The readings of this Sunday all revolve around a very concrete and profoundly Christian question: How can we ask God for mercy if we are unwilling to show mercy towards our brothers and sisters? “How many times must I forgive?”

The Gospel of Matthew presents Peter approaching Jesus with a question that, deep down, arises from a desire for justice: “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Peter believes he is being generous. Seven times is a lot. Perhaps he expects Jesus to say, “Yes, seven times is enough.” But Jesus completely changes the perspective: “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.” Jesus is not simply asking us to increase the number of times we forgive. He is saying something far more radical: Christian forgiveness cannot be governed by a counter. The real question is not how many times we must forgive, but rather where our forgiveness comes from.

The parable of the unforgiving servant makes this very clear. A man has received from his master an enormous act of mercy: a debt so great that he could never possibly repay it. Yet, as soon as he leaves, he encounters a fellow servant who owes him a much smaller amount. Instead of extending to another the mercy he himself has just received, he attacks him and demands payment down to the last penny.

This reveals one of the deepest contradictions of the human heart: we can be fully aware of the mercy we have received and, at the same time, become incapable of offering that mercy to others. It is precisely here that the three readings come together.

The Book of Sirach places before us the destructive power of resentment: “Wrath and anger are hateful things.” It then asks a decisive question: how can we ask the Lord to forgive us if we continue to harbour resentment towards those who have hurt us?

 orgiveness is not easy. Scripture does not ask us to pretend that evil has not happened. There are deep wounds, betrayals, injustices, and words that leave lasting scars. Forgiveness does not mean saying that what happened was good, nor does it necessarily mean restoring a relationship to the way it was before. To forgive means, little by little, refusing to allow the evil we have suffered to continue governing our hearts. Sometimes the first step towards forgiveness is not being able to say, “I forgive you,” but simply being able to say before God:

“Lord, I am not yet able to forgive this person. But I do not want to remain a prisoner of this wound forever. I place it in Your hands. Free me from resentment.” Even this can be the beginning of a journey towards mercy. The second reading, from the Letter to the Romans, introduces another important perspective: “None of us lives for ourselves, and no one dies for ourselves.” Our lives belong to the Lord. And this changes the way we look at others. When we live only for ourselves, offences can become enormous because our own ego occupies all the space. When, instead, we discover that we are in God’s hands, we can gradually stop needing to have the last word, the final argument, or the last act of revenge. Christ died and rose again for all. Therefore, even the person who has hurt us remains, despite everything, a person loved by God. Perhaps this is one of the most difficult aspects of the Gospel: God does not love only me; He also loves the person whom I find difficult to love.

The parable ends with severe words. The servant who received mercy but refused to extend it to another is condemned. Jesus concludes: “So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” That expression, “from your heart,” is important. Jesus is not speaking of forgiveness that is merely spoken with the lips. The heart itself must be freed from revenge, from the desire to see the other person suffer, and from the satisfaction of being able to say, “Now you will pay.”

Forgiveness is difficult precisely because it can seem as though we are giving something up. We may think that, if we forgive, the other person will go unpunished and we will have lost the right to be heard or to be proven right. Faith offers us another path: to leave judgement in God’s hands and choose mercy. Not because evil does not matter, but because evil must not have the final word. Perhaps we can understand the entire Gospel passage in the light of a simple experience. Every time we pray the Our Father, we say: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” It is a beautiful prayer, but it is also demanding. Each time we pray it, we ask God to show us His mercy according to the measure with which we show mercy to others.

For this reason, today’s readings invite us to ask ourselves not only, “Whom must I forgive?”, but above all, “What kind of mercy am I myself living by?” Perhaps there is someone we continue to carry within us with anger. Perhaps there is an old wound that has not yet healed. Perhaps there is someone whom we have already forgiven with our words, but not yet in our hearts. The Lord does not ask us to erase the past. He asks us to entrust it to Him. Christian forgiveness, then, is not first and foremost an act of human strength, but a response to the mercy we have received from God.

Those who know that they have been forgiven can learn to forgive. Those who recognise themselves as recipients of God’s mercy can become merciful themselves. And in the end, one question remains one that the Gospel places before our conscience: If God were to measure His mercy towards me according to the same measure I use towards those who have hurt me, what would my situation be today? The answer may frighten us. But it can also become a source of great consolation: God never tires of forgiving us. And precisely because we are forgiven, we can begin again to forgive.

HAVE A BLESSED SUNDAY, EVERYONE!