A few years ago, when we were getting ready to launch Nuvo, an article was written about our church. And like most things on the internet, the article ended up with a comment section. Which, as we all know, is where the world’s greatest thinkers gather to have thoughtful, nuanced conversations. I made the mistake of reading it.
There were people commenting about our church, our intentions, and what we were trying to accomplish. And some of them had developed some pretty strong opinions about us without actually knowing much about who we were. So naturally, I decided to respond.
I was lying in bed next to Emily, typing what I believed was an incredibly thoughtful, well-reasoned response. I was explaining the context, correcting the misunderstandings, and making sure everybody knew exactly why their assumptions were wrong. Emily looked over at my screen. She read what I was writing and said something along the lines of, “That’s good.” I was feeling pretty confident. Then she asked, “That felt good, didn’t it?” Absolutely. And then she told me not to hit send. Which was frustrating, mostly because I knew she was right. But that moment revealed something about how I tend to respond when people misunderstand me.
I assume that if I can just explain myself well enough, provide enough information, or correct enough details, I can change the way they see me. And sometimes that’s true. But sometimes people have already decided what they believe about you, and no amount of explaining is going to change their minds. So what do you do when you’re misunderstood, misjudged, or genuinely wronged?
The Three Responses We Know Best
I think most of us have a few natural responses when someone hurts us. The first is retaliation. Someone says something unfair, and we immediately want to respond. Maybe we don’t do anything dramatic, but we want them to feel some version of what they’ve made us feel. We want to defend ourselves, expose their mistakes, or make sure they understand they can’t treat us that way. The second response is silence.
We absorb the pain, avoid the conversation, and tell ourselves we’re simply keeping the peace. Sometimes that really is the wisest response. But other times, we’re not actually dealing with what happened. We’re just burying it. And then there’s the third response, which is the one I often find myself drawn toward. We try to fix the other person’s perception.
We explain, clarify, defend, and provide more context. We assume that if they could just see things from our perspective, everything would be resolved. But here’s the problem. None of those responses necessarily leads us toward the kind of freedom Jesus wants us to experience.
Retaliation keeps us focused on getting even. Silence can leave hurt unaddressed. And trying to control somebody else’s perception can become an exhausting pursuit of something we don’t actually have the power to accomplish. I think Jesus invites us to consider a fourth option.
What Jesus Did When He Was Wronged
There’s a moment in Luke 23 that I think is one of the most challenging pictures of forgiveness in the entire Bible. Jesus has been arrested, beaten, falsely accused, and sentenced to death. He’s hanging on a cross while people mock Him and divide up His clothing. It’s an extraordinarily unjust situation. And in the middle of it, Jesus prays. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” I’ve read that passage countless times, but there’s something about the way Jesus responds that I find remarkable. He brings the people who are hurting Him before His Father.
He doesn’t pretend what they’re doing is acceptable. He doesn’t suggest their actions are harmless. The crucifixion is an act of extraordinary evil. But instead of responding with retaliation, Jesus intercedes for them. He entrusts justice to God. And I think that’s an incredibly difficult thing for us to do.
Because when someone wrongs us, we naturally want to become the person who makes things right. We want to determine what justice should look like and make sure it happens. But sometimes our desire for justice becomes so intertwined with our desire for personal vindication that we struggle to distinguish between the two.
Seeing the Person Behind the Hurt
There’s another part of Jesus’ prayer that challenges me. He recognizes that the people hurting Him don’t fully understand what they’re doing. That doesn’t excuse their behavior. But it acknowledges something about their humanity. And I wonder how often we struggle to do that.
When someone hurts us, we tend to view them primarily through the pain they’ve caused. We interpret their decisions through that experience, and eventually, it becomes difficult to see anything else about them. But people are complicated. Sometimes people hurt others because they’re selfish. Sometimes they’re acting out of fear, insecurity, jealousy, or pain they haven’t dealt with. Sometimes they know exactly what they’re doing. And sometimes they genuinely don’t understand the damage they’re causing. Understanding that doesn’t mean minimizing what happened. It means recognizing that the person who hurt you is still a human being.
And I think that matters because it’s difficult to pray for someone when we’ve reduced them entirely to the worst thing they’ve done. You can acknowledge the seriousness of someone’s actions without allowing those actions to determine the posture of your heart toward them.
That doesn’t mean everybody deserves the same access to your life. Forgiveness doesn’t eliminate the need for boundaries, accountability, or consequences. But it does invite us to release the responsibility of personally settling every debt.
The Fourth Option
I think the fourth option Jesus demonstrates is learning to bring the people who’ve hurt us before God. Not simply asking Him to change them so they’ll finally agree with us. Not praying that they’ll experience exactly what they’ve put us through. But genuinely asking God to work in their lives while entrusting justice to Him. That’s a difficult prayer. And sometimes it’s a prayer we have to keep praying because our emotions don’t immediately change. But I think something significant happens when we begin approaching hurt this way.
We stop allowing another person’s opinion to determine our peace. We become less consumed with defending ourselves. We begin recognizing that we can pursue truth and accountability without making retaliation our responsibility. And we can start moving toward freedom even when the other person never apologizes.
Putting This Into Practice
If you’ve been carrying hurt because someone misunderstood, criticized, or wronged you, here are three ways to begin responding differently.
1Identify your default response.
Think about a recent situation where you felt unfairly treated. Did you retaliate, withdraw, or try to change the other person’s perception? Be honest about what you did and why. Then ask yourself whether that response helped you move toward healing or simply kept you emotionally attached to the situation.
2Pray specifically for the person who hurt you.
For the next seven days, spend a few minutes praying for that person. You don’t have to pretend you’re no longer hurt. Tell God exactly how you feel. But also ask Him to work in their life, bring conviction where it’s needed, and help them become healthier. If the situation involves serious harm, pray from a place of safety without feeling obligated to reconnect.
3Release one thing you cannot control.
Maybe you’ve been replaying conversations, drafting responses in your head, or trying to figure out how to make someone understand your perspective. Identify one thing you’ve been trying to control and intentionally surrender it to God. If a conversation, boundary, or accountability process is necessary, take that step wisely. But release the expectation that you can force someone else to see you differently.
I think one of the greatest freedoms we can experience is recognizing that we don’t have to personally resolve every injustice or correct every misunderstanding. We can tell the truth. We can establish boundaries. We can pursue what’s right. And we can trust God with the things that ultimately belong to Him. That’s not weakness. I think it may be one of the clearest expressions of spiritual maturity.
