Brennan Manning

August 6, 2026
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The Freedom Forgiveness Brings When No Apology Ever Comes. Every man carries scars. Some come from failure. Others come from the people who should have loved us most. Maybe you've spent years trying to prove your worth because of a father's criticism, a mother's rejection, a broken relationship, or words that still echo in your mind. Those wounds don't disappear with time—they often shape how we lead, love, and trust. Brennan Manning's story reminds us that unresolved pain can quietly control our lives. Bitterness convinces us we're protecting ourselves, but in reality, it keeps us chained to the past. Forgiveness doesn't excuse what happened or deny the hurt. It means refusing to let yesterday's wounds determine today's decisions. Ask yourself: Is there someone you've been unwilling to forgive? Have you allowed old pain to make you distant, angry, or emotionally guarded? God isn't asking you to pretend the hurt never happened—He's inviting you to surrender it to Him. When you trust Him with your deepest wounds, He begins to heal what resentment never could. A forgiven man becomes a forgiving man. By God's grace, you can break the cycle so the pain that shaped you doesn't become the pain you pass on to your family, your friendships, or the next generation. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." (Luke 6:37 NIV)

Full Transcript

August 6. Brennan Manning. Brennan was a Marine in the Korean War, studied journalism at the University of Missouri, and later, philosophy and Latin at Saint Francis College, where he became a Christian.

He was ordained a Franciscan priest, taught, and then joined a contemplative order that served the poor in Spain and Switzerland. For six months, he lived in a remote cave in the desert.

Next, Brennan helped establish a ministry and chapel for poor shrimp farmers on an Alabama bayou, ministered on a college campus, befriended musician Rich Mullins, and wrote 15 books. This is a man who learned to trust God.

Hurting people hurt people; let forgiveness put an end to the cycle.

Brennan learned a harsh lesson from a cold and distant mother. She had made him believe what she had believed: “You don’t always get what you want.”

Years later, when Brennan got the call that his mother had died, he felt no grief. He was ticked he would have to go to her funeral.

Her death certainly didn’t erase all the years of abuse and pain and shame he had endured. “My mother had completely lost her memory,” Brennan said. “But I hadn’t.”

He flew to New Jersey and checked into a motel near the funeral location. But he didn’t go to the church and pay his respects; he went to the liquor store and bought Scotch. He locked himself in his hotel room and shut the curtains and drank the time away.

Thoughts of his mother plagued him. What she had said. Brennan had no memory of ever being hugged, held, kissed—not by her. Once, when he had said she loved his older brother more than him, she punched him over and over.

Now, ashamed and alone in the motel room, he downed more alcohol, tried to forget, and finally blacked out.

The next day, Brennan woke and tried to remember where he was. Eventually, the truth became clear. He had blacked out from drinking and missed his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t thought he could feel more ashamed, but now he did.

Another decade passed, and winter was on its way again. One day Brennan took time out to talk to God about the daily needs on his mind. His mother wasn’t on the list of things to focus on, but when he was in the middle of prayer, an image crossed his mind.

He saw a little girl, about six. He knew it represented his mother when she had been a child. He saw her kneeling at the windowsill of the orphanage, her nose against the glass, praying for God to send her a mother and father so she could be loved.

The little girl wanted to be like other kids. Cared about.

The image shook Brennan, and he realized his mother had been burned by life too. Because she never got the affection she had needed growing up, she didn’t know how to give it away.

In the vision, the little girl walked over to Brennan, and as she got closer, she aged.

When she had become the old woman he remembered from a decade ago, she said, “You know, I messed up a lot when you were a kid. But you turned out okay.” Then, she kissed him.

The hurt, the pain … Brennan realized it was okay to feel it. God was showing him through the vision that it was okay to admit that the shame had affected him all those years. But he couldn’t allow it to disable him any longer. He could no longer be controlled by it.

He looked at her. “I forgive you,” he said.

In the vision, his mother smiled back. “I guess sometimes you do get what you ask for.”

He later wrote about the experience. “A trusting heart is forgiven,” he wrote, “and, in turn, forgives.”

“‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven’” (Luke 6:37 NIV).

Resentment will cripple you; release it. Hurting people hurt people; let forgiveness put an end to the cycle.

August 6. Brennan Manning. Brennan was a Marine in the Korean War, studied journalism at the University of Missouri, and later, philosophy and Latin at Saint Francis College, where he became a Christian.

He was ordained a Franciscan priest, taught, and then joined a contemplative order that served the poor in Spain and Switzerland. For six months, he lived in a remote cave in the desert.

Next, Brennan helped establish a ministry and chapel for poor shrimp farmers on an Alabama bayou, ministered on a college campus, befriended musician Rich Mullins, and wrote 15 books. This is a man who learned to trust God.

Hurting people hurt people; let forgiveness put an end to the cycle.

Brennan learned a harsh lesson from a cold and distant mother. She had made him believe what she had believed: “You don’t always get what you want.”

Years later, when Brennan got the call that his mother had died, he felt no grief. He was ticked he would have to go to her funeral.

Her death certainly didn’t erase all the years of abuse and pain and shame he had endured. “My mother had completely lost her memory,” Brennan said. “But I hadn’t.”

He flew to New Jersey and checked into a motel near the funeral location. But he didn’t go to the church and pay his respects; he went to the liquor store and bought Scotch. He locked himself in his hotel room and shut the curtains and drank the time away.

Thoughts of his mother plagued him. What she had said. Brennan had no memory of ever being hugged, held, kissed—not by her. Once, when he had said she loved his older brother more than him, she punched him over and over.

Now, ashamed and alone in the motel room, he downed more alcohol, tried to forget, and finally blacked out.

The next day, Brennan woke and tried to remember where he was. Eventually, the truth became clear. He had blacked out from drinking and missed his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t thought he could feel more ashamed, but now he did.

Another decade passed, and winter was on its way again. One day Brennan took time out to talk to God about the daily needs on his mind. His mother wasn’t on the list of things to focus on, but when he was in the middle of prayer, an image crossed his mind.

He saw a little girl, about six. He knew it represented his mother when she had been a child. He saw her kneeling at the windowsill of the orphanage, her nose against the glass, praying for God to send her a mother and father so she could be loved.

The little girl wanted to be like other kids. Cared about.

The image shook Brennan, and he realized his mother had been burned by life too. Because she never got the affection she had needed growing up, she didn’t know how to give it away.

In the vision, the little girl walked over to Brennan, and as she got closer, she aged.

When she had become the old woman he remembered from a decade ago, she said, “You know, I messed up a lot when you were a kid. But you turned out okay.” Then, she kissed him.

The hurt, the pain … Brennan realized it was okay to feel it. God was showing him through the vision that it was okay to admit that the shame had affected him all those years. But he couldn’t allow it to disable him any longer. He could no longer be controlled by it.

He looked at her. “I forgive you,” he said.

In the vision, his mother smiled back. “I guess sometimes you do get what you ask for.”

He later wrote about the experience. “A trusting heart is forgiven,” he wrote, “and, in turn, forgives.”

“‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven’” (Luke 6:37 NIV).

Resentment will cripple you; release it. Hurting people hurt people; let forgiveness put an end to the cycle.