By Hännah Schlaudt

Wrapping my arms around my knees, I curled up on the couch in that cramped, bright Paris apartment. As the sounds of an early morning wafted through the wide-flung balcony doors, I tried to piece together the scattered remnants of my pride with furious tears. I was hurt, grappling with the gentle, piercing words that had been directed at me just moments earlier. Being told I was wrong was hard to take, yet as I bit my lip and sniffled, I decided that it was worse to be told I was wrong in how I apologized for being wrong. 

I was sixteen and traveling in France with two sweet, godly ladies from my church for three weeks. Away from home and my usual authority figures, I was excited to stretch my wings and prove my maturity. I wanted to be treated by them as if I was a peer, and was anxious to be an equal. But my pride and selfishness kept popping out their grotesque heads at inopportune moments, and I was repeatedly apologizing to my companions and seeking to make amends for my self-centeredness.

The trip had started off so well, but I now found myself being gently rebuked over and over again by these dear women of God. In my pride, I attempted to restore their good opinions of me by hasty apologies and quickly rectifying whatever it was that I had done wrong. But this morning I was confronted—in the most encouraging, gentle manner possible—and told that my apologies were so hasty that these ladies felt like I was brushing off their concerns and apologizing as a mere formality, not in earnest.

My pride was crushed. I hadn't meant to be insincere, but my anxiousness to fix things quickly had instead only made me seem flippant. And so I sat there on the couch, crying my heart out, trying to see my sin and a solution through the tears and pride fogging up my sight.

I began to wonder, What constitutes a good apology? What did I need to change in order to make forgiveness easy for those I had wronged?

Since that trip to France, I've come to realize that a humble attitude is essential to a God-honoring, sincere apology. If I've wronged someone and I know it, as a Christian, I am called to repent and make things right with them. I have to be aware that I was in sin, and my sin is not only offensive to those around me, but to God—the Holy One who requires perfection of His people. As His child, He has given me the power through the Holy Spirit, compelling me to turn from my wrongdoing and pursue godliness with my whole heart. But I can't do that unless I am willing to humble myself and acknowledge that I was wrong, and that my sin grieves my heavenly Father.

Humility is rooted in a deep awareness of the Gospel, of God's holiness, and the horrid sinfulness of my heart and a deep gratitude for the salvation I've been given. Because of this, when I know I've wronged someone, I can't just tell them, "Oh, I'm sorry" to brush things off and "make it all better." I have to acknowledge my wrongdoing and ask them to forgive me for the sake of the Gospel, not because I deserve it.

When my younger brother slugs his twin, telling him "I'm sorry" in a grumbly, resentful tone, it doesn't make his twin brother want to love him and forgive him. Instead, a cry of "Moooom!! He's not really sorry!!" is bound to be raised, followed by a rain of blows in vengeance. There is no humility and no frank acceptance of guilt to smooth the bitterness of offense. Rudimentary human understanding of justice demands retribution, so the boys won't drop the fight until they're worn out or humble themselves and forgive each other.

But if I've offended my roommate, and the Holy Spirit makes me aware of this, I can go to her and tell her how I was wrong, why I was wrong, and then ask her to forgive me. I can't dictate that she forgive me—that's the Lord’s job—but I can do everything possible to defuse the situation by approaching her humbly and telling her just how wrong I was. My goal must not be to make her forgive me. Instead, I need to accept the full guilt upon myself and humbly trying to remove barriers and guards against me, and making it clear to her that I'm repentant and that the Holy Spirit's conviction is motivating me to honor Him with my relationship to her.

Christ is not honored if I'm obtuse in my apology and just say that I'm sorry. But He is honored when I'm humble and winsome as I apologize—phrases like "I was wrong" and "Will you please forgive me" make the Gospel's power over my pride evident. The humbling knowledge that I'm wrong, but though Him I can change and repent must be made clear by how I apologize. Sincerity and gentleness bring Him glory and helps the person I've offended be more willing to forgive me.

That morning in Paris, after I cried off the pain of my broken pride, I called my mother and had a long talk with her, sorting through what I had done wrong and how I could remedy it. Her advice (always so very wise!) was to be slow and deliberate in my apologies, considering the needs of those I had offended instead of just trying to get through the motions of apologizing and forgiveness. If I was wrong, I couldn't let my pride get in the way of restoring the relationship.

With a fresh dose of the Word and encouragement from my mom, I got up off the couch and quietly slipped into the kitchen where the two ladies were just finishing their breakfast of fruit and yogurt.

"Hey, the way I responded to you was really proud. I was wrong and need to ask your forgiveness.'

With the grace of humility learned I was able to receive the forgiveness of my friends. Reconciled again, we held hands and thanked the Father for His kindness to bring me around and for His goodness to allow them to guide me and teach me what it means to apologize for His glory.

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Hännah Schlaudt is a student at Grove City College in Western Pennsylvania, double majoring in English and Christian Thought. Books (mostly classics or theology), coffee, knitting, baking, and ballroom dancing are some of her favorite things. Hännah was homeschooled, and is the eldest of nine children. She's fascinated with the Gospel and hopes to treasure Christ above all else, and to never lose that focus. If she ever decides to grow up, she might write books. Until then, she'll just keep musing about it all on Forthright Fixation, a blog she co-authors with seven other girls.

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Copyright © 2008 Hännah Schlaudt. All rights reserved.