Everything Bar

Everything Bar

I’d stopped in at a favorite neighborhood coffee shop—one without a green awning—with plans to sit and cradle a skim latte in a hot, bowl-shaped mug. As I stood at the counter waiting to pay and perused the sampling of baked goods before me, something called an “everything bar” caught my eye.

The everything bar was a vegan creation whose label assured me that it was “sin without the guilt.” I can’t confirm or deny that culinary assertion. I didn’t buy one. I’m not a vegan, and I wasn’t particularly hungry. But I have to confess, the thought of that sinful but guiltless confection stuck.

In real terms, “sin without the guilt” couldn’t be more harmful.

Sin without remorse, without guilt, without shame, is the mark of the living dead: breathing men and women who sin—but who sense no connection between their sin and their own spiritual demise. To experience sin without the guilt is to deaden the spirit to the infinite love of God in Christ. It is to deny both the personal and the corporate consequences of my misdeeds, imagining that the sin that seems to promise “everything” in the moment will not cause something good to die.

To want sin without the guilt is to want cancer without the warning signs. The sting of guilt I feel when I’ve consumed an “everything bar” of greed or bitterness or lust or selfishness is not something to be rid of, but something to be treasured. My sickness at my sin is the bittersweet symptom of Christ’s presence in my soul. As long as he is in residence, my sin will not go down well with me—and its precious ill effects will point me to repentance every time.

The one who first promised sin without the guilt labeled his treat in just the same way—and he knew full well that he was lying. His line—and his offerings—haven’t changed one bit.

If you are living according to the flesh, you must die; but if by the Spirit you are putting to death deeds of the body, you will live.

Romans 8:13, NASB