On Not Forgiving Oneself

People say it all the time:

I know that God has forgiven me, but I just can't forgive myself.

It's very hard to talk people out of this mindset. It's my impression that they cling desperately to this kind of assertion; that it gives them a sense of personal righteousness even as they speak of their own sin. In other words, it can be strangely self-serving to cling to our pain and our guilt.

Do you think that's possible? I do. I see it in their eyes, when I tell them that if they truly believe they have been forgiven by God, they have no reason to continue to carry this sin-burden. I see them cling more desperately still to their claim, although they can't ever explain why.

It's the flesh, that's what I think. We like to claim the special-ness of our emotions, the power and importance and real-ness of them. We don't like to admit that our emotion (our gut) is ultimately deceptive, self-serving, and spirit-crushing.

Here's what I want to say to the next person who tells me that they can't forgive themselves, even though they understand that the cross of Christ is the towering symbol of their innocence, their freedom from the repugnant burden of sin. I'll say this:

Dude, you just need to repent of that. You say you get it about the cross, but I don't think you do. This clinging to your guilt even as the Beloved pays your debt, this is a the flesh warring against the Spirit and that's all it is.

Well, I think I remember my son Nate telling me once that if we're not frequently calling on people to repent (including ourselves) then we're probably not preaching the Gospel.

On Repentance

I continue to take up the themes of John Piper's book, What Jesus Demands of the World. This series is neither an extended review of the book or a recapitulation of its contents, but a interaction by one reader with the "demands of Jesus" as laid out by Piper.

The second "demand" is repentance.

From that time Jesus began to preach, saying, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." Matt. 4:17.

Of repentance Piper writes:

Repenting means experiencing a change of mind so that we can see God as true and beautiful and worthy of all our praise and all our obedience. This change of mind also embraces Jesus in the same way. We know this because Jesus said, "If God were your father, you would love me, for I came from God" (John 8:42). Seeing God with a new mind includes seeing Jesus with a new mind.

Repentance of this kind comes of realization and recognition of who God is and what he has done. It is the burden of all the New Testament Gospel accounts to bring readers to that realization and recognition.

What then? With every such recognition, in whatever degree, comes a corresponding degree of repentance. There is a well-known poem by James Wright which describes something like this. The poem does not use the word repentance, nor is Wright talking about Biblical repentance here, but in his poem we see the motion of the mind that moves from recognition of something true and beautiful and on to a sense of repentance that is not abject ("woe is me, a slug, a worm, a total creep") but the beginning of a life that incorporates that new recognition into its understanding and is lived accordingly. The poem is called Lying In A Hammock At William Duffy's Farm In Pine Island, Minnesota:

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.

[See all previous posts in this series here.]

On Being Cleansed of Idols

God spoke through Ezekiel, saying, "I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you." (Ezek. 36:25)

I was wondering, what must it be like to be "cleansed" of every idol in my life?

I think it might be a little, well, disorienting. Perhaps shocking. To realize, I mean, how many things I'd been depending on, placing ultimate value in, things that were not ultimate. Sometimes, things that were not truly valuable at all. How many frail reeds I'd been leaning on. How many false lights I'd been basking in. How many lies I'd been trusting.

David said to God, "Against you only have I sinned." (Psalm 51:4)

It really is important to remember that He is holy, and desires us to be with Him forever, and yet every sin separates us from Him, and therefore ultimately all sins are sins against God. And this is the fundamental problem of our existence. We couldn't solve it, we could only lie to ourselves about it. Not even with our worthiest deeds could we escape this dilemma. But, though we were stymied, fooled, and rebellious, though we were helpless, God was not.

He alone is worthy of all our praise.

Can we talk?

Nate, inspired by Michael, made a list of the things we tend to edit out of Jesus. He's de-editing. Here's a sample:

[Jesus] is more interested in what he did than in what we are doing.

He was not under the illusion that he would never die.

"Repent" was a major theme of his ministry.

He easily and willingly exposed people's sin to them.

He was completely unafraid of other people's opinions about him.

There's more where these came from, so do check it out. I've been saying for a long time, to anyone who would listen, that if we are not brought up short by Jesus, if his words do not cut us to the quick, if his teaching does not challenge us and convict us and even cause us at least a pang of grief from time to time, then we are probably toying with a very "edited" Jesus.

Why do we do this? Why do we never hear the word "repent" in our churches? Why is sin not spoken of as the fundamental dilemma in all our lives, the dilemma from which the cross alone saves? Thus, lacking a robust understanding of the sin-problem, the cross itself only merits an occasional mention. I know scads of Christians who will go on ad nauseum (every single Easter) about Mel Gibson's whipping post scene, but who shy from all discussion of the cross as their fundamental need now. This moment. Every moment.

For these folks, the church experience is simply a happy get together of wonderfully nice people, where they remind themselves that God is very very pleased with them. In their small groups they talk about how to be a success, or how to be a leader, or how to romance their spouses. They quote their favorite "encouraging" Scriptures back and forth to each other and tell themselves they're doing ministry if they wear a Christian t-shirt or something.

They like to talk about their "Spiritual gifts," but when shall we hear about the precious "withering work" of the Holy Spirit, for example, that Spurgeon talked about?

The Spirit blows on the flesh, and what seems vigorous becomes weak. What was fair to look at was smitten with decay, and the true nature of the flesh is discovered. Its deceit is laid bare, its power is destroyed. There is space for the dispensation of the ever-abiding Word and for the rule of the Great Shepherd whose words are spirit and life.

Oh, don't let me go on. I don't know if all this complaining is the least bit righteous, but I think perhaps there is a holy unrest mixed in there. I just don't want to settle for Christianity-lite. It occurs to me that if we must never be critical about church, then we are condemning ourselves to a smarmy dishonesty concerning one of the things about which we ought always to be searingly honest.

Like Jesus was.

Lord, I have not . . .

Lord, I have not loved You with my whole heart . . .

and I'm not even sure I know how to, or ever will.

. . . and I have not loved my neighbor as myself . . .

because it is easier to regard him/her as one who does not need my love, and leave it at that.

Father, thank you for Jesus. Thank you for the Cross.