The jungle air hung heavily that Sunday morning as worship echoed through Emmanuel’s small church building. What had begun as a season of incredible promise—with new believers coming to Jesus and a flourishing congregation taking root in this previously unreached area of India—was about to transform into a crucible of faith that would test the very limits of human forgiveness.
Before we witness this extra/ordinary demonstration of grace, we need to understand what forgiveness really is.
What Does Forgiveness Really Mean?
What does it mean when you say you forgive someone?
It doesn’t mean what they did wasn’t evil. It probably was. God doesn’t measure the severity of our sin before he forgives us, and we need to forgive others in the same way.
It doesn’t erase your wounds or guarantee instant healing. We’ve all heard “forgive and forget,” but our minds don’t work that way. We can’t forget, but we can forgive.
When we truly forgive, as God forgave us, we make four vital commitments:
- I will no longer dwell on this incident and picture revenge.
- I will not bring this incident up again to use it against you.
- I will not talk badly about you to other people.
- I will no longer allow this incident to stand between us. (You will, of course, need to use wisdom and caution if being physically with the person can put you in danger.)
These promises might seem impossible to keep, especially if you’ve been hurt badly. Yet on that Sunday morning in India, Emmanuel and his wife would demonstrate exactly this kind of forgiveness . . .
“When we truly forgive, as God forgave us, we make four vital commitments.”
The Story Doesn’t End There
There was a sudden crash as the back door splintered open and disrupted Sunday worship. Armed men burst in with guns and swords, and they were driven by hatred for what they saw as an invasion of their culture by Western religion. They seized Emmanuel and his wife, dragged them outside, and tied their feet with rope. The men tied the other end of the rope to the back of their jeep and drove away. As they dragged the couple through the jungle, their bodies were scraped and torn by the dense undergrowth.
The men assumed it would kill Emmanuel and his wife, yet when the jeep finally stopped in an isolated field, Emmanuel and his wife lay bloodied and bruised but alive. Their tormentors, frustrated by their survival, weren’t finished.
They bound Emmanuel to a tree, his arms wrenched behind him, and demanded, “Deny Jesus now!” They thrust a piece of paper before him. “If you don’t deny Jesus, sign this paper, and become a member of our group, we will rape and kill your wife in front of your eyes! We know you’re not afraid of death, but we know you love your wife. It’s your choice, pastor. Deny Jesus or watch us as we rape your wife.”
Emmanuel didn’t speak. He knew in his heart he would never deny Jesus, no matter what happened. They threatened him repeatedly, but Emmanuel didn’t budge.
“He knew in his heart he would never deny Jesus, no matter what happened.”
If you are a man, what would you do in a situation like that? Would you sign the paper and renounce Jesus to protect your wife?
If you are a woman, what would you do? Beg your husband to sign the paper?
The men threatened Emmanuel again, and finally a voice rang out—not Emmanuel’s but his wife’s. She screamed at Emmanuel at the top of her lungs, “Emmanuel! Never sign that paper! Never deny Jesus! Let them do whatever they want to me. Just never deny our Lord!”
Faced with such a choice, could you demonstrate such faith? Could you watch helplessly as evil unleashed itself upon your loved one when you knew a simple signature could stop it all?
Is that extraordinary faith, or should it be ordinary faith for a follower of Jesus?
Emmanuel didn’t sign. What followed was an atrocity that no one should ever have to witness. Four men violated his wife as he watched. Tears streamed down his face; rage and anguish burned in his heart. By the grace of God, local villagers, drawn by the screams, came running and prevented worse from occurring. The attackers, suddenly outnumbered, fled into the jungle.
What would you do after that? Quit the ministry? Give up on God? Move to another location? 
I don’t know what I would do either. All I can tell you is what Emmanuel and his wife did. Two weeks later—just fourteen days after this horrific attack—they stood again in that same church and preached the gospel.
What kind of determination . . . passion . . . love is that?
“They stood again in that same church and preached the gospel.”
And the story doesn’t end there.
The church didn’t wither in the face of danger; it exploded with growth. People who had never considered Christianity began flooding through the doors as they were drawn by this extraordinary demonstration of faith under fire.
Even more remarkably, Emmanuel and his wife forgave their attackers. Not with safe, theoretical forgiveness but with radical, practical love. They greeted these men on the street. Invited them to parties.
I am afraid I would have wanted to kill those men.
But Emmanuel and his wife lived out Jesus’ teachings on loving your enemies. They chose sacrifice and love over protection and revenge.
Then came New Year’s Day, roughly a year after the attack. Emmanuel held a worship service in the very same church where the horror had begun. In an act of almost unimaginable grace, he invited the four men who had committed these atrocities against his wife.
And they showed up.
Not only did they come, all four men gave their lives to Jesus and were baptized that same day.
The Forgiven Forgive
This is what following Jesus truly looks like—not matching violence with violence but overwhelming hatred with a love so radical it defies explanation. If God’s grace can reach men capable of such brutality, who lies beyond his reach? What heart is too hardened for his love to pierce? Never limit the extent of his amazing grace.
If Emmanuel and his wife could overcome such horror to build a thriving church, what is stopping you and me? Our fears of rejection or any other difficulty pale in comparison to these leaders who gave it all for the kingdom.
Where does forgiveness like that come from? How can someone love and forgive another human being who has brought so much pain and hurt?
Jesus told a story of a man who was drowning in a debt he could never hope to repay. The man begged his master for mercy and received complete forgiveness. The burden lifted from his shoulders, and he left with a fresh start and a new chance at life. Yet moments later, when he encountered someone who owed him a far smaller sum, he showed no such grace. Despite the debtor’s identical plea for mercy, the recently forgiven servant had him thrown into prison.
“Where does forgiveness like that come from?”
Word of this hypocrisy reached the master, who was furious. His response was swift and severe.
“Then the master called the servant in. ‘You wicked servant,’ he said, ‘I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?’ In anger his master handed him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.” (Matthew 18:32–34, NIV)
The principle of the story: the forgiven forgive. We need to forgive in the same way we have been forgiven. Our capacity to forgive others flows directly from our recognition of how profoundly we’ve been forgiven.
