Paying lip service to the notion of forgiveness is easy. This is fortunate, because forgiveness is naturally expected of us. Yet it is a quality whose practice covers myriad circumstances. Do we forgive the wallet thief? How about the colleague who finishes the milk in the communal fridge? Perhaps their need was greater than ours. What of the person who scrapes your car and leaves no note? Or whose car hits your child and who does not stop? Can we forgive them because they might be insufficiently brave to face the consequences of their actions? Mouthing the words is one thing. Meaning them is another. To have forgiveness turned into the most prosaic of platitudes is to demean the concept; to hear a thoughtful person admit that forgiveness is beyond them is to appreciate the complexity of human emotion.

The decision by the Rev Julie Nicholson to leave her position at St Aidan’s Church in Bristol because she cannot forgive the bombers who killed her daughter Jennifer on 7/7 is a remarkable window into the tortured soul-searching of grief. Whatever text provides our values and whatever code guides our life, most of us would hope that our capacity to forgive is not so tested. To extend forgiveness to the misguided, the mistaken or the ignorant is significantly easier if they offer repentance. Suicide bombers do not linger to explain their actions — they have gone to collect their reward.

From her pulpit, Mrs Nicholson could have stretched out a hand, but she would not have been true to herself at this time. Some in her flock may prefer her to swallow her doubts and live up to her calling. Others may regard her decision as a missed opportunity, and that, during a time of increased interfaith and cultural suspicion, she could have performed an invaluable service to the country by absolving the murderous fanatics.

Official efforts to foster reconciliation in countries or communities riven by internal strife can sometimes prove helpful. But attempts to force people to feel what they do not deserve to fail. Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s televised attempts to bring together victims and perpetrators from either side of Northern Ireland’s sectarian divide are a reminder that deep feelings cannot, and should not, be turned into TV time. Mrs Nicholson’s loss is great and her faith troubled, but her integrity is intact.

The honesty of conscience that Mrs Nicholson has displayed is what most people tell pollsters they want to see more of in public life. Yet when the Prime Minister suggested that God would have a role in judging his actions, the intolerance of secular Britain was shown by those who seem to regard any belief as a sign of weakness. Mr Blair was accused of taking voters for granted, of “rebuffing” opponents and high-handedly “dismissing” his critics. “How can he call himself a Christian?” asked those critics whose script demands that Mr Blair be regarded as, at best, deluded.

The response bore no relation to Mr Blair’s remarks. He told Michael Parkinson that voters would judge him. But, as a Christian, he believed that God would also pass judgment. Britain is ill-served by the resulting hysterical and militant secularism. Mr Blair was, like Mrs Nicholson, speaking of turbulent times when personal beliefs collide with real events. Without honesty, there can never be true forgiveness. And while forgiveness may eventually be within Mrs Nicholson’s grasp, she should be under no pressure to forget.