“Forgive One Another”

When I was a kid, my brother and I had this little phrase we used whenever something in the house broke—and it happened a lot. My mom would walk into the living room and see a lamp lying on its side, the cord twisted, and she’d say, “Alright, boys… what happened here?” And we’d both shrug and say, “I don’t know.” We’d say it in unison—like we had practiced it in choir. “I don’t know.”

Now, that answer worked for about ten seconds until she gave the look—you know the one. The truth was, of course, somebody knew. There was a reason the lamp broke, and it usually had something to do with a football, a running start, and a brother who “didn’t mean to.”

We laugh about that, but the truth is, grown-ups aren’t that different. When something breaks—when a relationship cracks, when words wound, when trust is damaged—we’re quick to say, “I don’t know.” Or, “It’s nothing,” or, “We’re past it.” We sweep it under the rug, change the subject, and pretend it’s fine. But under the surface, the fracture remains. Jesus cares about those fractures. He didn’t just come to save our souls in eternity; he came to heal what’s broken between us right now.

And those fractures are heavy, aren’t they? They may not make noise, but they drain the soul. They show up in our tone, our distance, our defensiveness. Sometimes we even start shaping our lives around the people we’re trying to avoid. You’ll circle H-E-B like it’s a NASCAR track just to not bump into them in aisle 5.

Maybe that’s where some of us are this morning. And please trust me, I’m preach to myself before I preach to you and this one has been hitting me all week. You love Jesus, but there’s a name that still stings when you hear it. There’s a memory that still sits too close to the surface. Maybe it’s something someone said years ago in church, or the way a leader handled a situation, or how a friend drifted away when you needed them most. I want you to hear me: Jesus is not indifferent to that pain. He brought you here today on purpose.

And you’ve told yourself, “It’s fine. I’ve moved on.” But deep down, there’s still something unsettled.

If that’s you, you’re not alone. The Christians in the book of Ephesians knew that tension too. They were a church learning to live out the gospel in real relationships—relationships that got messy, that required grace, and sometimes, forgiveness. Paul doesn’t write, “Forgive one another” because everyone was already doing it perfectly. He wrote it because bitterness, anger, and hurt were still in the room. Church family, the Holy Spirit had Paul write that to a church, not a courtroom. Which means Christians can love Jesus and still be carrying hurt. That was true in Ephesus, and it’s true in Midland.

And if we’re honest, it’s still in ours, too.

See, forgiveness sounds beautiful until you have to do it. It’s easy to talk about grace in theory. It’s much harder when the person who hurt you never apologized, or when they still don’t see what they did. And in a place like Midland, where we pride ourselves on hard work and grit, forgiving can feel like weakness. “You just move on. You don’t let people see you bleed.” But Jesus—the strongest man who ever lived—bled publicly so that we could be healed.

That’s not weakness. That’s Christlikeness. That’s the gospel.

The truth is, God knows his people get tired, and he knows our courage fades. So he gave us each other—not to pretend the wounds aren’t real, but to remind one another that his grace is greater than our hurt.

And that’s what today’s passage is about—learning to forgive one another, as God in Christ forgave us.

Let’s look together again at

Ephesians 4:31 ESV

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.

“Forgiveness Is God’s Way”

Paul is talking about the kind of heart that refuses to forgive—the heart that’s been hurt but never healed. It’s a heart Jesus wants to heal this morning.

Notice what he lists here: bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, slander, malice. That’s not random. It’s a downward spiral of what happens when unforgiveness settles in. Bitterness begins as a quiet resentment. Wrath and anger start to build pressure. Clamor—loud quarreling—spills out of your mouth. Slander cuts others down behind their backs. And malice—the desire to see someone pay—takes root. Paul’s showing us the progression from “I’m hurt” to “I hope they hurt.”

Unforgiveness is never still. It grows. It moves from pain to poison.

And here’s the hard truth: it doesn’t just hurt the person who wronged you—it hurts you. Some of us are suffering from what someone did to us, and some of us are suffering from what we’ve refused to surrender to Jesus.

Bitterness will drain your soul faster than any long work week or sleepless night. It eats away at your joy, clouds your judgment, and turns your heart inward. When we carry resentment, we carry something Jesus already offered to take from us.

We don’t talk about this much, but unforgiveness is exhausting. It’s like holding a grudge in one hand and worshiping with the other. You can do it for a while, but eventually something gives. Eventually the grudge starts choking the worship.

That’s why Paul says, “Put it away.” Not “tuck it down,” not “hide it better,” not “pretend it’s not there.” Put it away.

And notice, Paul doesn’t say, “Wait until you feel like it.” Forgiveness is not a feeling—it’s a decision.

It’s choosing to release a debt even when you could demand payment.

Now, someone might say, “But Dan, if I forgive them, it’s like saying what they did was okay.” No—it’s the opposite. Forgiveness doesn’t minimize the offense; it names it honestly, then chooses grace instead of vengeance. Forgiveness says, “That really was sin. It was wrong. And I am handing it to Jesus, not holding it over you.”

Tim Keller once said, “Forgiveness is a form of voluntary suffering. You absorb the cost instead of making the other person pay.” That’s exactly what Jesus did for us.

Think of the cross. Jesus didn’t pretend our sin wasn’t serious. He faced it, felt its full weight, and then said, “Father, forgive them.”

That’s the gospel pattern: forgiveness always costs something.

In Midland terms, forgiveness means choosing to absorb the repair bill instead of sending an invoice.

It’s saying, “I’m not going to keep replaying what they did. I’m not going to make them pay for it with my silence or my distance. I’m going to hand this over to God and trust him to handle justice.”

That’s why forgiveness is God’s way—it looks just like him.

You see, the world’s way says, “Get even.” The gospel says, “Get free.”

Bitterness keeps you chained to the past. Forgiveness opens your heart to the future. Some of you haven’t moved forward spiritually in years because you’re still chained to that moment.

And this is so important for us as a church family. Fannin Terrace is a place with a good heart—a family that loves deeply. But deep love also means deep wounds when trust is broken. Some of you are still carrying hurt from past seasons or people who aren’t even here anymore. That pain is real. I’m not minimizing it. I’m saying Jesus is strong enough to carry it.

Hear me: you don’t have to carry that bitterness another day.

Christ carried it to the cross already.

And when you let it go—when you truly forgive—you’re not saying, “It didn’t matter.” You’re saying, “It mattered enough for Jesus to die for it.”

That’s why forgiveness is not just emotional hygiene—it’s worship.

When we forgive, we’re joining God in his own redemptive work.

Loved ones, forgiveness is God’s way because forgiveness looks like Jesus.

After warning us about what to put away, Paul turns our eyes to what to put on. He says,

Ephesians 4:32 ESV

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted…

“Forgiveness Imitates God”

Now, that’s not a throwaway phrase. Those two words—kind and tenderhearted—are the soil where forgiveness grows.

Kindness is love in motion. Tenderheartedness is compassion that feels before it speaks.

And I think it’s beautiful that Paul doesn’t start this verse with “Forgive one another.” He starts with kindness. Because forgiveness without kindness feels forced. But kindness opens the door for forgiveness to walk through. Kindness is how you hand someone a hard truth without a hard spirit.

We live in a culture that applauds toughness more than tenderness. In West Texas, we respect grit—people who don’t quit when it’s hard. And that’s a good thing! But here’s what we forget: biblical tenderness isn’t weakness—it’s Christlikeness.

Jesus wasn’t soft; he was strong enough to be gentle. He had nothing to prove, so he could stoop low to serve others.

And that’s what Paul’s calling us to do—to imitate God’s heart.

When Paul says, “Be kind,” he’s echoing what God has already done for us. Think about how many times God has shown you kindness when you didn’t deserve it. How many times has he been patient when you were stubborn? How many times has he met you with grace instead of anger?

That’s what this verse means—imitate that.

Now, “tenderhearted” literally means “having strong bowels of compassion.” When Yvette first told her mama about me, I don’t think she described me as “having strong bowels of compassion,” but nonetheless, the word here is a gut word. It means feeling mercy deep in your insides.

Tenderhearted people don’t say, “That’s their problem.” They say, “That’s my brother’s burden. That’s my sister’s pain. And I can’t just walk past it.”

And here’s the connection to forgiveness: you cannot stay bitter and stay tender at the same time. One will choke out the other.

Unforgiveness hardens your heart. Tenderness softens it again.

The longer we hold onto anger, the more we begin to resemble the one who hurt us. But when we forgive, we begin to resemble the One who healed us.

That’s why forgiveness isn’t just about peace—it’s about imitation.

We forgive because we want to look like our Father.

I think about the parable of the prodigal son. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s a teaching story that Jesus told about a father and son who were separated because of the son’s poor choices. The son hits rock bottom and realizes he needs to return to his father. And amazingly, when the son starts to make his way back, the father didn’t wait for his son to earn forgiveness; he ran to him while he was still a long way off. He didn’t say, “You better explain yourself first.” He wrapped his son in a robe and threw a feast.

That’s kindness. That’s tenderheartedness. That’s forgiveness in motion.

If that story happened here in Midland, that father would’ve been out by the fence line firing up the smoker and calling the neighbors. Because when love forgives, joy follows.

That’s what God’s like. That’s who we’re meant to reflect.

Now imagine what happens in a church when that same spirit fills the room.

When kindness replaces criticism, people stop walking on eggshells.

When tenderness replaces pride, conversations become safe again.

When forgiveness becomes normal, healing becomes visible.

That’s what I pray for here at Fannin Terrace—that we’d become a community where grace isn’t just preached, it’s practiced.

Because the world’s not impressed by how right we are. But it’s deeply moved when it sees how kind we are.

So before Paul ever says, “Forgive one another,” he says, “Be kind and tenderhearted.”

Because kindness prepares the soil, and forgiveness plants the seed.

And when those two things grow together, a watching world gets a glimpse of what God is like.

That’s why forgiveness imitates God—it makes the invisible grace of Christ visible in us.

Paul completes the thought with these words:

Ephesians 4:32 ESV

…forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

“Forgiveness Reflects the Gospel”

That’s the heart of it right there.

Everything we’ve said so far—putting away bitterness, being kind, being tenderhearted—flows out of this truth: we forgive because God forgave us.

If you think about it, that’s a staggering command.

Paul isn’t saying, “Forgive if they apologize.”

He isn’t saying, “Forgive when you feel ready.”

He’s saying, “Forgive as God in Christ forgave you.”

That raises the bar, doesn’t it? Because how did God forgive us?

He didn’t wait for us to deserve it.

He didn’t bargain with us.

He didn’t say, “Prove yourself first.”

He forgave us fully, freely, and forever—through the blood of Jesus.

That’s the model. That’s the pattern. That’s the only way this works.

If you’ve ever been forgiven by God, you know how humbling it is.

You know what it feels like to stand before him, guilty and ashamed, and to hear him say, “It is finished.”

That’s what forgiveness sounds like in heaven.

Not “It’s fine,” but “It is finished.”

And that’s what forgiveness should sound like in the church.

When Paul says “forgiving one another,” the word he uses is charizomenoi—from the same root as charis, which means grace.

So literally, Paul is saying, “Give grace to one another.”

Forgiveness is grace in motion. It’s the gospel lived out between ordinary people.

Now, that doesn’t mean forgiveness ignores justice or pretends evil isn’t evil.

God didn’t sweep sin under the rug. He dealt with it—decisively—at the cross.

That’s what gives forgiveness its power: sin was paid for. The debt was absorbed.

When Jesus cried out, “Father, forgive them,” he wasn’t overlooking sin; he was overcoming it.

And when you forgive someone, you’re not saying, “It didn’t matter.” You’re saying, “It mattered enough for Jesus to die for it.”

That’s why forgiveness isn’t weakness—it’s gospel strength.

Now, let’s bring this home.

Some of you here this morning are carrying wounds that feel too deep to forgive.

Maybe it’s something someone said in this very church years ago. Maybe it’s a betrayal that still lingers in your mind every time you see that person’s face.

And maybe you’ve told yourself, “I just can’t forgive them.” And honestly, humanly speaking, you might be right. You can’t. Not alone.

But loved ones, here’s the truth: forgiveness is never about your ability—it’s about your availability.

It’s saying, “Lord, I can’t do this on my own. But you can do it through me.”

Not a one of us has to carry the burden of being the source of forgiveness. You’re the vessel. That’s what it means for Christ to live in you.

When Christ lives in you, his forgiveness begins to flow through you.

I think of what Paul says in Colossians 3:13—“As the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” That’s not an impossible command—it’s an invitation.

An invitation to freedom.

Because forgiveness sets two prisoners free—the one who hurt you and the one holding the grudge.

You see, church family, forgiveness isn’t just what God does; it’s who he is.

And when we forgive one another, we’re reflecting his character to a watching world.

When the people of Midland see a church that loves across old wounds, that welcomes back those who strayed, that refuses to gossip and chooses grace—they see Jesus.

That’s what Paul means when he says, “Forgive as God in Christ forgave you.”

Our forgiveness becomes the sermon that our city hears long after they’ve forgotten my words.

Because when forgiven people forgive people, the gospel gets visible again.

So what do we do with all this?

We’ve seen that forgiveness is God’s way, that it imitates his heart, and that it reflects the gospel itself. But how do we take this from the page to the people around us?

Paul makes it simple: “Forgive one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

Let me give you three ways to begin that process today—three steps that move forgiveness from theory to reality: Name it. Release it. Replace it.

First,

Name it.

You can’t forgive what you refuse to face.

We often say things like, “It’s fine,” or “I’m over it,” but the truth is—it’s still eating at us.

You don’t heal by pretending. You heal by confessing.

Maybe for you, that means naming a specific hurt before the Lord—actually saying, “God, I’m still angry about what they did.”

You might even need to write it down or tell a trusted friend, not to vent, but to finally acknowledge where the wound really is. For some of you, this is where you realize, “I’ve never actually brought this to Jesus.” Today, you can.

Second,

Release it.

Forgiveness isn’t pretending the debt doesn’t exist—it’s choosing not to collect on it anymore.

You hand it over to God and trust him with justice.

Romans 12:19 says, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.”

That means you can stop rehearsing what they did and start releasing what they owe.

When you do that, you’re not excusing their sin—you’re entrusting it to the only One who can handle it rightly. You’re saying, “Justice belongs to Jesus, and so does my heart.”

Third,

Replace it.

Paul says, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted.” That means forgiveness doesn’t just clear the debt; it replaces bitterness with blessing.

It’s praying for the person instead of resenting them.

It’s speaking life instead of gossip.

It’s letting grace rewrite the story. Now hear me: replacing doesn’t always mean immediate reconciliation. Some relationships are not safe to step back into. But it does mean releasing revenge and choosing mercy.

And here’s the beautiful thing about that: when you forgive someone, you’re never more like Jesus than in that moment.

Now, some of us need to take that step today. There’s a person, a name, a moment that keeps coming to mind as we talk about this. That’s not coincidence—that’s conviction. The Spirit of God is bringing that memory to the surface not to shame you, but to free you.

You might say, “But they don’t deserve it.” And you’re right. They don’t. Neither did we. But Christ forgave us anyway.

So, church family, let’s be a people who do the same. Let’s forgive not because it’s easy, but because it’s holy. Let’s forgive not because we forget the hurt, but because we remember the cross.

Because here’s the bottom line—

Forgiven people forgive people.

That’s how God designed his church. That’s how healing begins. That’s how Midland sees the beauty of Jesus in us.

Church family, this is where it all comes together.

Forgiveness isn’t just a moral duty; it’s a gospel miracle. We forgive because we’ve been forgiven.

Every time you extend forgiveness, you’re preaching the gospel without saying a word. You’re saying, “The cross was enough—for me, and for them.”

That’s what Paul means when he says, “Forgive one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

God didn’t wait for us to make the first move—he made it.

He didn’t tell us to clean ourselves up before coming to him—he came down to us.

And when he stretched his arms out on the cross, he was saying to the whole world, “Father, forgive them.”

That’s not just history. That’s hope.

Because the same Jesus who forgave your past is the One who can free your heart in the present.

He can break the bitterness.

He can soften what’s hardened.

He can heal what’s been hidden.

Some of you have carried a wound for a long time. Maybe it’s from a friend, a church, a spouse, or even a parent. You’ve learned to live with it, but it still burns.

Today, Jesus is inviting you to lay that burden down.

Not to excuse it.

Not to erase it.

But to exchange it—for his peace.

Forgiveness isn’t forgetting what happened; it’s remembering what Jesus did.

And when you forgive, you join him in his redemptive work. You reflect his love in a world that desperately needs to see it.

Now, maybe you’ve never really experienced that kind of forgiveness yourself. You’ve heard about grace, but you’ve never received it.

Friend, today can be the day that changes.

God is holy, and we’ve all sinned against him. But in his mercy, he sent his Son to pay the debt we could never pay.

Jesus died in our place and rose again, offering forgiveness and eternal life to all who turn to him in faith.

If you’ve never trusted Christ as your Savior, you can do that right now.

You can come to him—not with excuses, but with honesty—and he will meet you with grace. In a moment when we pray, I’m going to invite you to call on him. You can say, “Lord Jesus, I need You. Forgive me. Save me. I’m Yours.”

And for the Christ follower, maybe the most Christlike thing you’ll do this week won’t happen inside this room. It’ll happen in a phone call, or a conversation, or a quiet prayer of release.

Because when forgiven people forgive people, heaven gets a little more visible on earth.

So let’s be that kind of church.

Let’s let the words that changed our eternity—“It is finished”—change how we treat one another.

Let’s forgive one another, as God in Christ forgave us. And if you’re ready to receive that forgiveness from Jesus today—don’t leave here carrying what he already carried to the cross. Come to him.