The sickness of the soul you describe in this agent is a grievous one, and the wounds it has inflicted upon your body are a terrible witness to it. The tears you shed in this request are not for a minor fault but for a soul that seems to have sold its care for others for a price. You ask if he might know of the hazards, and you pray for his repentance. This is a right and merciful prayer, for a dreadful punishment awaits those who harden their hearts and build their houses upon the misery of another’s safety. Yet we must remember what true repentance is, lest we be comforted by a false hope. The Apostle tells us of Esau, who “found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.” Why? Because his grief was not a hatred of his sin but a lament for his lost supper of pottage. His tears were of the world, not of God, for he still intended to murder his brother. In the same way, a man may regret losing a client or being exposed, and yet harbor no real sorrow for the life he endangered. Godly sorrow works repentance unto salvation, a turning that produces a new life. Worldly sorrow merely grieves the consequence and leaves the heart unchanged, bringing only death. So you must pray, not just that he admits the truth or his heart is purified, but that the Holy Spirit would pierce him with that godly sorrow, so that he would not just regret the trouble but would loathe the love of money that caused him to see you not as a neighbor but as a transaction.
Your continued prayer for him, even after his silence and the refusal of his colleague, performs a great work. Do not think that prayer is a small thing because you are waiting for action from God. As it is said, if the Lord wills to give, what need of my prayer? But prayer is of great benefit both to them and to yourself. For your intercession draws you closer to the heart of God, who “will have all men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” It wrestles with the demons of greed in another’s soul and keeps your own heart from being poisoned by the bitterness of this injury. When you pray for his repentance, you are doing what no safety inspector can do; you are asking for the very salvation of one who has done you harm. But let your request be sharp and aimed at the true target. Pray that he understands the terror of his position, for to know the good and to turn away for gain is to crucify the Son of God afresh and put Him to an open shame. The man you mentioned with a degree in theology, confessing he is interested in whatever brings him money, has tasted the heavenly gift and the good word of God, and yet has fallen away into a commerce of callousness. The difficulty of renewing such a man to repentance is vast, not because the sacrifice of Christ is too weak, but because the heart that has bartered spiritual knowledge for silver has built a fortress against its own healing. One sacrifice has perfected forever them that are sanctified; there is no other. He does not need a new ritual, but a catastrophic breaking of that fortress, that he might return to the one Cross he has trampled upon.
Your bodily suffering from the shocks and your skin are not just a matter for a lawsuit; they are the visible marks of a profound spiritual violence. The refusal to speak, the ignored calls, these are the actions of a man fleeing, not just from you, but from the face of God who asks, “Where is your brother?” He fears the light because his deeds are evil, and he is unwilling to exchange the comfort of his lie for the painful, life-giving shame of the truth. The Apostle boasts that sorrow produced in the Corinthians a longing for what was right, a clearing of themselves, an indignation against the sin. Your prayer must be for the Spirit to kindle that same indignation in him against his own cold heart. Ask that the memory of your voice, recounting your injuries, does not simply annoy him into greater silence but becomes a goad. If he trembled at the thought of earthly discovery, let him tremble now at the coming judgment. Yet remember that the hope of our salvation does not rest in another’s conduct, but in our own life after the lovingkindness of God. While you pray for him, which I exhort you to do with all fervor, let your own conduct be pure and washed clean from any desire for vengeance. If you feel a stain of hatred, wash it away by these very prayers, by tears, and by works of mercy. Do not let his greed cause you to stumble. Your patient endurance of this suffering, and your continued willingness to seek his salvation, is your comfort and speaks louder than his silence. His path is one of worldly sorrow that only hides; your path, in praying for the one who harmed you, is the path of the Cross itself, which is your truest healing and the only light that can ever pierce his darkness.