The slippery slope of Offense

Inspired by Mufasa: the lion king

I watched Mufasa:The Lion King a few days back, and I can’t stop thinking about how bitterness and offense can quietly alter the trajectory of a person’s life.

Scar’s story is one of the most sobering arcs in the movie. He didn’t start out as the villain. Once upon a time, he had potential—intelligence, wit, and leadership qualities that could have contributed to the flourishing of the pride. But somewhere along the way, a seed of offense was planted. Scar, feeling overshadowed and undervalued, let that seed grow unchecked.

Offense is subtle like that. It doesn’t arrive with blaring horns. It’s a quiet whisper—a perceived slight, an unmet expectation, a moment of being overlooked. Watching Scar, we all saw the exact moment the script flipped in his heart. His brother wasn’t just his sibling anymore; Mufasa became the embodiment of everything Scar thought he lacked. Envy crept in, whispering lies. Envy turned to resentment, resentment hardened into bitterness, and bitterness birthed betrayal.

What began as a small, internal offense consumed Scar’s entire identity, redefining him in the worst possible way.

This is the slippery slope of offense: it starts small but always grows. Left unchecked, it warps our perspective, hardens our hearts, and drives us to places we never imagined going. Bitterness is a thief. It steals joy. It twists relationships into something unrecognizable. And in the end, it doesn’t just harm the person who caused the pain—it consumes the one holding onto it.

Scar’s story is a cautionary tale. It shows us how offense—though it may feel justified—leads to destruction if we allow it to take root.

But as I reflected on Scar’s downward spiral, I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in Mufasa’s approach. Despite Scar’s visible jealousy and growing hostility, Mufasa chose grace. Time and time again, he forgave. He hoped against hope that their fractured relationship could one day be restored.

This raises a necessary but difficult question: how do we, as believers, balance forgiveness with wisdom when someone’s behavior remains unchanged? My friend asked me this as we watched the movie: “Doyin, Mufasa forgave Scar, but Scar still killed him in the end. What do you do with that?”

Forgiveness is not optional for us as Christians. It’s not a suggestion or a good idea—it’s central to our faith. We forgive because we’ve been forgiven much. Forgiveness is about surrendering the weight of offense, laying it at God’s feet, and refusing to let bitterness take root. It’s not easy, but it’s freeing.

But here’s where it gets complex: forgiveness doesn’t necessarily change the other person. Forgiveness is not the same as reconciliation. It doesn’t mean enabling destructive behavior or putting ourselves in harm’s way.

Mufasa’s forgiveness was noble. It was right. But Scar’s unwillingness to let go of offense reminds us that reconciliation is a two-way street. Forgiveness is a gift we extend unconditionally, but reconciliation requires mutual effort, humility, and change.

When that effort isn’t present, wisdom calls us to set boundaries—not out of spite, but out of love. Love for ourselves, love for the other person, and love for the truth that God does not ask us to place ourselves in harm’s way unnecessarily.

Forgiveness, on the other hand, is liberation. It’s the act of breaking free from the chains of resentment, refusing to be defined by someone else’s actions. It aligns us with God’s heart, reminding us that we are not captives to what happened but free because of grace.

As I watched Scar and Mufasa’s story unfold, I couldn’t help but think: offense changes the trajectory of a person’s life. But forgiveness? Forgiveness has the power to change the trajectory of our hearts.

As you reflect on Scar’s story and the cautionary tale it offers, I want to ask: who are you holding in offense? Whose actions have planted seeds of hurt in your heart?

Maybe it’s someone close—a parent, a sibling, a spouse, or a friend. Maybe it’s someone who never even apologized, someone whose actions changed the course of your life in ways they may never understand. The pain feels justified. The anger, even righteous.

But here’s the hard truth: offense doesn’t just sit idle in our hearts. It grows. It warps. It distorts who we are until we look in the mirror and hardly recognize ourselves. Scar wasn’t born a villain—offense turned him into one.

Bitterness is cunning. It convinces us that holding on is strength, that letting go is weakness, that forgiveness means excusing the inexcusable. But that’s a lie. Bitterness doesn’t protect us—it poisons us. It twists the beauty of who we are into something unrecognizable.

So in the spirit of this season, I urge you: release them. Release the pain, the grudge, the offense that’s been holding you captive. You weren’t made to carry it. You were made to walk in freedom.

Close your eyes and ask yourself: who do I need to forgive? Whose name brings a sting of bitterness when I hear it? And as that name rises to the surface, ask God for the strength to let go.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean what happened was okay. It doesn’t mean they were right, or that you deserved what they did. Forgiveness means choosing not to let their actions define your heart. It means saying, “I will not let this turn me into someone I was never meant to be.”

This Christmas season, don’t just exchange gifts—exchange burdens. Lay the weight of offense at the feet of the One who forgave you when you didn’t deserve it.

Because offense may be changing you in ways you can’t yet see. But forgiveness? Forgiveness will set you free.

Release them. Let go. And live.

I am rooting for you.

Lots of love and Merry Christmas to you and yours.