I want to make you feel bad. I know, that’s probably not the ‘right’ thing to say but to a large extent it’s true. I would love for you to feel absolutely horrible about yourself. We’re all pretty adept at denying, so I’m searching for ways to throw your sin up in your face so that there is no room for denial. So you are faced with the fact that you’re a wretched person- to the point where you don’t know how to deal with it or what you’re going to do with yourself.

Sound a little harsh? Do I sound vindictive? Judgmental? Probably- which is why I haven’t pursued this as a course of action… yet. But the desire is still there. It’s just a question of getting across my motives.

You see, I’ve had a few moments like that- where my foundation was shattered. I couldn’t believe I had done what I did- yet there was no way I could deny it. When my ‘platform’ consisted a great deal of me being a ‘good person’- I mean, I grew up in the church, I was a leader in my youth group, I had never done drugs, never gotten drunk, etc., etc.- then when I was faced with the undeniable fact that I had caused someone I cared deeply for a tremendous amount of pain, I could not justify myself as a ‘good person.’ I had kicked myself off the Good Person Platform. And the question that haunted me was: If I’m not a Good Person, what am I?

The answer was: I’m forgiven.

Oh sure, intellectually we know that we are sinners and that we’re forgiven. But try pointing out a specific sin to someone and watch the justifications, denials, and counter-accusations fly! It’s like a fireworks show! (And from a social sciences perspective it is a fascinating show to watch.) Because existing side by side with the ‘confession’ of being a ‘sinner’ is the conviction that “I’m a ‘Good Person’.” I’m Ok. I can point out any number of good things I do and the (generally longer) list of bad things I don’t do. I can point out all those character traits in other people that I don’t share.

And so we build up our platform. Our Good Person Platform. And it’s so well crafted and sturdily constructed. And it becomes like an office, with a large, wooden desk and a plush leather chair. There are plants and a bookshelf with a fine collection of books. There are pictures of our loved ones on the desk. Everything is nice and neat and orderly. And on the wall, in a cheap frame, is a piece of paper saying “I’m a sinner and I was forgiven,” displayed like a certificate showing that you ‘graduated’ from a two-day class on how to use Microsoft Excel. There it is. There is our ‘confession.’

The difference between that kind of confession, and a brutally honest facing-of-the-facts is like the difference between experiencing a beautiful sunset by yourself and someone telling you the colors they saw in a sunset- the experience just doesn’t translate.

The experience I want you to have is the experience of being forgiven. But you can’t have that experience until you really feel you have something to be forgiven- and for a brief while, that experience is horrible.

So I want you to feel horrible. I want you to see yourself (and your sin) clearly for the first time, so that you are utterly speechless, and utterly terrified. And I want you to close your eyes as the tears well up and you’re flooded with the realization that all your justifications fall short; terrified with the thought of what others might think of you. Wondering what all this means, feeling the free-fall sensation of not being who you thought you were. Then I want you to open your eyes… and see that I’m still there with you.

Experience forgiveness.