When Guilt Is Good and Grace Is Costly: A Christian Political Reflection

What place do guilt, forgiveness, and grace have in our political conversations—and what happens when we get them wrong?

Since the inauguration of President Trump, we’ve seen a steady stream of stories from regretful voters saying things like, “This is not what I voted for,” lamenting the very real consequences of the administration’s actions.

Sadly, the response from many on the left has been unsympathetic, often dismissing these voters with a “you’re getting what you deserve” kind of tone. While I understand the emotion behind that reaction, I find it deeply unhelpful—and frankly, unchristian.

Recently, I read Skills for Safeguarding, edited by Lisa Compton and Taylor Patterson. While the book focuses primarily on preventing clergy abuse and misconduct, their treatment of guilt and forgiveness struck me as especially relevant beyond that context—including how Christians might engage politics with grace and integrity.

A Culture That Fears Guilt

One of the more troubling shifts in the Trump era has been the administration's aggressive backlash against any form of collective accountability—particularly efforts around Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI). In some cases, even symbolic acknowledgments of historical injustice—such as references to Jackie Robinson or the Navajo Code Talkers—were scrubbed from government websites.

Much of this stems from a cultural reaction to the Black Lives Matter movement and the protests following the killing of George Floyd. Implicit in this reaction is a belief that no one should ever feel guilty for our nation’s past. But this thinking is flawed.

Compton and Patterson offer a better vision. They write:

“Pastors should aim to present the truth that if we live outside of God's design and experience the feeling of (godly) guilt, we are motivated to move toward God in repentance knowing we can be redeemed. If pastors instead promote a guilt without hope for redemption, people are prone to hide in shame.” (p. 94)

I've previously written about what I’ve called the “DEI Guilt Treadmill”—a sense within some DEI programs that guilt is often emphasized without a clear path toward growth or transformation.

To be clear: Compton and Patterson emphasize the important distinction between guilt and shame:

“Guilt is the emotional response to regrettable actions or behaviors that were perceived as wrong or inconsistent with values and can lead to a necessary repair of the offense... Shame is a self-devaluing emotional response integrated into one’s identity... as bad, sinful, unlovable, dirty, or other deplorable traits.” (p. 180)

That distinction is critical—especially for those in majority culture. Guilt, rightly understood, is a helpful and even necessary emotion. It reminds us that our actions are misaligned with our professed values. As Dr. King emphasized in his “I Have a Dream” speech, America wrote a check to Black citizens that it has yet to cash. Guilt, in that sense, is a sign of moral conscience—not something to be avoided, but a call to change.

In short, guilt is good.

Forgiveness ≠ Reconciliation

In the Christian tradition, guilt isn’t the end of the story—it’s the beginning. It names what is broken.

If guilt prompts us to recognize where we’ve gone wrong, then forgiveness is the Christian response to that recognition. But what forgiveness looks like—and what it doesn’t—often gets misunderstood in Christian communities. One of the most common misconceptions is the belief that forgiveness must lead to reconciliation.

Compton and Patterson also provide helpful insight into forgiveness. Although written in the context of abuse survivors, their wisdom applies broadly—especially in political and communal settings:

“Forgiveness is an area that many victims of crimes and their loved ones will wrestle with... 3. Forgiveness does not mean reconciliation. No victim should ever be forced to reconcile with a perpetrator.” (p. 226)

That third point is key. There’s a mistaken belief in some Christian circles that forgiveness always requires reconciliation. But it doesn't.

Author Angela Williams Gorrell adds this:

"Forgiveness does not mean you give this person permission to hurt you again. Forgiveness is different from repentance, justice, and reconciliation…forgiveness doesn’t necessarily mean you renew the relationship.” (p 85)

I’m reminded of the aftermath of the horrific Mother Emanuel AME church shooting in Charleston. Some family members of the victims publicly forgave the shooter. That act was powerful—but later reporting revealed a more complicated reality. Not everyone was ready to forgive. Some struggled deeply, and many wrestled with what it meant to offer forgiveness in the face of such violence.¹

That’s understandable. Forgiveness is not the same as excusing, forgetting, or reuniting. It’s about releasing someone from the debt of harm—not necessarily restoring the relationship.

What Does “Forgive” Actually Mean?

The Greek word Jesus uses in Matthew 18:22—ἀφίημι (aphiēmi)—is often translated “forgive,” but its fuller meaning includes:

• To release

• To let go

• To send away

• To remit (as in canceling a debt)

This same word is used in the Lord’s Prayer (Matt. 6:12): “Forgive us our debts…” Forgiveness, in biblical terms, is about letting go of the need to collect—a powerful, voluntary act of spiritual release.²

Again, Williams Gorrell is helpful here:

“Forgiveness is akin to mercy. We release the person to God though they do not deserve it, have not earned it, and the situation is unfair. As we engage the process of forgiveness, we…do our best to let go of resentment.” (p. 84)

Jesus drives this home in the parable that follows (Matt. 18:23–35), where a servant is forgiven a massive debt but refuses to forgive another for a minor one. The lesson? Those who are forgiven must become forgivers.

Still, forgiveness is not easy. It is not forgetting. It is not reconciliation. And it certainly doesn’t mean injustice goes unchallenged.

Grace Must Be Voluntary, Not Imposed

So what is reconciliation, then?

At least in the way I’ve described it here, grace itself may be the truest form of reconciliation—not the kind that forces people back into harmful relationships, but the kind that enters into brokenness willingly, bears burdens with care, and protects the dignity of the wounded.

Compton and Patterson offer a beautifully simple yet profound definition of grace:

“Grace does not deny brokenness. Grace comes around brokenness and shares in the burden-bearing that comes with being broken.” (p. 84)

What’s crucial here is the direction and volition involved. Grace does not force itself on others. It does not compel the vulnerable to carry what they did not choose. It does not ask victims to bear the emotional, spiritual, or relational burden of their abuser’s sin.

Yet, tragically, that’s often what happens in the church. We sometimes misapply grace by encouraging (or pressuring) victims to reconcile prematurely, to forgive without process, or to “move on” for the sake of unity or appearances. In doing so, we shift the burden from the one who caused harm to the one who has been harmed.

In that way, abuse is not only a violation of a person—it’s also a distortion of grace. It demands that the victim bear not only their own pain, but the brokenness and consequences of someone else’s sin. It takes what should be a voluntary act of burden-sharing and turns it into a cruel obligation.

True grace, by contrast, is never coerced. It is a chosen sacrifice—an intentional stepping into another’s brokenness, not a demand placed upon them.

This is why I find the model of Jesus in Philippians 2 so compelling. Jesus, who had every right to stay distant, “emptied himself” and took on the form of a servant. He chose to enter into our brokenness and carry our burden—not out of guilt or manipulation, but out of love and volition.

This, I believe, is the kind of grace Christians are called to embody:

• Not grace that erases boundaries, but grace that upholds them.

• Not grace that excuses abuse, but grace that seeks justice while walking with the wounded.

• Not grace that demands others carry our sin, but grace that shoulders what we can, willingly, because we’ve been shown mercy ourselves.

As Compton and Patterson put it:

“Empathy is our emotional connection with the pain of others. Compassion is our response to this empathy that creates a drive to do something to heal the pain.” (p. 235)

Empathy feels. Compassion acts. Grace chooses.

Three Takeaways

1. Guilt is good. It alerts us when we’ve failed to live up to our values and invites us toward repentance and growth.

2. Forgiveness is essential—but it does not require reconciliation. It’s about releasing a burden, not pretending everything is fine.

3. Grace is costly. It involves those in power choosing to carry the weight of brokenness for the sake of others, just as Christ did—but only ever willingly.

So what does grace look like for you—today, in your relationships, your politics, your leadership? Who are you being called to forgive, and what burdens are you being called to carry—not out of obligation, but out of love?

Sources

1. Adelle M. Banks, “Mother Emanuel’s Forgiveness Narrative Is Complicated, Says Reporter Turned Author,” Religion News Service, June 6, 2019. https://religionnews.com/2019/06/06/mother-emanuels-forgiveness-narrative-is-complicated-says-reporter-turned-author/.

2. Lisa Compton and Taylor Patterson, Skills for Safeguarding: A Guide to Preventing Abuse and Fostering Healing in the Church (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2024).

3. Angela Williams Gorrell, Braving Difficult Decisions (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2025).

4. BDAG Greek-English Lexicon, 3rd ed., s.v. ἀφίημι; N.T. Wright and Michael F. Bird, The New Testament in Its World (Zondervan, 2019)