Slow Reset from Chaos

A reflection on rejection, forgiveness, and the mercy that still calls us home.

The Wound of Rejection

I was sitting in the Church pew, waiting for the Vigil Mass to begin, when I received a text message. I did not know then how deeply those words would settle into me. In that moment, my thoughts became foggy, as though I were looking through a tinted window and watching my own soul withdraw into invisibility. Even the stripes of Christ, which I had always believed could heal every wound, suddenly felt unhealable.

We pretend to be many things. We can be angry with the world, with others, and even with God. But perhaps the deepest wound begins when we turn that anger inward and begin to despise ourselves. We forget the good we have done. We forget the grace that has carried us. We lose sight of our own dignity and begin to believe there is nothing good left in us to offer.

When pain clouds the spirit, our eyes struggle to tell darkness from light. We settle into gray places because seeing the truth can cost us something. Sometimes people turn away from another person’s suffering because their own peace feels too fragile to disturb. Yet faith was never meant to be passive. The saints did not become saints by avoiding spiritual battles. Even Jesus continued toward the Cross. He still preached the Word of God. His hands still reached out to restore the ear of Malchus, the soldier wounded at His arrest. Those were not actions of silence; they were actions of mercy.

The evil one is patient. He does not need to rush. He swings on the pendulum of time, waiting for the moment when discouragement turns into despair. Darkness works quietly. It feeds on fear. It tries to swallow faith and bury courage at the bottom of a deep well. Many of us know what it feels like to be trapped beneath something too heavy to lift alone.

Pain Through A Divided Spirit

That is how we fall apart. That is how division finds us. I know, because I nearly lost my soul, again. I had read about Mother Teresa, John of the Cross, St. Paul, St. Maximilian Kolbe, and many others who endured institutions, misunderstandings, suffering, and silence. But the deeper danger is not only pain. The deeper danger is indifference.

Old conversations kept returning to my mind, sparking and searing my faith. They left a burnt taste in my spirit, yet I kept moving forward because Jesus promised that if I surrendered my yoke, I would find rest. If I could take one day at a time, one Sunday at a time, maybe He would lead me home like the Prodigal Son—back to the Father who waits with an embrace large enough to cover every mistake, every wound, and every ugly place in the soul.

The Question of Mercy

Our character is shaped by the roles we choose to play. We can polish our manners while hardening our hearts. We can become self-serving and lose the center of our purpose: Christ. It is easy to stand with the many and leave one wounded person alone. It is easy to open the gate and let the wolves take one sheep if doing so keeps the rest of the flock comfortable. But I keep asking myself: does a black sheep have a soul worth saving?

The words were simple, but they carried weight: “Some people don’t like you, so I have to ask you to step down from your ministries. But you didn’t do anything wrong.” Words like these can wound more deeply than people realize. They can leave a person wondering what kind of shepherding is taking place when belonging feels conditional and service can be taken away without wrongdoing.

Later, someone asked, “Hey, I heard you were removed from your ministries?” My only answer was the truth as I felt it then: “Yes. I am no longer allowed to serve God in that way.” It felt like spiritual warfare, not only because of what happened, but because of what it tempted me to believe about myself. Shame tried to attach itself to me. Bitterness tried to speak louder than grace. But the Gospel teaches a harder and holier response: love.

There are many stories written to inspire us, and others written to scorch the nerves and strike a chord. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, though there are moments when the wounded heart still reaches for the sword. Yet prayer remains the better response to impossibilities. “Let go and let God” is a phrase I have heard so often that it can lose its depth. Still, beneath the familiarity is a truth my heart needs: God sees cruel intentions, hidden wounds, and the pain we cannot explain. He heals wounds, but sometimes He leaves scars—not to shame us, but to teach us courage and enlarge our capacity to love.

When ties are cut and silence is unleashed, the soul can cry from a place words barely reach. In that cry, my question became simple: does a black sheep have a soul unlike an unblemished lamb?

“There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit.” — Romans 8:1

“We ate and drank in your presence, and you taught in our streets,” but He will say, “I do not know where you come from.” — Luke 13:26–27

Learning to Forgive Without Denying the Truth

I still have much to learn before I can cross the threshold of the Church with a heart that is truly free. How can I pray, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,” while making excuses for indifference? Forgiveness is not meant to be postponed until we feel ready. Jesus did not say, “I will forgive you when I want to.” His mercy reaches first, even before we find the courage to say, “I’m sorry, Lord.”

Between the offender and the one offended, who should say “I’m sorry” first? Perhaps the answer is the one who recognizes right from wrong, remembers mercy, and still believes every person is created in the image of God. The first apology may not erase the wound, but it can open a door where grace can begin again.

And so, I Pray

“I am sorry, Lord, for the ways my sins, my anger, and my unforgiveness have pressed against the wounds You already carried for me. You are still pouring mercy over my trespasses with a love greater than my pain. Teach me not to become what wounded me. Teach me to forgive without denying the truth. Teach me to remember that even the black sheep still belongs to You.

Because in God’s pasture, even the wounded sheep is still worth seeking. Amen.”