A young white man from southern Missouri approached me on a dark street in Ferguson, Missouri during the 2014 uprising.  Around us, young Black citizens were demanding their humanity be acknowledged in policing practices and policies. He asked—maybe innocently, maybe in judgement—“Why can’t they (meaning Black people) just forgive [the police]?”  The question opened the door to educate him about the difference between personal and systemic forgiveness.

Personal forgiveness is intimate and immediate. It’s the inner arc of letting go of the bitterness when someone wrongs you. It’s the quiet prayer, the release, the soul’s softening.

But systemic forgiveness is another story. It confronts structures—laws, institutions, policies—that perpetuate harm. It asks: Have the rules changed? Has the institution repented? Has the system been rebuilt to dismantle oppression?

One cannot forgive systems like one forgives individuals. In the Lord’s Prayer we are taught to pray, “forgive US our sins, as WE forgive THOSE who have sinned against US.”  In my work, The Lord’s Prayer: A Radical Manifesto for Liberation and Justice I posit that the sins are of society-of humanity. Jesus, hanging on the cross, did not declare, “I forgive you.” No, he declared, “Father, forgive THEM…” (Luke 23:34). Perhaps, there are sins that are not for the harmed to forgive, but rather to be entrusted to God’s process of forgiveness.

To ask Black communities to “just forgive” without seeing transformed institutions is a theological contradiction. The spiritual liberation promised in Psalm 51 or the teachings of Jesus cannot be separated from justice.

There can be no forgiveness without confession. Scripture teaches us that confession never stands alone; it is the door to healing (the process of becoming whole). 1 John 1:9 promises forgiveness if we name the wrong. Without that, forgiveness becomes shallow—even complicit.

Systemic forgiveness, likewise, requires truth-telling by the agents and benefactors of the systems that created and perpetuate harm. We must name the wrongs of redlining, of mass incarceration, of police brutality, and of the 400+ years of racialized terror.

The church, following prophetic calling, must speak boldly: this happened. this is sin. Without public acknowledgment—truth—there can be no genuine forgiveness.

Forgiveness too often gets separated from repair. But repentance—metanoia, turning from sin—is an embodied act. It must restore what was broken. Zechariah 9:11 reminds us: liberation means returning the exiles home. The Old Testament law commanded restitution—sold oxen had to be restored in kind (Exodus 22:13). True forgiveness involves restoration.

In her seminal work, The Reparations Handbook, Chrissi Jackson unpacks this: “Awarding reparations is an act of remedy and repair.”

Notice she doesn’t call it charity. It’s covenantal—a sacred promise to set things right. Without repair, repentance is hollow.

Reparations are not just political—they are sacred. Jackson frames reparations as spiritual work: “Awarding reparations is about understanding the problem, taking accountability, and doing the necessary work to fix the damage and close the gaps … so that we can evolve beyond it.”

Here’s the theological heart: reparations embody justice and healing. They are the work that bridges truth-telling and forgiveness. They demonstrate repentance in practice.

The Bible is a treasury of restoration stories. The year of Jubilee wasn’t abandonment—it was restoration: returning land, releasing debts, resetting the economy (Leviticus 25).

Jesus’s story of the sinful woman in Luke 7 shows forgiveness in motion—her sins forgiven, her life restored through anointing. He didn’t forgive so she could stay afraid. He forgave so her life could be rebuilt.

Similarly, structural restitution is not just symbolic—it is reconstruction: investments in Black communities, honest curricula, policy revisions, and yes, monetary reparations. Most often it is white people debating about how reparations ought look–be awarded. However, those who represent the ones causing the harm are not authorized to say how to repair. Repairing the harm will look different in different communities and through different institutions. It is for the harmed to determine the path for repair-not the agents of harm.

 Why can’t they “just forgive”?

Because without confession, without repentance, without repair—systemic forgiveness is impossible. To ask forgiveness without healing is like forgiving a broken bone without setting it.

What does this mean for the church?

1. We preach truth—not platitudes. We name systemic sins of racism and violence.
2. We practice confession—publicly and privately.
3. We repent in action—supporting reparations, legislation like H.R. 40, city-level programs, economic investment.
4. We restore—land trusts, scholarship funds, wealth-building initiatives in Black communities.
5. We worship with justice—reparations fasts, seasons of repair, ritual acknowledgment of harm.

 “Why can’t they just forgive?”

Because forgiveness without transformation is not forgiveness—it’s surrender. Theology says forgiveness is not ignoring wounds; it is healing them. Not forgetting; it is remembering rightly.

If we follow the way of Jesus, we follow the path of truth, repentance, and restoration. Reparations are a holy act—not to punish, but to repair. As Chrissi Jackson urges, “reparations are remedy, repair, and evolution.”

If the church—and every person of faith—would enter this holy work, perhaps one day systemic forgiveness will be possible, not because harm has been forgotten, but because it has been healed.