When They Don’t Even Know They Hurt You

Learning to love like Jesus… Even When They Act Like Thanos

May 27, 2025

As we’ve been exploring the Sermon on the Mount with our students at the GoodLion School of Discipleship, especially Jesus’ teachings on meekness and being poor in spirit, I’ve found myself reflecting on some of the deeper, harder questions that come with following His call.

One question that came up recently in our discussion stopped me cold:

“How do you love someone who hurts you… and they don’t even realize what they’ve done?”

We’ve all been there. Someone wounds you—deeply—and then walks away without so much as a backward glance. They keep living their life, and you’re left alone, stunned, holding the broken pieces of what used to be something sacred.

It’s a kind of abandonment that stings deeper than betrayal: to be wounded and unseen, wronged and unacknowledged.

It reminds me of that haunting moment in Avengers: Infinity War, when the battle is raging and everything feels like it’s unraveling.

Wanda Maximoff—grieving and furious, her heart freshly shattered—confronts the titan Thanos on the battlefield. Her voice trembles with rage and sorrow as she glares at the being who annihilated everything and everyone she loved. Just moments before, Thanos had torn Vision, the love of her life, from her arms. Her pain is raw, volcanic, cosmic.

She stands before him, eyes blazing red with grief-fueled power, and says,

And Thanos, stone-faced and unmoved, responds with a shrug:

“I don’t even know who you are.”

Wow. I remember seeing that in theaters. It gutted me.

Not because I expected more humanity from Thanos (he’s literally a genocidal alien warlord), but because it tapped into something terribly familiar: the ache of being devastated by something… or someone more powerful than you—someone who never even noticed the way they hurt you.

The loneliness of grief made more brutal by the indifference of the one who caused it.

There’s something soul-crushing about realizing that the person who hurt you doesn’t even see you. Doesn’t know. Maybe doesn’t care.

Let’s go ahead and file this one under “Things Humans Constantly Experience But Rarely Know What to Do With.”

Because here’s the truth: you are not alone in this pain. I’ve felt it often in life and ministry. My dad, a longtime pastor of a local church, feels it regularly. Most of my friends in ministry have shared they feel it.

It’s incredibly hard to pour into people and friendships, only to feel abandoned without so much as a “here’s why.”

Being wounded by someone who just... floats away, oblivious—is not niche. It’s not rare. It’s basically baked into the tragicomedy of human community.

Why? Because relationships are sloppy. Memory is slippery. Empathy is imperfect. And most people are doing emotional triage with a butter knife.

People are forgetful. Distracted. Spiritually nearsighted. They ghost you while thinking they’re being mature. They disappoint you while congratulating themselves for “setting boundaries” or initiating “necessary endings.”

If you’ve ever found yourself crying in the car over a friendship that never got a proper funeral, you’re in good company.

So what do we do with that?

What do we do when we are called to love the people who don’t even recognize the pain they’ve caused?

This is the brutal beauty of the way of Jesus: to forgive the blind, love the unrepentant, and walk in mercy with those who will never say, “I’m sorry.”

Here are eight invitations—eight holy footholds—for walking this agonizing but sacred path.

1. Acknowledge the Pain (It’s Real)

Let’s not skip this. This is not a lesson in denial.

You’re not being dramatic. You’re not being bitter. You’re not being petty.
You’re human.
And being hurt hurts.

There’s this temptation in Christian circles to skip straight to forgiveness as if it's a race. As if “being like Jesus” means never admitting just how much it wrecked you. But Jesus never asks us to lie to ourselves.

Read the Psalms. David rants. He weeps. He asks God, with blood on his tunic and betrayal in his bones:

“How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” (Psalm 13:2)

That’s not weak. That’s sacred honesty. That’s what healing starts with.

Notice… the blueprint is not gossip… it’s not “go and shout from the rooftops what they did.” It’s silence. Solitude. Taking your burdens to a few trusted friends… and most of all, laying your burdens before Jesus at the Cross.

So take a moment. Or a month. Or a year.
Sit with God in the ashes. He’s not asking you to rush. He’s asking you to bring the pain—not polish it.

2. Reject The Cultural Strategy of “Cancel, Block, Win”

Let’s talk about the air we breathe. Because while Jesus tells us to forgive, love, and turn cheeks (not easy ones, mind you), the culture whispers something different in our ears:

“Block them.”
“Drag them.”
“Cut out toxic people.”
“Protect your peace.”
“Never let anyone disrespect you.”
“Cancel first, ask questions never.”

It’s catchy. It’s cathartic. It’s... clean.

But the gospel? The gospel is messy.

Jesus doesn’t build fences. He tears veils. He doesn’t curate His friend list to optimize comfort. He kneels in gardens of betrayal and says “Yes” anyway. He dines with deniers and bleeds for the very people chanting “Crucify.”

So yeah, culture tells us to nuke the bridge. But Christ? He walks across it carrying a cross.

3. Remember Jesus’ Words on the Cross

There is perhaps no lonelier place than the Cross. And yet… from that wooden altar of agony, Jesus said the unthinkable:

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34)

Sit with that.

They mocked Him.
They spat on Him.
They killed Him.

And He… forgave.

And not because they deserved it. Not because they understood what they were doing.

They didn’t. That’s the point.

He forgave them in their ignorance.

I must stress… this wasn’t weakness.

It was the fiercest love the world has ever seen!!

And that love—the same love that bled for blind men and arrogant kings and runaway sinners… that love lives in us, NOW.

We are called to that kind of mercy.

Not because it’s fair. But because it shapes us into the Image of our Father.

4. Understand That Hurting People Hurt People

Let me be clear: this is not an excuse.

It’s not a loophole or a cop-out. It’s a lens.

Sometimes people don’t recognize the harm they’ve caused because they’ve been living in survival mode so long they’ve forgotten how to see clearly.
Sometimes they lash out because they were taught to.
Sometimes they retreat because love feels threatening.
Sometimes… they just don’t know any better.

C.S. Lewis once said:

“To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.”

And man… I’ve needed that kind of grace more times than I can count.

Because the reality is, as much as I try my best to be a good husband, father, pastor, and friend… the odds that I ALSO have probably hurt people without even knowing it are very high. Because I am a broken human.

So, I have realized rather than assuming the worst about people who have hurt me, I need to assume that they are also fighting their own hard, hidden battles that at times expose their brokenness in ways that wound.

Recognizing someone’s brokenness doesn’t make your pain invalid.
It doesn’t erase your wound.
But it can soften your edge.
It can remind you that the person on the other side of your pain… is also a person.

5. Lean Into The Sermon on the Mount: Jesus’ Blueprint for a Kingdom Upside-Down

Right now, at the GoodLion School of Discipleship, we’ve been camping out in the Sermon on the Mount, slowly walking together the sacred path of the beatitudes. In each 3 hour session, we are letting Jesus ruin us in the best possible way.

And it’s eerie how much this question—“How do you love someone who hurt you and doesn’t even know it?”—interlocks with His words like puzzle pieces from heaven.

“Blessed are the meek”—not the self-defensive.
“Blessed are the merciful”—not the petty.
“Blessed are the peacemakers”—not the bridge-burners.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake”—because sometimes loving well gets you crucified, not applauded.

Jesus isn’t telling us to merely love our enemies. He’s sketching the anatomy of Kingdom people… people who drip grace, even when misunderstood. People who sit on the ash heap with the Spirit as their Comforter, not the internet as their jury.

This is a revolution of the heart… and you’re invited!

6. Release the Need for Recognition

This is the hard one.
You won’t always get the apology.
You won’t always get the “I see it now” moment.
You won’t always get closure.

And that… is holy ground.

Because when you let go of the need for acknowledgment, you’re choosing to trust God’s justice over your own desire for vindication.

Romans 12:19 says:

“Do not take revenge… but leave room for God’s wrath… ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”

Translation?
You’re not the judge. You’re not the jury.
You’re the witness. You tell the truth, and then you let it go.

Hand it to God.
Walk away from the courtroom.
Rest in the arms of a God who sees everything—every careless word, every unseen wound, every tear you cried when they weren’t looking.

You don’t have to carry this. He already is.

7. Choose Love, Even When It Costs You

Love isn’t easy.
It’s not safe.
It’s not fair.
And it’s definitely not transactional.

Jesus never once said, “Love people… as long as they deserve it.”
He said:

“Love your enemies, do good to them… and lend to them without expecting to get anything back.” (Luke 6:35)

Without expecting anything back.
No thank you.
No recognition.
No justice.

Just love.

Why?

Because that’s what our Father does.
He’s kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.
He lavishes mercy on the blind.
He hugs the prodigal before the apology.
He loves us when we’re at our absolute worst.

And if that’s the love we’ve received…
That’s the love we’re called to give.

8. Sometimes Forgiveness Feels Like Enabling—But It Isn’t If Done Well

Forgiveness isn’t the same as excusing someone.

But your nervous system doesn’t know that. It thinks, “If I let this go, aren’t I just letting them off the hook?” And that part of your brain deserves compassion, not shame. It’s scared. It wants justice.

It wants math: wound = apology = closure.

But grace doesn’t do math. Grace does miracles.

Sometimes forgiveness feels like being weak, like saying, “Sure, you can treat me like dirt.” But that’s not what’s happening. What’s happening is this:

You’re absorbing a hit to stop the cycle of pain.
You’re choosing to bleed love instead of spit venom.
You’re opting for resurrection, not revenge.

Forgiveness isn’t saying what they did was okay.

It’s saying you’re not going to let it calcify your heart.

Final Thought: Love is a Battlefield (But Grace is Your Weapon)

There’s a reason Jesus said love is like carrying a cross.
It breaks you open.
It bleeds you dry.
It feels like loss.
But in that loss… there is resurrection.

There’s power in loving the unlovable.
There’s healing in releasing the one who doesn’t even know they’ve wounded you. And there’s freedom in trusting that God sees the whole story—even the footnotes no one else reads.

With every wounding we have a choice: will I allow this wound to get infected… or, will I follow in the footsteps of Jesus, becoming a “Wounded Healer,” dedicating myself not to revenge, but to redemption?

When you feel like Wanda, staring down the face of your pain, whispering, “You took everything from me…”
And they shrug, “I don’t even know who you are…”

Remember this:

God knows.
God sees.
And He knows exactly who you are.

Your pain matters. Your love matters.

And your quiet, courageous, hidden act of grace? It is not wasted.

Love isn’t easy.
But with God’s grace, it’s always possible.