I Am Sinful
I Am Sinful
Rid yourselves of all the offenses you have committed, and get a new heart and a new spirit. Why will you die, people of Israel? For I take no pleasure in the death of anyone, declares the Sovereign LORD. Repent and live!
—Ezekiel 18:31–32
Sin is a hard word for me to take.
I don’t like to think of myself as sinful. I’m a good person. It’s already noon and I haven’t robbed a bank or committed any violent crimes. I made breakfast for my family, tackled a sink full of dishes, and read my Bible.
I even prayed. How about some bonus points for this girl?
Sinful? No, thank you. Not good for my self-esteem. I’d prefer to come up with something less offensive. Imperfect, maybe? A woman with a few rough edges, perhaps? How about “in progress”? That’s much more my style.
I desperately want to believe I’m good at heart, that I’m above the temptation to inflict pain on another. I’m kind and generous, patient and thoughtful.
For the most part.
As a whole, we don’t enjoy the word sin. Let’s just say it doesn’t make for good party conversation. The sound scrapes the soul like fingernails on a chalkboard, making us cringe.
Yet most of us wouldn’t deny sin’s existence or influence. Click on your news app and you’ll see enough evidence of sin in the first five minutes to make you want to hurl.
The stranger who kidnapped and murdered a grade-school girl.
The two parents who severely neglected their three children.
The college coach who grossly abused his position.
The CEO who scammed thousands of their retirement funds.
The pastor who grew too proud of his own press.
Evil shows up in the craziest places, yes? We can’t avoid it. And yet avoid it I do. Especially when it comes to myself. Let’s put it this way. If I were to grade myself on behavior, I’d probably award myself a solid B. Maybe not an A, because of that incident with the man-child last week when he exploded his spaghetti and marinara in the microwave and didn’t clean it up. I might’ve exploded a bit myself. I’m only human, right?
Right. That’s the point.
I often don’t have to look any farther than my own home to find the sin lurking within. It explains how quickly I transition from calm to chaos if someone hurls an accusation my direction. And what about the fact that my patience and quantity of sleep seem to be directly related to each other? And I haven’t even begun to expose the chronic insecurity that can make me either passive-aggressive or outright heinous. As if it’s all about me anyway.
Sin, by definition, is anything that sets itself up against the holiness and glory of God. Sin isn’t measured in grades, with A’s, B’s, and C’s being given to those who do a fair job of keeping it at bay and D’s and F’s to those who succumb to its worst forms. Sin is a pass-fail scenario. Either you have it or you don’t.
When my husband and I recently applied for a home mortgage, the loan officer filling out our application asked, “Do you have any debt?”
If you’re debt conscious and work to avoid it, you’d likely answer that question with a hint of pride:
- “We’re debt free except for our mortgage.”
- “We don’t have any debt aside from one credit card.”
- “One car payment. That’s it. Otherwise, we’re debt free.”
But that wasn’t the loan officer’s question. His question wasn’t one of degree. It was pass-fail.
Do you have any debt?
Only two options: yes or no.
And whether my debt is a lie, a cheat, or an explosion over a marinara-christened microwave, my answer can only be yes. A thousand times yes.
For a long time I feared that the admission of my sin would be painful. And it was. Until I understood grace, of the God variety. God’s grace isn’t a flimsy excusing of my poor behavior. It isn’t a casual, “I’m only human after all.” It’s a gift of cash in full acknowledgment of the impossible debt.
For too long I fooled myself into believing that I carried less debt than the next guy. All that did was make me more desperate to earn a better grade. I thought my salvation depended on what I brought to the loan officer’s table. But when I admitted it, fully and freely, I found nothing but sweet relief.
“Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy” (Prov. 28:13).
Do you have any debt? Yes, you do. Loads of it. So do I.
We’re sinful, through and through. Go ahead and say it out loud, without fear. Sadness, yes. Regret, no doubt. But you needn’t fear the admission.
Because when you and I chose Jesus, He paid it all. The debt is gone.
“I’m only human” is no longer an excuse for your bad behavior or mine. It’s merely evidence of our desperate need for a Savior. No more, no less.
Isn’t it time we dare to get real about sin? I know it’s hard, but ignoring the truth is costly. But owning it—our sin and sinfulness—moves us a giant step toward making peace with who we are. Only the sinful need a Savior. My identity is no longer “sinner.” My identity is “saved.”
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
—HORATIO G. SPAFFORD, “IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL”
Who Am I?
In our culture, sin is an antiquated word that is often avoided. Instead, we choose less-confrontational words to take its place, words like mistake or misstep. But these words not only minimize our actions and their effects but minimize our need for a Savior. In our attempts to soften our sense of responsibility, we’ve also weakened our sense of wonder at the rescue, the fact that someone greater than us has gone to great lengths to make right our wrongs. It’s the admission of sinfulness that frees us to embrace the solution: the undeserved mercy of a loving God. Today, dare to face your sinfulness. Not as a means to shame but as a first step toward salvation.
From the book
