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If you are anything like a normal human being, you probably hate apologizing. I sure do.

Actually, my loathing for apologizing is probably deeper than the word "hate," and I hate the word "hate".

Apologizing is miserable. It's hard. Why? Because none of us likes being wrong, and we certainly don't like admitting that we have wronged someone else.

This week, I had to stand in front of my coworkers and apologize for my conduct. I had acted a certain way for what felt like good reasons.

But here's the problem: I was wrong.

Did I want to apologize? No way.

Was an apology deserved? Absolutely.

And here's the strange part. After I apologized, I felt better than before.

So why was something that was right so difficult to do? I think the answer goes all the way back to our beginning.

The first book of our Bible is Genesis. The English name Genesis comes from the Greek Genesis, meaning origin, birth, or beginning. The Hebrew name comes from the opening word of the book: Bereshit.

Genesis 1:1 in the NKJV says: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”

The Hebrew begins Bereshit. There is an interesting feature there: Hebrew does not have a definite article corresponding to our English “the.” The English language needs to make the sentence understandable for us, so it adds the definite article; otherwise it would read, "In beginning."

Bruce Gore uses a word I love when talking about this: “beginningness.” I don't take that as a new translation of Genesis. I take it as a way of thinking about something our English has difficulty expressing.

This is our beginningness. Not God's. God didn't begin in Genesis 1:1. God simply is. Before our beginning, He is God. Before our time, He is God. And when our measurements of time are gone, He will still be God.

Then something incredible happens in that beginning. God says: “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness.” — Genesis 1:26

Notice the words Us and Our. Throughout Scripture, God expresses Himself in ways we struggle to comprehend.  God reveals Himself as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Not three gods. One God, eternally existing in three Persons.

The three Persons, the existence of God in this manner, is key. Why? Because God is love. If God were only one existence, one Person, one way, then love would not be a natural outcome of a singular One God in One Person. What if two? What happens when there are two? Competition, not love. But three? With Three Persons in One God, we get love, and that love is expressed to us all. 

Love isn't something God eventually learned to do after He created someone to love. Love eternally exists within the triune God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in perfect relationship.

Then He created us in His image. Scripture also speaks of us as “spirit, soul, and body” (1 Thessalonians 5:23). Does our three-part makeup somehow reflect the triune nature of the God whose image we bear? Scripture doesn't specifically tell us that. Maybe that's one of those questions we'll get answered when we get home, but Scripture does tell us something important about what happened next.

Humanity fell. Sin entered. And every one of us has been dealing with the consequences ever since.

For those of us who have placed our faith in Jesus Christ, something has changed. We have been born again. Jesus saved us. The Holy Spirit dwells within us. Yet we still live in flesh affected by sin.

And there is a battle. Paul describes it: “For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary to one another.” — Galatians 5:17

I picture the soul as the battlefield where I experience that struggle. The flesh wants one direction. The Spirit leads toward another, and somewhere in that struggle, I choose which direction to walk.

That's where apologizing suddenly becomes much more than saying two uncomfortable words.

Think about what happens when you know you should apologize.

  • But I had a reason.
  • They did something too.
  • They misunderstood me.
  • That's not what I meant.
  • If they knew everything that happened, they'd understand.
  • Maybe they'll forget about it.
  • Maybe I wasn't really that wrong.

The flesh is an excellent defense attorney. Mine certainly is. Yet, becoming more like Christ isn't about becoming better at defending myself. It's about becoming more like Him.

Jesus “humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross” (Philippians 2:8). Our Savior modeled humility, and sometimes following Him means swallowing two incredibly difficult words: I was wrong.

One of the great blessings of belonging to Christ is that He hasn't called us to walk this road alone. We have brothers and sisters in Christ.

God has placed people in my life who encourage me, correct me, challenge me, forgive me, and sometimes tell me things I don't particularly want to hear. I need them all. We all do.

“As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.” — Proverbs 27:17

Sometimes sharpening feels encouraging. Sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes the brother or sister who loves us enough to point out where we're wrong is exactly the person God is using to move us closer to Him.

One of those people in my life has always been my dad. He's my earthly father, but he's something else too. He's my brother in Christ.

Years ago, my dad gave me a piece of advice that has never left me:

When you have a choice, the hard one is likely the correct one.

He wasn't giving me a complicated theological statement. He was giving his son advice about life, advice rooted in the faith we share.

Those words have followed me. Sometimes I appreciate hearing them in my head. Sometimes, quite frankly, I wish they weren't there because sometimes I already know what the hard choice is.

This week was one of those times. I knew I needed to apologize. How did I know? In part, because I didn't want to.

Everything in me wanted an easier route.

  • Explain it.
  • Justify it.
  • Move on.

But there was my dad's voice:

When you have a choice, the hard one is likely the correct one.

And there were other voices too. Brothers and sisters in Christ whom God has placed around me. People who encourage me, comfort me, correct me, forgive me, and help point me back toward Jesus when my direction isn't where it should be.

Above all of those voices is God's Word and the Holy Spirit working within me. That's part of the beauty of the family of God. Christ works in us individually, but He also works through one another.

Sometimes He uses a pastor. Sometimes a friend. Sometimes a coworker. Sometimes another believer willing to tell us the truth. And sometimes He uses the words of your earthly father, spoken years ago and still ringing in your ears when you need them most.

So I apologized. Not because I suddenly wanted to. I apologized because I knew which direction pointed toward Christ. That's an act of faith.

Let's be very clear. We aren't saved because we're humble enough to apologize. We aren't saved because we admit enough mistakes, perform enough good deeds, or somehow become good enough people.

Jesus did the saving.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith... not of works, lest anyone should boast.” — Ephesians 2:8–9

But once we belong to Him, He begins changing us. That's sanctification, and sometimes sanctification looks very spiritual, like prayer, worship, studying God's Word. Sometimes it looks much less impressive. Sometimes it looks like standing in front of people you have wronged and saying: I was wrong. I'm sorry.

No but. No defense. No explanation designed to make the wrong sound a little less wrong.

Just humility.

Apologizing can open the door toward reconciliation. But even before we know how another person will respond, we can choose obedience on our side of the conversation.

That's our step.

Your Challenge This Week

This one may not be fun.

Ask God a simple question: Father, is there someone I owe an apology?

Then listen.

Maybe nobody comes to mind.

But if someone does, don't immediately start building your defense.

Don't wait until apologizing feels comfortable. Don't wait until you can explain everything perfectly, and don't wait for the other person to apologize first.

Take the step that's yours. Go to them. Tell them what you did wrong.

Apologize.

And if everything inside you starts screaming that you don't want to do it, remember the advice my father gave me:

When you have a choice, the hard one is likely the correct one.

Then ask yourself one more question: Which direction takes me toward Jesus? Take that one.

I didn't want to apologize this week. I did it anyway.

And afterward? I felt better than I did before. Not because apologizing suddenly became enjoyable. But because, for that moment, I knew which direction I wanted to walk. Towards Him.

One Step Closer: If you were wrong, take the step of faith. Listen to the brothers and sisters in Christ God has placed around you. Choose the direction that leads toward Jesus. And when the words are yours to say, say them: “I was wrong. I'm sorry.”