The Kind of Canceling No One Talks About
the subconscious act of canceling through avoidance
So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.
— Matthew 5:23–24
Is there anyone who has something against you? That question is hard to answer, not because you don’t know, but because thinking about it feels dangerous. Bringing someone’s negative perception of you to the front of your mind activates threat mode because we’re wired to experience any rejection as danger, not just discomfort.
Even just imagining disapproval can trigger the same threat circuitry as a physical risk. And the truth is that someone else’s judgment of you feels less like an opinion and more like a verdict, doesn’t it? Even when you know it’s just not true. And that threatens to stain your character, even if you know it’s categorically false.
Knowing you can’t correct their perception of you exposes a kind of powerlessness your psyche can’t stand to live with. It’s like that feeling you get when you realize you just sent a message meant for one person to the entire group, knowing everyone will see something they never should have seen, and that you can never take back.
That might be why we don’t tend to meditate on Matthew 5:23-24. It opens the door to a danger that most of us aren’t brave enough to enter into. Ignoring the situation feels safer because avoidance temporarily preserves your self-image. It’s like if you don’t look at it, it can’t touch you.
Or at least that’s how it feels to me.
But in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us that He cares more about our reconciliation than our act of worship. The guy in the passage is already doing everything right. They’re in the holiest space available to them, at the altar. Mid-act. Doing just what God told them to do. And then Jesus says: Stop. Leave your worship unfinished and go talk to that guy who has something against you, whether they’re right or not.
It struck me (maybe because I’ve tried to separate these things myself) that a relationship with God is never detached from relationship with people. No devotion, however strong, ever gave its blessing to unresolved harm, and obedience has never taken the place of love. Jesus refuses the idea that vertical faithfulness can ever substitute for horizontal responsibility, and the refusal is absolute.
It’s the storyline of the Sermon on the Mount; Righteousness is not rule-keeping floating through the world completely detached from relationship.
Obviously, we don’t bring animals to the altar to sacrifice, but the message is the same: if your worship tries to ignore reconciliation, it’s unfinished even if you are mid-prayer, praise, communion, or serving.
But why so urgent? Why does Jesus say drop it all, forget about this prayer or act of service, and go talk to the person?
It’s because delay doesn’t leave things neutral. Relational rupture is a moving, breathing thing that gathers force with time. And eventually, a misunderstanding hardens into a narrative. Either or both of you taking offense, which turns into moral judgment and eventually identity: “This is just how we are now.”
Jesus is saying that reconciliation is time-sensitive, which explains why avoidance never actually feels neutral. Ignoring a brother or sister who has something against you is like putting duct tape over your check engine light, treating silence like you fixed it.
And the real tragedy is that worship performed alongside unresolved harm quietly trains the wrong kind of righteousness. When someone continues spiritual activity while knowingly bypassing relational repair, the soul learns, subconsciously but effectively, that obedience can be compartmentalized.
And so, over time, devotion becomes abstract, ethics becomes optional, and repentance quietly shrinks into something internal instead of enacted.
Essentially functioning without love, humility, or accountability in one relationship produces a form of spirituality that I can’t quite put a name on. But maybe John Chrysostom did when he said, “Where there is no love for man, there is no love for God.”
Treating their anger or resentment with urgency keeps avoidance from becoming a practiced skill, and keeps self-preservation from masquerading as discernment.
But why does the responsibility fall on us? They’re the ones with the problem.
I guess you could say it falls to us because we are the ones He is talking to. We read it, so it applies to us. We can’t wait for them to read it and become faithful before we do anything. We can’t control their actions, thoughts, or responses. We can only love what God loves, and what He loves is reconciliation. It’s the mission of the gospel.
In Jesus’ ethics, initiative is the mark of maturity. He says love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Turn the other cheek, don’t look away, or evade them.
But no one wants to stir things up. They’re already upset. Why rehash it?
Yeah, that’s assuming that the waters of the relationship are calm as it stands. But they aren’t. When you say, “I don’t want to stir things up,” you’re assuming emotions behave like water; able to settle if left alone.
Waiting doesn’t preserve the calm we think it does; it preserves (and quietly hardens) whatever version of the story is already forming without love intervening.
Even if your interpretation is wrong, the silence lets the distortion have the final word. That’s why Jesus sends us back into the relational space where truth and love can actually surface and operate within the relationship.
But I’m devoted to God. I’m serving. I’m faithful, isn’t that enough?
Unfortunately, our worship can’t carry the weight of love for us because love of God and love of neighbor are inseparable (see 1 John 3:14-15, 4:7-8). Refusing to love our neighbor halts our movement in the direction God is already going.
The thing to remember, to give you courage, is that the outcome belongs to God. The initiative belongs to you.
And love, left unattended, doesn’t stay neutral.
Field Testing Reconciliation
(a short Bible study on responsibility, peace, and control)
Romans 12:18 - “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all people.”
Why we’re testing this passage:
This verse clarifies what it means to carry responsibility without carrying the outcome.
1. Start with the limits
“If possible… so far as it depends on you…”
What limits does Paul intentionally build into the command itself?
How do those limits redefine what obedience looks like in broken relationships?
Where are you tempted to carry outcomes that this verse explicitly refuses to assign to you?
2. Examine the word “depends”
“So far as it depends on you…”
What kind of responsibility does the word “depends” assign?
What does it assume about the other person’s agency?
In what way does this word protect the command from becoming coercive, controlling, or outcome-driven?
3. Define peace in context
“Live peaceably with all people.”
Is peace described here as an emotional state, a resolved relationship, or a manner of living?
What does “peaceably” suggest about posture rather than agreement?
How does this definition of peace differ from harmony, comfort, or mutual understanding?
4. Test the initiative
“If possible… live peaceably…”
According to the structure of the verse, who is responsible for initiating peace?
Where does obedience end and outcome begin?
In what way does this verse echo Jesus’ command to “go” without promising reconciliation?
Field Note
The test isn’t whether peace is achieved, but whether responsibility is honestly carried without mistaking control for faithfulness.
This really hit home. I’m currently navigating a difficult relationship and needed these spiritual touchstones.