S-O-R-R-Y
Apology is a process, not a performance.
Today, I find myself reflecting on a word that is so commonly used yet often falls short of its original intent: SORRY. Five letters. Two syllables. Uttered countless times around the globe each day, and yet, in so many instances, hollow, like a delicate bandage placed on a wound far too deep to be concealed by words alone.
I’ve come to understand that “sorry” frequently serves to alleviate discomfort rather than to promote healing. The person who says it expresses a desire to move forward, while the one who hears it is weighed down by the anticipation of extending forgiveness. Yet within those expectations exists a wide emotional terrain—pain, disappointment, betrayal, disillusionment—that the word alone cannot navigate.
In moments of deep hurt, I find myself yearning for acknowledgement rather than merely an apology. I want the other individual to understand how their actions resulted in hurt. I wish they would witness my pain. However, frequently, the word “sorry” is uttered with averted gazes, hands tucked away in pockets, or conveyed through a brief message lacking punctuation, almost resembling a mere checkbox ticked off to meet a social requirement.
When I find myself offering an apology, I occasionally notice that I do the same thing—saying “sorry” to alleviate my guilt, to lighten my emotional load, instead of truly embracing the important act of accountability.
What is the reason for that?
Maybe it's because genuine repentance brings discomfort: to truly apologise is to humble oneself and confront the repercussions of one’s behaviour. It requires more than just uttering the word—it necessitates emotional effort: reflection, honesty, vulnerability, and a commitment to change. That is quite a demand for a small 5-letter word!
Hurt feelings are not mere scratches that can be polished away with a single word. They resemble bruises beneath the surface—frequently unseen, gradually mending, and sensitive to touch. Depending on the depth of the wound, the word "sorry" can sometimes feel more like salt than a soothing balm, particularly when it is offered without sincerity or a genuine desire to mend what has been broken.
When I’ve been hurt deeply, I’ve noticed how much I crave acknowledgement, not just an apology. I want the other person to recognise why their action caused pain. I want them to see me in my hurt. However, all too often, “sorry” is spoken with eyes turned away, hands in pockets, or sent as a short message with no punctuation—almost like a checkbox ticked to fulfil some social obligation.
I've discovered that true healing starts not with an apology, but with the act of listening. Engaging in listening without a defensive posture. Asking: How did I cause you pain? How did my words or actions resonate with you? What can I do differently? These questions possess a strength that the word “sorry” frequently does not convey. They unlock the path to restoration.
As I reflect on how easily “sorry” can become a hollow word and lose its meaning, I remember the stories of Peter and Judas—two of the disciples of Jesus Christ who let their Master down in His most vulnerable moments and responded so differently to their conduct.
As for Judas Iscariot, he betrayed Jesus with a kiss in a premeditated act. Then, when the weight of what he had done became too heavy, he was seized with remorse, and confessing his misdeed, “I have sinned,” he said, ”for I have betrayed innocent blood.” He attempted to return the thirty pieces of silver he got from the deal: “He threw the money back into the temple… then he went away and hanged himself.” (Matthew 27:3-5 NIV).
Unlike Judas, whose regret did not lead him back to the foot of the cross, Peter denied Jesus three times, despite having sworn just hours before that he never would. However, when confronted by the guilt of his act, his heart was shattered, not merely due to his shame, but because he had hurt the One he cherished. Peter wept with deep sorrow, and rather than crumble under the weight of his guilt, he retraced his steps back to Jesus. (Luke 22:62; John 21:15-17)
The distinction is clear: Judas experienced remorse; Peter experienced repentance. Remorse says, “I feel bad.” Repentance says, “I want to make it right.” Remorse can drag us inward, into feelings of self-pity or shame, while repentance prompts us to look upwards toward grace, restoration, and a new life.
Interestingly, God, in His mercy, doesn't provide instant solutions; instead, He draws close. He listens. He heals—not just by words, but by presence, by grace, by truth: “The Lord is close to all whose hearts are crushed by pain, and he is always ready to restore the repentant one.” (Psalms 34:18 TPT)
“Oh, to be like Thee” should transcend mere hymn singing; embodying the essence of Jesus involves embracing His example in every circumstance as we thoughtfully consider the question, “What would Jesus do?” To become a vessel for healing, it is essential to be intentional in our repentance for wrongdoings and to choose forgiveness—albeit gradually and thoughtfully—while maintaining boundaries and exercising wisdom when we are hurt.
Reflecting on the numerous occasions I’ve uttered “sorry” due to social pressure, guilt, or discomfort, I hope to find a way to rise above these feelings of remorse. I aspire to be like Peter—flawed, but flawed within the embrace of Christ, where grace has the power to restore.
While it may be quite easy and convenient to utter the word “sorry,” the true challenge lies in embodying a different way of living afterward. This transformation necessitates love, humility, and spiritual maturity, attainable only through grace. The good thing is that God’s grace is available, accessible, and sufficient to enable us to practice apology as a process rather than a mere performance.
“Yes, God is more than ready to overwhelm you with every form of grace, so that you will have more than enough of everything—every moment and in every way. He will make you overflow with abundance in every good thing you do.” (2 Corinthians 9:8 TPT)