JAILER!

FREEDOM OR JUSTICE?

I sat down in the crowd, my mind feeble and heavy, with noise echo wing through it.

It was such a familiar feeling.

Pain.

I struggled to focus on the lady speaking on stage. She was talking about forgiveness, and with every word she said, my heart tightened. She probably has no idea what she’s talking about. She probably hasn’t felt real pain before.

I would rather be stuck in this chain of unforgiveness than let those cruel demons go. I let them go, and then what? Smile and wish them well? No. I would rather lock them up in this prison called my heart, and if I have to be locked in there with them, so be it.

My eyes scanned the crowd, some were nodding, others taking notes. I looked back at the woman on stage, and this time she was staring at me. I smirked and looked away. She continued speaking, “Most importantly, forgiveness is the will of God.”

The will of God? I thought bitterly. If God won’t punish them, then I will.

The program ended. I grabbed my bag and hurried toward the exit. The last thing I wanted was someone engaging me in a pep talk. But before I could slip out, the lady from earlier ran toward me and tapped my shoulder.

I turned, gave my default polite smile, and stretched out my hand.

“That was such an amazing talk,” I muttered under my breath. If only you knew what you were talking about.

She tilted her head slightly. “Yeah?”

I didn’t answer.

Her eyes weren’t overly cheerful or solemn, they were simply calm. Then she raised her hand toward me and said, “Mercy.”

My eyes flicked to her hand, then back to her face. “You’re offering me mercy now?”

She laughed softly. “You’re so funny. My name is Mercy.”

I shook her hand. “Grace.”

Part of me wished my parents had named me Happiness, so maybe I’d be chatting away like this girl in front of me. She was either oblivious to my disinterest or just chose to ignore the expression on my face.

She looked me in the eye again. “I think I’m beginning to bore you.”

Beginning? I thought. I was bored before you even started. But I couldn’t say that out loud. I’ve had my fair share of harsh words; I know the damage they can do.

“I need to be somewhere quickly,” I said instead.

She smiled. “Let’s meet again.” She took my contact, and I walked away.

The next morning, I woke up to texts from Mercy. Isn’t she just an excited, zealous little thing? Or maybe I’m just… the sad one.

She wanted to know where we should meet. Realizing she wouldn’t stop until she got her wish, I suggested the sit-out a few blocks away. I wasn’t about to travel across town for anyone.

I arrived a bit late on purpose, I didn’t want to be the one waiting. But it seemed she had been there a while, staring into space peacefully. She didn’t look lost in deep thought, just… still. How can someone be so at peace?

She waved as I walked over. I sat across from her and offered a polite apology for being late.

“I mean, I might be mean, but I’m certainly not mannerless.”

She smiled, then immediately began talking. Her mouth seemed to move faster than her brain, except her words were thoughtful, gentle, and kind.

Eventually, she got to the question I was dreading: “So, what do you think about forgiveness?”

“I think it’s a choice,” I replied. “Some people definitely should not be forgiven.”

“Why?” she asked.

I gave her a knowing smile. “You have no idea, Mercy. Life… people… they’ve dealt with me. I’ve paid too high a price, one I never owed. Some people just don’t deserve forgiveness.”

She didn’t respond with the predictable I understand line I’ve heard countless times. Instead, she said, “I wouldn’t say I understand your pain. But God’s command still remains, ‘forgive.’”

I stared at her, surprised. “Why didn’t you say you understand? Or at least ask what happened?”

She shrugged gently. “If I asked before telling you what God says, you might think I’m undermining your pain, and I would be. I can try to understand you so I can sympathize and share your burdens. But it doesn’t change God’s response: forgive.”

“I don’t think I can,” I admitted. “This has cost me too much. I’ve been angry for so long, and it doesn’t feel okay to just… let it go. This is a burden I choose to carry.”

Her eyes softened. “So you agree unforgiveness is a burden?”

“Of course it is,” I said quickly. “Haven’t I carried the weight myself?”

She leaned forward slightly. “I know you’re hurt. I might never understand, even if you explained. But I know God wants to heal you. It is not His will that you carry the burden of other people’s sins. He’s not asking you to forgive or pray for them because He loves them more than you or because He doesn’t understand. He’s your Father, and it pains Him to see you suffer things you didn’t have to. But if He’s going to heal you, you’ll have to open your heart, and that means letting go of every single pain or person you’ve kept locked inside.”

Then she read:

“Instead of your shame you shall have double honor, and instead of confusion they shall rejoice in their portion. Therefore in their land they shall possess double; Everlasting joy shall be theirs.”—Isaiah 61:7 NKJV

“It’s never God’s will for bad things to happen to His children,” she continued. “But when they do, if you bring them to Him, He will compensate you with something far greater than the pain you endured. That’s why James wrote:

‘My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.’—James 1:2-4 NKJV

“There is no pain you’ve gone through that God is not willing to redeem. He can give you double for your trouble. But you have to stop punishing yourself and accept His grace. Let your prisoners go.”

Then she handed me a poem titled Jailer:

JAILER

I’m right, I told myself

After all, the one hurt is always right.

I want justice,

Isn’t that the right thing to seek?

I want those who did this

To pay for their sins.

I’ve got the power, and I’m the jailer.

I didn’t realize the jailer and the jailed

Are both locked up.

The justice I seek seemed like the key to freedom,

But that justice, too, was an unjust seeking of freedom.

I’m right, after all.

They’re the ones who should suffer being jailed.

But I didn’t understand that the jailer has

Even less peace

Than the jailed man.

A note to the reader:

When you lock people inside your heart, it feels justified. It feels like you’re holding them accountable. But you’ve also trapped yourself in the same cell. Sometimes the people you’re holding hostage in your heart have moved on. Sometimes they’ve never cared. Sometimes they’re still hurting you, with no remorse.

Unforgiveness is like holding a knife to your own throat, hoping they’ll feel the sting. But they don’t. Only you do.

I don’t know what pain you carry. I don’t know who broke you. But I do know this: God sees, God knows, and God cares. Forgiveness is not saying what happened was okay. It’s placing the case in God’s hands so He can be the Judge. It’s stepping out of the prison and letting Him heal what you’ve been protecting with your anger.

You may feel that letting go is weakness, but it’s the opposite. It’s an act of courage and trust, trusting that God’s justice is perfect and that His healing will leave no scar unredeemed.

Today, set your prisoners free.

Even if that prisoner is “you”.