I’ve always known the verse. Proverbs 24:17–18: “Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles…” I could quote it easily, nod solemnly, and move on. It sounded noble, straightforward, biblical.
But recently God pressed that truth against my heart like a hot iron, and I realized—I don’t live it. Not even close!😳
A person who hurt me deeply years ago has been going through a very public, very painful downfall. And when I first heard the news, my immediate, gut-level reaction wasn’t sorrow. It wasn’t even neutral. It was… satisfaction. A quiet, shameful little spark of “Good. They’re finally getting what they deserve.”🤬👹
The moment I recognized that feeling, I was undone. Because I follow Jesus. I teach my kids to love their enemies. I’ve preached grace and forgiveness more times than I can count. Yet here I was, nursing the exact attitude Scripture condemns.
It’s one of the most counter-cultural and transformative aspects of biblical ethics—easy to understand, extraordinarily hard to live out.
I’ve been wrestling with this ever since. And I’m learning that cultivating true compassion for someone who has caused you pain—especially an “enemy”—requires deep spiritual maturity and total reliance on God’s grace. I’m nowhere near mature in this area😭, but I’m trying. Here are some of the steps I’m taking, in case you’re struggling with the same ugly corner of your heart.
1. Honest prayer
I stopped pretending I was “fine” with God. I’ve started praying raw, David-like prayers: “Lord, part of me wants them to suffer more. That’s wicked. Change my heart.” I pray for the person by name—asking God to bless them, meet their needs, draw them to Himself. It feels forced and hypocritical at first, but I’m trusting obedience will eventually shape my feelings.
2. Remembering the gospel applied to me
I keep going back to how much I’ve been forgiven. The parable of the unforgiving servant guts me every time. Who am I to withhold mercy when Christ showed infinite compassion to me—His enemy? I’ve been meditating on Romans 5:8–10 and Ephesians 4:32 until the truth starts to soften the resentment.
3. Humanizing the offender
I’ve been reminding myself this person isn’t a cartoon villain. They’re broken, wounded, acting out of their own pain and sin—just like I do. I don’t excuse what they did, but understanding some of the “why” behind their actions has slowly turned contempt into pity.
4. Refusing to rehearse the offense
I catch myself replaying the hurt, and each time I do, I’m feeding bitterness. So I’m practicing 2 Corinthians 10:5—taking the thought captive and redirecting it to gratitude, Scripture, or prayer. It’s exhausting, but necessary.
5. Blessing, not cursing
When thoughts of their struggles come up, I’m trying to silently pray, “Lord, have mercy on them.” I haven’t had contact with this person in years, so the battlefield is entirely internal. But even choosing silence over gossip is a small victory.
6. Immersing myself in Scripture and community
I’m rereading the Sermon on the Mount, Romans 12, and stories of radical forgiveness. I’ve also confessed this struggle to a couple of close friends who are praying for me. Hearing how others have walked this road helps.
7. Daily dependence on the Holy Spirit
I can’t manufacture compassion. Only the Spirit can produce love, kindness, and gentleness in me (Galatians 5:22–23). So every morning I’m asking Him to do what I cannot.
There are setbacks. Some days the old glee creeps back ngl 😂, and I have to confess it again🥲. Growth feels glacial🤗
But I’m holding onto this: God doesn’t transform us because the offender deserves compassion—they don’t. He transforms us because Christ deserved none of the mercy He poured out on us, yet gave it freely. That’s the gospel I need every single day.
If you’re wrestling with the same thing—if you’ve ever felt that secret satisfaction when someone who hurt you stumbles—know you’re not alone. And know there’s grace for this too. The journey is slow, often painful, but profoundly Christlike.
I’m still very much on the road. But by God’s grace, I want to become someone who mourns when my enemy falls—not because they’re good, but because Jesus is.