Peace is impossible without forgiveness. This stark and evident truth not only stands as the great challenge of the geopolitical conflicts that are bleeding the planet, but is also played out every day, relentlessly, in the small things: in the invisible trenches of family life, in the daily work routine, in school classrooms, and in our closest relationships.

Pope Leo XIV, in his Angelus address on Sunday, September 13, reminded us how the Gospel firmly grounds us in reality regarding this fundamental value of the Christian life. It all stems from Peter’s poignant question:  “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times? “

Jesus’ response, demanding to go beyond all human calculation to  “seventy times seven” , blows up any accounting or expiration date.

Forgiveness is the lifeblood without which coexistence suffocates. As the Pope warns, where resentment and revenge take root,  “relationships are destroyed, families are divided, and wars are unleashed . “

In the face of this machinery of destruction, forgiveness bursts forth like  “a favorable wind”  capable of sweeping away  “even the densest clouds, until it lets us see the sun again . “

But let’s not fool ourselves: the path is fraught with obstacles. We stumble daily over misunderstandings, sensitivities, and sometimes wounds so deep that our fragile nature cries out to label them “unforgivable.” And yet, it is precisely there that the Gospel pulls us against the current: Jesus asks us to forgive and welcome.

The brightest reflection is found in Saint Peter himself, who  “experienced it on several occasions throughout his life; in particular when, after having denied and abandoned Jesus during the Passion, upon encountering him resurrected on the shores of the lake, he heard a single question: “Simon […], do you love me?” (Jn 21:15), accompanied by an invitation: “Follow me” (v. 19). Exactly as in the beginning, on the day of their first encounter, as if nothing had happened . ”

A charity that  “forgets and heals ,” demonstrating that forgiveness does not mask the past, but rather rescues and fully restores the mission.

Forgiveness as an unfinished art

Forgiveness, in reality, is a true art. And like all great masterpieces, it confronts us with the perpetual dissatisfaction of imperfection.

Just as a genuine artist could spend his entire life polishing a canvas or chiseling a statue without ever being completely satisfied—reaching a point where the only thing he can do is simply “leave his work”—the same thing happens with forgiveness.

It pains us to realize that our forgiveness is never perfect; we feel we could have given more, and above all, that the other person has fallen short. This misguided demand threatens to turn forgiveness into an endless and impassable path: a labyrinth of polite recriminations where reconciliation is eternally postponed, awaiting an unattainable purity that rarely touches the earth. Therefore, we must reach the maturity to know when to set a boundary and say,  “This is forgiven . “

Humbly accept our baked clay, willing to forgive half-heartedly if that’s all we can do, knowing that we lack that ideal perfection we would like to sign up for.

Because forgiveness isn’t a magic trick that instantly erases pain. Often, even after deciding to forgive from the very first second, a subtle yet persistent lingering sadness remains. That wound, which heals slowly, is the perfect opportunity to renew the commitment and, at the same time, humbly ask the offender to lend a hand in the monumental task of rebuilding the broken trust.

Our approach must always be to build bridges and smooth the way as many times as necessary. The alternative to this effort is utter devastation.

Years ago, a student confessed to me with heartbreaking pain, after his father’s blatant abandonment:  “I hate my father .” To build a biography on the mortar of hatred and the closed-mindedness of unforgiveness is a titanic curse; it chains a person to perpetual distrust that undermines their own happiness and sows the suspicion that true love is, deep down, an unattainable illusion.

Living without forgiving is like living in a high-security cell whose keys we ourselves throw into the sea.

Knowing how to forgive, in its most radical essence, is  putting your heart on the ground so that others can walk softly  —a skill well known to mothers and fathers of this world—while fully aware that, when this happens, the heart bleeds.

In the end, it all comes down to a strictly personal matter.

Think for a moment: what are you holding onto today? What unfinished business, what small or large grudges are you still polishing in a morbid way, waiting for a perfect apology that may never come?

The art of forgiveness requires us to stop postponing life. It invites us to close our eyes to what is missing, to sign our work with its scribbles and stitches, and to take the step.

Because the question is no longer what others did, nor how many times the Gospel says we must forgive. The inescapable question is for you, here and now: are you going to dare to let go of the keys to your own cell?

Receiving forgiveness from on High and freely sharing it with those around us is the only antidote to the metastasis of resentment. As Leo XIV implored, invoking the Virgin Mary, Mother of Mercy, we need her to sustain us  “to always forgive, even when it is difficult to take the first step, and to spread, with courage and perseverance, the serene and healing light of love that conquers hatred and disarms all resentment . “