It was a lot of spilled milk, really.
A turned-over bowl of oatmeal, a pile of laundry that had not been put away despite a dozen reminders to do so, an argument over which shoes to wear. It was a sharp word here, a contentious dripping there. Little by little, every occurrence of frustration fed a quick-burning fire in my head. I sent them out with a long list of complaints, a catalog of my disappointments. My words were a lit match, my tone the gasoline. By the time my family left for their various daily activities and work, the fire had reached four-alarm status. It burned us all and then died quickly with the slamming of the back door. All that remained was cinders and ashes, a pile of my regrets, a residue of my sinful behavior. I looked around the living room. There was no physical sign of my eruption, but the place was thick with shame.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the big wall clock. It was 8:57 a.m. I had already lost the day.
Sometimes the aftermath of sin feels a little bit like cheating on my diet. Not in the gravity of the situation, because my sin is obviously a much bigger deal than choosing fries over a salad. But when I’ve failed early in the day, I’m tempted to throw in the towel and persist in poor choices. “What does it matter?” I ask myself. “I’ve already lost today. Might as well start again tomorrow. Or next Monday.”
Like last Friday at 8:57 a.m., I have days when I feel a particular kind of hopelessness about my sin that can lead me down a path to more sin. It begins with the thought, “You’ll never overcome this” and ends with me giving myself to it for a while instead of fighting it. In my heart I do not want to go down that path, but I’ve let myself believe there’s not another option. I’m convinced I’ve lost the day.
Sometimes I just want a do-over.
I really do hate my sin most of the time. And when I don’t hate it, I hate that I don’t hate it. When I’m right in the middle of an angry outburst or when I’m simmering over an offhand hurtful comment made to me, I hate the deceptive level of pleasure that I find in simply being mad.
Maybe you know what I mean. You really loathe the way you yell at your kids or the way you gossip about a church friend or the way you look at images you shouldn’t. You really do hate it, but in the moment there is a small burst of pleasure in sin. To use biblical language, it’s a “passing pleasure of sin.” But, as you may also know, it’s not worth the shame that comes quick on the heels of conviction.
The Lord’s rebuke is a kindness, not a condemnation.
Conviction that breaks through our hardheartedness is a kind gift from the Lord. At its polar opposite is the enemy’s condemnation that hangs over our heads and convinces us we’ll never be anything more than the naked people in the garden with the fruit in their hands and a snake by their side. We should listen to the Lord’s rebuke and acknowledge that we’ve sinned, but know that the voice of the Lord isn’t condemning for believers. His rebuke is a kindness. It is a protection so we don’t burn ourselves to the ground in habitual sin. Yet He doesn’t have that condemning tone we sometimes hear in our heads after we’ve failed to obey Him. No longer will His voice reverberate with wrath because Jesus took all of that to the cross. There is no condemnation for those in Christ (Rom. 8:1).
It can be difficult to distinguish between rebuke and condemnation. Sometimes I’m tempted to wallow in my regret a little to show the Lord how sorry I am. But, when I return to the Scriptures, I think a gospel-centered response to sin is actually pretty simple. And it does not involve penance.
1. Confess your sin.
Speak it to the Lord. Be specific. In our house, we’ve been teaching our children to apologize all the way. “I’m sorry for ________. Will you forgive me for _________?” And the offended should respond with, “I forgive you for _________.**” My husband and I are modeling it for our kids, and it is hard. I’ve learned that confessing your sin by name helps you hate it. So, name it to the Lord. Don’t just say, “I’m sorry I messed up.” Sure, He knows every gritty detail. But saying it might help you hate it more. So say it all the way. Grieve it. Recognize that Jesus intercedes for you before God even though you have just failed Him again (Heb. 7:25). Ask His forgiveness, and ask Him to lead you down the path of obedience next time temptation presents itself. Confess your sin knowing that He will forgive (1 Jn. 1:9).
If your sin involves others, confess it to them and ask forgiveness. I didn’t see my husband until the end of the day last Friday, and my apology wasn’t really right for a text, so I waited until he came home from work to name my ugly sin. “I forgive you for getting angry,” was his gracious response. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve confessed my sins to my family. It’s getting easier and harder at the same time.
2. Get to the gospel quickly.
My day was a dumpster fire before 9 a.m. It was so tempting to just be mad, to simmer in my own disappointment in myself, to wallow in both my sin and my regret for it. But God has been teaching me in His Word how tightly the gospel is woven into my sanctification. The gospel isn’t just for salvation! The good news of Jesus’ death and resurrection is also for the moment you find yourself standing alone in a living room surrounded by the charred remains of your commitment to be kind. The gospel is for the minute you’ve heard yourself belittle a co-worker to your boss. It’s for the quiet hour late at night when you’re so full of self-loathing for the way you’ve used your computer that you wonder if you’ve ever even known Christ. The gospel is for now as much as it was for the moment you first believed it. So get back to it quickly in order to remember who you are in light of Jesus’ atonement for your every sin.
On that Friday morning, I went to Ephesians. Literally. I went to my dining room table with my Bible and a lot of remorse. Chapter 2 reminded me of who I used to be: dead in my sins, a child of wrath, an enemy of God, and happy to be so. But God. He’s rich in love and mercy and He saved me by grace through faith in Jesus Christ. He made me new. I am not the girl at the tree with the fruit and the anger and the shame anymore. He has made me alive in Christ! Then I moved to chapter 4 to remember who I am now and how I should live. “Walk worthy of the calling you have received,” Paul says (Eph. 4:1). “You took off your former way of life, the old self, that is corrupted by deceitful desires; you are being renewed in the spirit of your minds; you put on the new self, the one created according to God’s likeness in righteousness and purity of the truth” (4:22-24). Down in the middle of this is the reminder that we are no longer dead slaves; we are free children of God.
Our movement from sinner to saint was made through the blood of Christ when He made us alive in Him. But living a life that reflects that change requires a continual application of gospel truth, especially when we sin. Obedience isn’t just a resolution not to sin anymore. Obedience is remembering who you are in Christ and living your life in a way that reflects His glory. It’s paying attention to how you live (Eph. 5:15). It’s walking as children of light (Eph. 5:8). It’s remembering to take off the old self and put on the new, especially after you’ve sinned. It’s remembering why Jesus died and grieving that your sin was the reason, but it’s also remembering that Jesus rose again to show you He has victory over sin, Satan, and death.
Yes, it’s a lot of remembering. It’s remembering what God really did say so you’ll recognize what’s true when you hear a hiss in your ear that beckons you to just forget repentance because you’ve already lost the day. Remembering puts out the fire. Remembering quenches the anger. Remembering stops the gossip. Remembering closes the screen. Remembering is your do-over.
Remembering puts out the fire. Remembering quenches the anger. Remembering stops the gossip. Remembering closes the screen. Remembering is your do-over. Share on XTake your do-over.
I didn’t get an actual do-over last Friday morning, of course. I couldn’t turn back the clock and pretend like I didn’t burn the house down with my anger. But preaching the gospel to myself was my do-over. It was a chance to stop the runaway train from continuing down a broken track, from needing another do-over later in the day. Maybe you’re at work or school and can’t stop to take out your Bible to get to the gospel, but you can still get there quickly. Jesus died to save me and bring me to God. I am not who I used to be. I do not have to continue in this sin. Because of my freedom in Christ, I am free not to sin.
Take your do-over: confess your sin, repent, accept the consequences, and apply the gospel liberally.
*I am grateful for the encouragement to practice this kind of apology from the women at Risen Motherhood. I can’t remember in exactly which episode this concept was mentioned, but I think it might have been their very first one.
Photo by Ahmed zayan on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.