What Rwanda Is Teaching Me About Forgiveness: How the Church Can Heal a Broken World

I'm writing this from Kigali, Rwanda, where I've spent the last week listening to stories that have shattered my understanding of reconciliation. In a nation where neighbors became killers and survivors now worship next to perpetrators' children, I'm witnessing forgiveness that makes American political divisions look like playground squabbles. This is what they're teaching me about healing a fractured world.

I'm sitting in a small café in Kigali as I write this, still processing what my new friend Grace told me yesterday.

She was 12 years old in April 1994. In three days, she lost her father, two brothers, and her uncle. She hid in a church bathroom for six days, listening to the screams outside, surviving on rainwater that leaked through the roof.

"The man who killed my father," she told me matter-of-factly over coffee, "his son goes to my church now. We serve together in the children's ministry."

I stared at her, trying to process what I was hearing. In America, we can't even have dinner with family members who vote differently. Grace had lost everything to violence, yet here she was-serving alongside the child of her father's killer.

"How?" was all I could manage to say.

"The church taught us," she said simply. "They taught us that healing doesn't come from holding onto pain. It comes from choosing to see God's image, even in those who hurt us most."

That conversation happened 48 hours ago, and it's been rebuilding my understanding of forgiveness, reconciliation, and what it means to be the church ever since.

The Stories That Won't Leave Me

Since arriving in Kigali last week, I've heard story after story that would break your heart and rebuild your faith all at once.

Jean-Claude, a genocide survivor who now runs a reconciliation center, told me about the man who murdered his mother. "He came to my house last year to ask forgiveness," Jean-Claude said. "I gave him tea. We cried together. Now he helps me with my business."

Esperance, whose entire family was killed except for one sister, showed me photos of her "reconciliation family"-genocide survivors and perpetrators' children who now celebrate holidays together. "We were all orphaned by this evil," she explained. "Some lost parents to death, others lost parents to shame and prison. But we refuse to lose our future to bitterness."

Pastor Samuel, whose church was destroyed during the genocide, now leads one of the most ethnically integrated congregations I've ever seen. "We don't ask if someone is Hutu or Tutsi when they come to church," he told me. "We ask if they need Jesus. The answer is always yes."

These aren't stories from 30 years ago. These are conversations I've had this week, with people living out impossible forgiveness in real time.

The Broken Mirror of American Christianity

Sitting in these Rwandan churches, I can't escape the devastating comparison to what I know back home in the States.

We've become a people who unfriend, unfollow, and un-church each other over political preferences, theological nuances, and cultural differences that pale in comparison to what these believers have endured.

We write off family members who vote for the "wrong" candidate. We leave churches over worship styles. We break fellowship over secondary issues while claiming we follow the Prince of Peace.

Meanwhile, here in Rwanda, I'm watching genocide survivors and perpetrators' families worship together, serve together, and choose reconciliation over revenge-not because it was easy, but because they understood something we've forgotten:

The gospel demands that we see the image of God in every person, especially those who have wounded us most deeply.

Yesterday I attended a church service where the pastor asked everyone to turn and greet the person next to them. The woman beside me introduced herself as Alice. Later, she told me her story: her husband was killed in 1994, and she spent years consumed with hatred.

"The woman I just introduced you to," she said, pointing to the lady who had welcomed me at the door, "her father participated in the genocide. But we fast together every Friday now. We pray for each other's children."

I sat there stunned, realizing I had just witnessed something supernatural-two women whose lives had been torn apart by unthinkable violence, now choosing to see Christ in each other.

What History Teaches Us About National Healing

Rwanda didn't arrive at this miraculous reconciliation overnight. It took intentional, costly choices by the church and the nation-choices that echo patterns we see throughout Scripture and history.

In the Old Testament, when Israel faced national crisis, the call was always the same: corporate repentance, fasting, and prayer. Joel 2:12-17 captures this pattern: "Return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning... Let the priests, who minister before the Lord, weep between the temple porch and the altar."

In Rwandan churches, this biblical pattern became their roadmap to healing. Pastor Samuel told me about the early years after 1994: "Entire congregations would fast and pray together, not just for personal needs, but for national reconciliation. Hutu and Tutsi believers would kneel side by side, confessing not just personal sins but the sins of their ethnic groups."

Grace described those prayer meetings to me: "People would weep for hours. Not just for their own pain, but for the pain they had caused others. The church became a place where we could be broken together, and somehow that brokenness became our healing."

In American history, our greatest moments of healing have followed the same pattern. The Second Great Awakening preceded the abolition movement. The prayer revival of 1857 helped prepare hearts for the costly work of reconstruction. When the church has led in repentance and reconciliation, the nation has followed.

But when the church mirrors society's divisions instead of modeling Christ's reconciliation, we lose our prophetic voice and our healing power.

The Rwandan Church's Path to Healing

During my time here in Kigali, I've observed a pattern that every divided church and nation could learn from:

1. Individual Repentance Before Corporate Healing
Before Rwandans could reconcile with each other, they had to reconcile with God. Church leaders modeled this by publicly confessing not just personal sins, but the ways they had failed to prevent or speak against ethnic divisions before the genocide.

"We had to see our own hearts first," Pastor Samuel told me over lunch yesterday. "How could we preach reconciliation if we had not been reconciled to God ourselves? Many of us had to confess that we had been silent when we should have spoken, that we had chosen safety over truth."

This wasn't superficial confession. Jean-Claude described those early days: "Pastors would fast for days, weeping over their failures. They chose genuine brokenness over saving face. When we saw our leaders humble themselves like that, it gave us permission to be broken too."

2. The Costly Discipline of Fasting and Prayer
Rwandan churches instituted regular fasting and prayer-not for prosperity or comfort, but for the supernatural grace needed to forgive the unforgivable.

"We learned we could not forgive in our own strength," Alice explained to me yesterday. "Only God could change our hearts. So we fasted until our hearts were soft enough for Him to work."

Esperance told me about their Friday fasts: "The whole church would fast and pray together. Not just missing lunch, but entering into the biblical discipline that Jesus himself practiced when facing impossible situations. We understood that some breakthroughs only come through prayer and fasting."

Grace described what those times were like: "When you're hungry, when your body is weak, your pride gets quiet. That's when God can speak to the deep places where the anger lives. That's when forgiveness becomes possible."

3. Practical Steps Toward Reconciliation
But the Rwandan church didn't stop at spiritual disciplines. They created practical opportunities for former enemies to serve together.

Pastor Samuel showed me photos of rebuilding projects where survivors and perpetrators' families worked side by side. "Reconciliation isn't just a feeling," he explained. "It's a series of actions that demonstrate the reality of forgiveness."

Alice told me about their "reconciliation gardens"-community farming projects where genocide survivors and perpetrators' children work the same land, share the harvest, and eat together. "When you sweat together, when you share food together, when you depend on each other for survival, you remember that you're more alike than different."

The Crisis in American Christianity

Sitting in church services across Kigali these past weeks, I can't escape the conviction that American Christianity has lost its way when it comes to reconciliation.

We've become a people who:

Consume conflict instead of creating peace. We feed on political outrage, social media drama, and ideological divisions that keep us perpetually angry rather than actively peacemaking.

Retreat into ideological tribes instead of gathering around the cross. Our churches increasingly reflect our political affiliations more than our theological convictions, and we're more comfortable with people who think like us than with people who need Christ.

Mistake righteous anger for righteous living. We're passionate about being right, but we've forgotten how to be humble. We can recite doctrines about grace while showing precious little grace to those who disagree with us.

Prioritize personal preferences over kingdom priorities. We leave churches over music styles, political views, and personality conflicts while here in Rwanda, I'm watching genocide survivors worship next to their tormentors' families.

The result? A church that has lost its godly voice in a deeply divided nation. Instead of modeling supernatural reconciliation, we mirror society's fractures. Instead of being salt and light, we've become indistinguishable from the world in our capacity for division and bitterness.

The Imago Dei Mandate

At the heart of Rwanda's reconciliation miracle is a theological conviction that transforms everything: every person bears the image of God.

"Even the one who killed my father," Grace told me yesterday, "still carries God's image. The genocide defaced that image, but it did not destroy it. My job is to see what God still sees."

This isn't sentimental theology. This is the radical heart of the gospel that can transform the most broken relationships and societies.

Genesis 1:27 tells us that every person-regardless of race, politics, or past actions-is made in God's image. Romans 3:23 reminds us that every person has fallen short of God's glory. Ephesians 2:8-9 declares that every person can only be saved by grace through faith.

These truths level the playing field completely. The conservative and the progressive, the Trump voter and the Biden voter, the traditional family and the non-traditional family-all are image bearers, all are sinners, all are in desperate need of the same grace.

When we truly grasp this, political differences become secondary issues. Cultural preferences become matters of Christian liberty. Theological debates become opportunities for iron to sharpen iron rather than reasons to break fellowship.

Alice put it perfectly: "When you remember that the person who hurt you is also a person God loves, forgiveness stops being impossible and starts being inevitable."

A Historic Call to the American Church

The moment demands that the American church choose: Will we continue to mirror society's divisions, or will we model Christ's reconciliation?

History shows us that nations heal when the church leads in repentance and reconciliation. But it requires the same costly path that Rwanda's church has walked:

Individual Repentance

Before we can heal our nation, we must heal our own hearts. This means:

Confessing our pride in being right more than being loving
Repenting of our comfort with division over our commitment to unity
Acknowledging our failure to model Christ's character in our disagreements

Corporate Fasting and Prayer
American churches need to institute regular fasting and prayer for national healing. Not fasting for political victories, but fasting for supernatural grace to love our enemies and see God's image in those who oppose us.

Joel 2:15-16 gives us the blueprint: "Blow the trumpet in Zion, declare a holy fast, call a sacred assembly. Gather the people, consecrate the assembly; bring together the elders, gather the children..."

What would happen if churches across America called sacred assemblies to fast and pray-not for our preferred political outcomes, but for our own hearts to be transformed?

Practical Reconciliation

Like the Rwandan church, we need to create practical opportunities for reconciliation:

Cross-cultural worship experiences where believers from different backgrounds serve together
Uncomfortable conversations facilitated by mature leaders who can model grace under pressure
Shared service projects that unite us around kingdom purposes rather than political preferences

The Responsibility of the Church

Rwanda is teaching me that the church's role in a divided society isn't to pick sides-it's to transcend sides by modeling a better way.

We are called to be salt and light, not red and blue. We are called to be ambassadors of reconciliation, not advocates for political platforms. We are called to demonstrate the reality of the kingdom of heaven, not just vote for earthly kingdoms.

This doesn't mean we become apolitical or ignore injustice. It means we approach every issue through the lens of the gospel rather than through the lens of political ideology.

When we see every person as an image bearer, when we remember our own desperate need for grace, when we prioritize Christ's kingdom over earthly kingdoms, we become a prophetic witness that can actually change hearts and heal nations.

The Choice Before Us

The Rwandan church faced an impossible choice in 1994: pursue revenge or choose reconciliation. The path of reconciliation required supernatural grace, costly forgiveness, and the deliberate choice to see God's image in their enemies.

The American church faces a similar choice today. Our divisions may not involve genocide, but they are creating casualties-broken families, fractured churches, and a watching world that sees no difference between the church and the culture.

We can continue to retreat into our ideological tribes, unfriending and un-churching those who disagree with us. We can keep consuming outrage and feeding on division.

Or we can choose the costly path of reconciliation that Rwanda is modeling for us.

A Call to Fasting, Prayer, and Repentance

From here in Kigali, I'm calling on American churches to institute monthly fasting and prayer for national healing-not fasting for political victories, but fasting for our own hearts to be transformed.

Fast from political media that feeds division and anger. Pray for those who oppose you politically and theologically. Repent of the ways you've prioritized being right over being loving. Seek reconciliation with believers you've written off over secondary issues.

Because here's what Rwanda is teaching me: reconciliation is possible, but it's only possible through supernatural grace that comes through brokenness, fasting, prayer, and the deliberate choice to see God's image in our enemies.

The Promise of Healing

Grace and Alice didn't just survive the aftermath of genocide-they've become agents of healing in their nation. Their friendship didn't erase the past, but it demonstrated the power of the gospel to transform the future.

Their weekly fasting and prayer didn't bring back Grace's murdered father, but it broke the cycle of vengeance that could have continued for generations.

Their choice to see God's image in each other didn't make their differences disappear, but it made their differences secondary to their shared identity in Christ.

The same transformation is possible in America-if the church will lead the way.

If we will fast until our hearts break for reconciliation rather than revenge. If we will pray until we see God's image in those who wound us most. If we will repent of our pride and choose the costly path of peace.

Rwanda is proving right now, today, that the most broken relationships can be healed when people choose to see each other as image bearers rather than enemies.

The question is: Will American Christians have the courage to follow their example?

Is God calling you to fast and pray for reconciliation in your own relationships and church? What step toward peace is He asking you to take today? Share your thoughts in the comments-we're learning to choose healing over division together.

Download our free guide "7 Days of Fasting and Prayer for National Healing" - find it in the menu under "A Gift for You." Let's choose reconciliation over revenge, one heart at a time.