Beginning Again: The Rite of Forgiveness and the Freedom to Start Fresh
Every year when Lent approaches, we are invited into the desert with Christ.
We hear the Gospel of His fasting. We reflect on temptation. We receive ashes. We are reminded of our mortality and our need for repentance. All of this is holy and necessary. But over time, I have come to believe that the most powerful doorway into Lent is not the ashes we receive—it is the forgiveness we give.
In the Christian East, Lent does not begin with ashes. It begins with something called Forgiveness Vespers. Before the fast starts, before any disciplines are taken on, before anyone speaks of sacrifice, the Church gathers simply to ask forgiveness of one another.
At the end of the service, the priest steps down from the altar and stands before the people—not as a judge, not as a leader above them, but as one who also needs mercy. And he says:
“Forgive me, a sinner.”
And the people respond:
“As God forgives, I forgive.”
Then everyone does the same.
Every person turns to every other person. Slowly. One by one. No rush. No abstraction. No hiding behind generalities. Priest to parishioner. Friend to stranger. Elder to child. Even infants are carried into the exchange so that the whole body of Christ participates.
Each person looks into the face of another and says:
“Forgive me.”
And hears in return:
“God forgives, and I forgive.”
It is disarming. It is humbling. It is deeply human.
And it is, I believe, one of the most honest ways the Church has ever taught us how to begin again.
Why Begin Lent This Way?
Because we cannot walk into the desert carrying resentment.
We cannot fast authentically while holding grudges.
We cannot seek God while avoiding one another.
We cannot ask for mercy while refusing to give it.
Christ is very clear about this:
“If you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.”
— Matthew 6:14
Forgiveness is not an optional spiritual exercise. It is the air we breathe if we wish to live in communion with God.
The desert strips away what is unnecessary. Forgiveness Vespers helps us decide what we should not bring with us.
Pride.
Old wounds.
Unspoken anger.
The quiet habit of keeping score.
The Rite of Forgiveness is, in many ways, a cleaning of the spiritual closet. Not because we pretend nothing hurt, but because we refuse to let pain become our identity.
The Wisdom of the Eastern Fathers
The Fathers of the Eastern Church understood that forgiveness is not moral weakness—it is spiritual liberation.
St. John Chrysostom wrote:
“Nothing makes us so like God as our readiness to forgive the wicked and wrongdoers.”
To forgive is to live like God lives.
St. Isaac the Syrian goes even further:
“Do not call God just… His justice is not like ours. God is merciful beyond all measure.”
Forgiveness is not balancing accounts. It is participating in divine mercy.
And St. Silouan of Mount Athos reminds us:
“The whole of the Christian life is learning to love our enemies.”
Not admire them. Not agree with them. But refuse to let hatred have the final word.
Forgiveness Is Not Forgetting. It Is Freedom.
We often misunderstand forgiveness because we confuse it with excusing harm or erasing memory.
The Church does neither.
Forgiveness is not pretending something did not happen.
It is choosing not to let it define the future.
When Christ forgives from the Cross—
“Father, forgive them” (Luke 23:34)—
He does not deny the violence being done. He transforms it.
Forgiveness is how resurrection begins to take root inside ordinary life.
The Rite of Forgiveness Is Not Only for Lent
Here is where this ancient practice speaks directly into our daily lives.
What if we did not wait until once a year to live this way?
What if we approached our families, our friendships, our workplaces, even our own hearts, with the same humility?
Imagine beginning difficult conversations not with defense, but with:
“I may not see everything clearly. Forgive me.”
Imagine ending each day by releasing what we have carried:
“As God forgives, I forgive.”
St. Paul urges us:
“Bear with one another and forgive one another… just as the Lord has forgiven you.”
— Colossians 3:13
This is not seasonal advice. It is a way of life.
Living Forgiveness in the Desert We Inhabit
Here in the Southwest, we know what it means to live in a desert. The Sonoran landscape teaches us that life survives by letting go of excess. Nothing unnecessary is carried. Resources are conserved. Growth is slow but real.
Forgiveness works the same way.
It removes what the soul does not need.
It makes room for grace.
It allows roots to grow deep instead of spreading thin.
Unforgiveness is heavy. The desert teaches us we cannot walk far while carrying weight we were never meant to hold.
A Daily Practice of Beginning Again
The Rite of Forgiveness can become a daily spiritual discipline:
- Asking forgiveness quickly rather than defending ourselves.
- Releasing offenses before they harden into resentment.
- Remembering that every person we meet is also struggling toward God.
- Letting mercy interrupt our instinct to judge.
This is not about being perfect. It is about remaining open.
The Desert Fathers often said, “Fall down, get up. Fall down, get up.”
The Christian life is not a straight ascent. It is a continual returning.
Forgiveness is how we return.
Walking into Lent—and Into Every Day—Lightly
When we practice forgiveness, Lent stops being about grim endurance and becomes what it was always meant to be: a journey of freedom.
We walk into the desert not dragging the past behind us, but trusting that God is already there, already sustaining us, already making all things new.
And so, whether at the start of Lent or at the close of an ordinary Tuesday, the prayer remains the same:
Forgive me.
As God forgives, I forgive.
This is how we begin again.
This is how we live the Gospel.
This is how the heart learns to breathe.