When Sin Returns to Mind: Thinking about a particular sin that crept up on me unaware last night, and which this morning I am feeling condemned for – especially as I am attempting to seek the Lord while driving to work, only to have the whole thing brought back to mind. How do I deal with it? There it is again. The sin itself is no longer taking place, but its remembrance has followed me into the morning. It sits there beside me in the car, as a most unwelcome friend. I begin trying to pray, trying to turn my thoughts toward the Lord, and suddenly I am confronted with what I did, what I thought, what I allowed, or whatever form that particular sin may have taken. And with it comes the realization that I am basically doomed.
After mentally banging my head against the steering wheel again and again, I begin wondering how, after all my resolutions, all my prayers to the Lord, and all my resolve, I am still dealing with the same things. At that moment, I am forced to face something deeper than last night’s failure: I cannot stand before God upon anything found in myself. Whether I sin or do not sin, everything is eventually going to come crashing down upon me unless I have someone who can answer for me before God. “And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.” I John 2:1. There is the answer – not in the man who sinned, but in the One who speaks for him.
Surely it is better not to sin than to sin. Of course it is. Sin is not harmless. It wounds the conscience, disrupts worship, clouds our thoughts, harms others, and leaves us ashamed before God. Yet my sin does not diminish God, and my obedience does not add anything to Him. He is no less holy when I fall and no more glorious when I stand. The ruin is found in me. Sin exposes me, condemns me, and leaves me in desperate need of the Advocate. Had I overcome the temptation last night, I might have awakened with a clearer conscience. But I would not have awakened with a better righteousness. My peace may rise and fall with my conduct, but my acceptance with God cannot. It must remain where it has always been – in Christ alone.
That truth settles the question of my standing before God, but it does not soften the humiliation of being brought face to face with how utterly powerless I am to save, keep, or master myself. Do I like the sin? No. Do I hate myself on account of it? At times. Do I feel almost to the point of despair of ever escaping some particular vice – some sin that seems to devastate communion, worship, and every sense of nearness to God? Yes.
And perhaps that is where the danger becomes especially great. Not only because of the sin itself, but because I begin looking for some response within myself that might make me acceptable again. Have I grieved enough? Have I confessed sincerely enough? Do I hate the sin deeply enough? Have I punished myself long enough? Am I now humble enough to approach God? Without realizing it, I begin trying to construct my own way back to God out of tears, shame, confession, and self-condemnation. I cannot come to God upon the ground of my obedience, so perhaps I can come upon the ground of my misery over my disobedience.
But my sorrow is not Christ. My confession is not Christ. My hatred of the sin is not Christ. Even repentance, necessary and God-given as it is, cannot take the place of Christ. “I know,” I tell myself, “I will probably forget about it by the time evening rolls around.” And it is usually like that. Time has a way of burying our sins in the sand. What crushed us at five in the morning may barely trouble us by five in the afternoon. The urgency fades. The conscience quiets. Other concerns fill the mind. But let us not confuse our forgetfulness with God’s. Time may bury the memory from our sight, but nothing passes beyond His infinite vision. God does not gradually forget what happened because we have become distracted by work, dinner, conversation, or sleep. He does not lose sight of yesterday as tomorrow arrives. And strangely enough, that thought does not leave me with less need of Christ, but infinitely more.
I do not need a Savior merely until the memory of my sin fades. I need a Savior before the God who sees it perfectly, knows it completely, and has never lost sight of a single thought, motive, word, or act. That is why the answer cannot finally be found by looking more deeply into myself. I may look inward and find sorrow, but sorrow fluctuates. I may find hatred of sin, but even that hatred is often mixed. I may find resolutions, but resolutions weaken. I may find prayers, but prayers wander. I may even find improvement for a season, but improvement is not a mediator. Nothing within me can occupy the place that belongs to Christ alone.
After every inward search has failed, one truth remains: “And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.” I John 2:1. “We have an advocate.” Not an advocate found in our resolutions. Not an advocate formed from our tears. Not an advocate created by the strength of our repentance. “Jesus Christ the righteous.” The very righteousness I do not possess is found in the One who represents me before the Father. This does not make peace with sin. It does not teach me to excuse it, hide it, rename it, or treat it lightly. It teaches me where a sinner must go with it. I John 1:9.
The temptation is always to bring God some improved version of myself. I want to return after I have cleaned myself up, prayed more sincerely, recovered some spiritual feeling, and proven that last night was an exception. But Christ is not the reward given to me after I have repaired myself. He is the refuge of those who cannot repair themselves. Perhaps that is what the morning exposure of sin is meant to teach me once again. Not that sin does not matter, but that Christ matters infinitely more than all my efforts to recover myself. I grieve the sin. I confess it. I ask the Lord to keep me from it. I do not call darkness light. But I also refuse to make my grief, my confession, or my future performance the ground of my approach to God. The ground remains Christ.
“There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1. That “no condemnation” does not rest upon my having finally conquered every sin that condemns me. It rests upon being “in Christ Jesus.” So I continue driving. The memory may still trouble me. The consequences of sin may remain. The battle may not suddenly disappear. I may still be ashamed of myself, and perhaps rightly so. But faith is directed away from the man sitting behind the steering wheel. It looks to the Mediator. It looks to the Advocate. It looks to Jesus Christ the righteous. And perhaps the prayer becomes much simpler: “Lord, I have nothing to say for myself and no defense in myself. Thank God, Christ speaks for me.” MPJ