There is a strange kind of grace in being wrong. It is not the kind of grace we seek, nor the kind we would ever choose for ourselves. Being wrong stings. It humbles. It unsettles. And yet, in the hands of a loving God, even our mistakes become instruments of His mercy.

We spend so much of our lives striving to be right—right in our thinking, right in our decisions, right in our theology. We fear being wrong because it feels like failure, as if getting something wrong makes us somehow less worthy, less valuable. But what if our mistakes are not just unfortunate missteps? What if they are part of how God shapes us, softens us, and teaches us the deep and beautiful humility that makes room for grace?

Think of Peter. Bold, brash Peter, always speaking before he thinks, always rushing forward with the full force of his convictions—until he wasn’t. Until he was wrong. Until he denied the very One he swore he would never forsake. That moment must have shattered him. Scripture tells us that after the rooster crowed, Peter went out and wept bitterly. Not just a few tears, not a momentary regret—he was undone. He had been so sure, so confident in himself. And then, in a single night, he saw himself for what he truly was: weak, afraid, broken.

And yet, it was not the end of Peter’s story. The risen Christ sought him out, restored him, and used that very brokenness to make him into the rock on which the Church would be built. Peter’s failure was not wasted. His mistake did not disqualify him. In fact, it was the very thing that deepened his capacity for grace.

How many times have we been certain, only to discover later that we were wrong? We thought we knew how life was supposed to unfold, only to have our expectations turned upside down. We thought we understood what God was doing, only to be bewildered when the outcome was not what we anticipated. We spoke when we should have been silent. We judged when we should have shown mercy. We assumed when we should have asked. And when the truth finally came, it was humbling.

But there is a blessing in that humbling. There is a gift in being wrong, if we are willing to receive it.

Being wrong teaches us to listen. When we recognize our own fallibility, we learn to hold our opinions with more humility. We become slower to speak and quicker to hear. We become more open to the perspectives of others, realizing that we do not have the full picture. This kind of listening is holy. It is the kind of listening that makes space for love, for understanding, for the quiet whisper of God that is so easily drowned out by our certainty.

Being wrong teaches us to be merciful. When we have tasted the bitterness of our own errors, we are far less likely to be harsh with the mistakes of others. We know what it is to be mistaken, to be blind to something until time and grace make it clear. And so, we extend the same grace we ourselves have needed. We forgive more freely. We correct more gently. We lead not from a place of superiority, but from the common ground of shared human frailty.

Being wrong teaches us to trust. When our plans unravel, when our carefully constructed understanding of the world crumbles, we are forced to confront a reality that is both terrifying and freeing: we are not in control. We never were. And yet, God is. He is not surprised by our missteps. He is not thrown off course by our mistakes. He weaves even our errors into His greater story. And in that, we find peace. We no longer have to carry the crushing weight of always being right. We can rest in the One who is.

Perhaps this is why Jesus was so gentle with those who got it wrong. The disciples misunderstood Him constantly. They argued over who would be greatest in the kingdom while He was preparing to lay down His life. They wanted fire called down from heaven on their enemies while He was teaching them to love. They failed, over and over. And yet, He did not cast them aside. He loved them. He walked with them. He corrected them, yes—but always in love, always with the purpose of drawing them deeper into truth.

And so it is with us.

God does not love us less when we are wrong. He does not love us more when we are right. His love is constant, unwavering, unshaken by our failures. What He desires is not our perfection, but our transformation. He desires hearts that are soft, teachable, willing to grow. Hearts that can say, “I was wrong,” not in despair, but in hope—knowing that even in our mistakes, we are held by grace.

So let us not fear being wrong. Let us not cling so tightly to our own understanding that we miss the greater wisdom God wants to give us. Let us be open to correction, willing to learn, ready to admit when we have been mistaken—not because we take our beliefs lightly, but because we take truth seriously.

And when we see others stumble, let us be the first to extend grace, to offer kindness, to remind them that being wrong is not the end of the story. It is often the beginning of something deeper, something truer, something more infused with the mercy of God.

The blessing of being wrong is not that we take joy in our mistakes, but that we find joy in the God who redeems them. It is in our errors that we learn humility, in our failures that we learn grace, in our misunderstandings that we learn to trust.

And perhaps, in the end, it is not our rightness that matters most—but the love, the mercy, and the wisdom we gain along the way.