wrong. Responsibility asks a more grown-up question: who can do something about it?
Assuming responsibility is the key to no longer playing the victim. It is the only way your heart is going to heal. Let me say that again: no one—not even those who love you the most—has as much power over your heart as you (see Proverbs 4:23).
To handle anger in a healthy way, we need to listen to the words we use when talking about it. (For a deeper exploration of this concept, see Enemies of the Heart, by Andy Stanley, Multnomah, 2011).
The Math of Anger
When someone hurts you, they’ve taken something from you. Maybe they took something as simple as $300 from your purse. Maybe they’ve done something far worse: they’ve taken your health, your stability, your peace, your trust, or your innocence.
This is why we say things like:
- I’ll get even.
- You owe me an apology.
- He stole my childhood.
- She took my family from me.
Anger creates debt. The math of anger wants the score to be even again. That’s not wrong, but it may not be helpful.
Settling the Score
The preferred way to settle a debt is to be paid back. Who wouldn’t want their $300 back (with an apology)? That’s human nature. Actually, it’s God’s nature. You inherited that desire for justice from your Creator.
So, if it’s possible, give them an opportunity to repay the debt. Until shown otherwise, extend the same benefit of the doubt you would want if things were reversed. Take the high road with an explanation of how you’ve been hurt and give them a chance to make things right.
Please don’t be too quick to dismiss this option. If it works, both of you can progress through life with a clear conscience. You chose responsibility over blame. Marriages are saved in this way.
Blame seems preferable because it’s easier, but that high quickly wears off. Responsibility produces a better peace. Responsibility lets you sleep well at night.
What if this doesn’t work? You gave it a sincere effort, but they weren’t ready to do the right thing. Maybe approaching for an apology would be physically dangerous. Perhaps the person who hurt you has since died.
We still have the second option for settling a debt. If they won’t repay the debt, you’re going to have to forgive it.
Forgiveness: What It’s Not
When we’re slow to forgive, it’s often because we misunderstand the nature of forgiveness. Here are three things forgiveness is not:
Forgiveness is not saying, ”It’s okay.” Rather, forgiveness is telling the other person: What you did to me is not okay. You were wrong, and you hurt me. If possible, I want you to fix what you broke. Otherwise, for the sake of my heart, I need to forgive.
Forgiveness is not forgetting. “Forgive and forget” is an ignorant, painful phrase. It’s not realistic. Forgiveness does not grant amnesia. Depending on the nature of the offense, the painful memories may never go away. However, without forgiveness, that initial injustice will turn into a thousand cuts. A wounded, angry heart creates new memories of old offenses.
Forgiveness is not trusting. If you file bankruptcy, the bank will forgive your debt. But they’re not going to give you a new loan the next day. That’s only going to happen after you establish a track record of integrity. Banks forgive loans when the effort of reclaiming the debt is no longer worth the pursuit. We should learn from that.
Forgiveness: What it Is
Forgiveness is saying: “I’m not going to use what you did to hurt either of us anymore.”
- Forgiveness acknowledges an evil was committed.
- Forgiving someone rewards you with an honorable conscience.
- Forgiveness is your attempt to live in a world of peace.
Let me close with a personal confession and a pastoral request:
It’s Not Fair
I confess: in my anger, I shout “It’s not fair!” Of course, I’m right. It’s not fair.
But, I need to be reminded of something else as well: I don’t want fair. Deep in our hearts—in a place we don’t let many people wander—we’re keenly aware of our capacity to cause pain. If I was forced to repay all the debts I’ve incurred, I’d quickly go bankrupt.
I don’t want fair. I can’t afford fair. Grace is the only thing I have to stand on (see Romans 2:4).
Friendship is Worth It
It’s been said that friendship doubles our joy and divides our grief.
So, with the love of a pastor, I ask you not to give up on friendship. We are not created to go through life alone. As followers of Christ, we have the privilege of “one anothering” one another (see Galatians 6:2).
May we carry each other’s burdens lovingly, forgive quickly, and one day meet our “Man of Sorrows,” our glorious King, all his ransomed home to bring, then anew this song we’ll sing: “Hallelujah, what a Savior!”
Bill Mesaeh is a US Air Force chaplain in Pointville, New Jersey.
