Last Sunday night my mood turned ugly. I was talking with a friend and he said something that lit a fire in me. I ranted and raved; I said harsh things about someone not present, and the best efforts to silence me merely aggravated me.
I went to bed angry, and I woke up remorseful.
Why had I said those things? I was embarrassed, contrite, and a bit ashamed of myself. I was in a mood to repent. Then I read My Utmost for His Highest,
We trample the blood of the Son of God underfoot if we think we are forgiven because we are sorry for our sins. The only reason for the forgiveness of our sins by God is the death of Jesus Christ.
Chambers’ words aggravated me more. (Maybe my anger hadn’t dissipated completely.) Here I was genuinely sorry for my sin—in the mood to repent—and Chambers said my sorrow plays no part in my forgiveness. Not one tiny morsel.
How important is sorrow in our forgiveness?
A little background
My friend pulled my ugliness-trigger when he made rosy comments about a mutual acquaintance. But many years ago, that mutual acquaintance made decisions that cost me (and others) time, energy, and relationships. The unrestrained, glowing acclaim of this person dredged up echoes of bad memories; the praise of him made my efforts feel marginalized.
I think—and this is no excuse—that my critical comments of the third person partly arose out of a desire for realism: “Come on, let’s be honest, his choices resulted in enormous pain for many people.” But my comments also arose from a wish for a little self-praise: “What a great guy I am for all my clean-up efforts.”
Looking back on what I just wrote, it feels like I’m still making excuses. Alas.
And that’s the point
I railed about that man’s mistakes mostly in an effort to feel better about myself.
Then, the next morning, much of my contrition was simply another attempt to feel better. I didn’t want my friend (and a couple witnesses) to think that I’m as callous as I appeared. I was sorry that they had seen my shallowness.
I also wanted God to see my remorse. I wanted God to have a higher opinion of me, as in, “I’m the kind of guy who really feels bad—with true penitence—at my failings.”
When I read Oswald Chambers the next morning, I felt God was stripping away that last vestige of self-esteem: my contrition. I couldn’t come to God even on the grounds of my deep sorrow. (Not to mention that my sorrow was so self-affirming.)
So what do I have left?
I don’t mean to say that remorse has no place in repentance. Of course we should regret harmful behavior. But I do mean to say that we can’t lean on our sorrow for forgiveness.
Chambers went on to say,
No matter who or what we are, God restores us to right standing with Himself only by means of the death of Jesus Christ. God does this, not because Jesus pleads with Him to do so but because He died. [Forgiveness] cannot be earned, just accepted.
We don’t earn forgiveness by great deeds; neither do we earn forgiveness by great feelings. We can only accept it. And that is hugely humbling, isn’t it? It certainly is for me. When King David repented for adultery and murder, he prayed,
Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions (Psalm 51:1).
He asks God to forgive him according to (and in the measure of) God’s mercy. He doesn’t request forgiveness on the basis of his sorrow or plans to live better.
Our only hope is God’s justice
The New Testament adds a strange wrinkle to the forgiveness tapestry. I used to picture Jesus before the father arguing for my forgiveness; like a defense attorney with a weak case he pleads, “I know Sam blew it again, but he really feels sad. Just give him one more chance.”
Then the Apostle John writes, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). Notice John’s use of the word, “just.” He leaves in the dust David’s appeal to “mercy.” John appeals to God’s justice.
In essence John says that Jesus is the greatest defense attorney of all time; he is making his defense with an airtight argument. Jesus says to the father,
“You are a just judge. You would never require two payments for the same crime. I have completely paid for Sam. You must forgive him. It’s a matter of justice.”
Jesus argues that anything short of complete forgiveness is unjust. He doesn’t plead on the basis of my sorrow, promises to do better, or even mercy. Just the cross. I contribute nothing.
I cannot earn forgiveness through efforts or feelings. I can only accept it as a gift.
As I considered Jesus’ argument for justice, I grew even more remorseful. When I criticized that acquaintance, I was acting like a prosecutor, unjust judge and jury. I was asking for double jeopardy, a second trial for a crime already punished.
Remorse, I realize, plays a great part in repentance. But it contributes nothing to my forgiveness. I am deeply sorry for my ugly criticism; but I am forgiven by the cross alone.
Sam
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It really is all about amazing grace, isn’t it?
Hi Jill,
I think I keep bumping into new meanings of grace. Maybe it is so big I’ll be learning it forever.
Sam
Thanks for the reminder. I too read that devotion and have also had some frustrations triggered. Thank you.
Hi Cheryle,
Like so many things, grace cuts two ways. On one hand it is a wonderful, free gift; on the other hand it means we cannot do anything to deserve it. That’s okay, though, because it also means I can’t do anything to UN-deserve it.
Sam
Repentance visits when one’s heart is ready. Thanks for sharing this Sam.
It’s interesting that you say that. In Acts 11:18, the disciples rejoice that “God has granted repentance to the gentiles.” Even our repentance is a gift from God.
I’ve read Oswald many a times. And I’ve read Sam many a times. I think you get this grace concept and belief truths. Thanks, I’ll be sharing this!
Yeah, well thanks. But it’s one thing to “get it” in my head and another to get it in my heart.
Fortunately for me, God keeps working on my heart!
Thanks,
Sam
I’m sure he continued to work on Oswald’s heart as well. Don’t you think that getting it in your heart takes a lifetime of “getting it”? But it’s His power through the Holy Spirit that does the work. The cross says, “IT IS FINISHED!” The Liar says, “Nope not good enough.” Your honesty and transparency gives me encouragement and I think it does the same for others.
Thanks. Yes, I believe “getting it in the heart” is a lifelong process.
The good news is that “getting it in the heart” is always refreshing, so we have a lifetime of refreshment ahead of us.
Sam
🙂
Sam, you blew it – and it’s great! You maybe forgot that we all get out of bed with two strikes against us, we’re human and we live on earth. So you got up to bat and swung and missed, so what? From your description, you took a really nasty cut – and missed, so hung your head and went back to the dug-out to mope. We’re all glad the Coach turned this into a teachable moment, you benefitted and now we get to learn from your mistake – thanks for the post.
I once had a boss that said he didn’t look for perfect employees (probably knowing there aren’t any); he looked to see how employees respond when they fail.
Sometimes–actually most times–I think the greatest gift we can give others is to admit our failures. We learn most from them; I bet others do too.
Thanks (as always) for your participation.
Sam
Wow… Thanks Sam. That hit really hard, and I’ll need a while to think about it! My first instinct is to argue with you, probably because I’m prone to the same reaction when I see my sin – make sure I’m utterly miserable about it, to prove how sorry I am, as if that fixes everything. So if I seem to be pushing against your point, feel free to read it in that light. 🙂
Last weekend I somehow got in a bad mood (don’t you hate that?) and started getting really frustrated with my wife – it seemed like everything she did, I had a complaint against. And even while all that was happening, I realised it was my mood talking, not any rational problem with her behaviour. But I couldn’t shake that mood. I was praying and begging for God to break me out of it, and I ended up just crying and crying because I was so miserable and didn’t want to be that guy… And it felt good to cry. It usually does. The difficult thing is that I suspect our motives are never “pure” in the sense of coming from only one thing. As I thought about what was going on inside me, I was genuinely sad that I was being harsh with my wife, because she’s such a blessing to me, and even if she weren’t, my role is to love her as Christ loves the church. I knew it was unjust for her to have such thoughts held against her (even by me), and I felt trapped by sin, and I was grieving that sin. But at the same time, God confronted me with how much I idolise the idea of myself as a perfect husband, and how much it tore me apart to see that I’m not as perfect as I like to think I am… Repentance and holiness, I think, would be a lot easier if our actions were always motivated by just one thing, and we could repent of the bad things and thank God for the good things. But we’re much more complicated beings than that!
And in the midst of all of that, I’m sure there was also a part of me saying “I can’t beat this sin. So I’ll just cry about it.” What do you do with that? Sin is supposed to be grieved. I don’t want to congratulate myself, but surely grieving over it is better than not grieving over it? It doesn’t earn forgiveness, because like you said, it can only be accepted, not earned. But would you really believe someone had accepted forgiveness if they weren’t sorrowful about it? Would you say this is another aspect to the faith/works problem? Our works don’t earn our salvation, but we certainly expect them to accompany it. And if they don’t, we (rightly, I think, based on the book of James) start to question whether a person’s faith was genuine in the first place. Could that be the case with our sorrow – that it should accompany forgiveness, but will never earn it? Whatever repentance and sorrow we have, the very mental and emotional ability to beg for and accept forgiveness, is itself a gift of God’s grace, so it would be foolish to look on it as earning salvation, but logical to see it as a sign that God’s spirit is working true repentance in us. If not for the fact that many other emotions and desires besides repentance can produce sorrow!
What light do you think 2 Cor 7:8-11 might shed on this? Paul speaks of a “Godly” sorrow which leads to repentance, leading to salvation. All I can figure is that this Godly sorrow is a normal, healthy part of repentance and salvation, but we need to be constantly reflecting on our motives to see whether our sorrow is leading to repentance or only to pride.
Hi Timothy,
I cannot, do not, and will not argue with you. I question the authenticity of any repentance that lacks remorse. Our sorry is not the basis of FORGIVENESS, but it sure plays a big part of repentance.
It’s interesting, though, that repentance first and foremost means to turn. I think there have been many times in my life that I felt sorry for my sin but didn’t turn. At least not immediately. Sorrow is part of repentance but not all of it.
I think the classic idea of repentance involves these steps:
– Identify the sin accurately (sometimes we just have a vague sense of guilt; we should identify what we did or didn’t do)
– Acknowledge or admit it (to God but also–sometimes–to our victim)
– Experience genuine contrition and examine ourselves for pure or impure sorrow; am I sorry for the consequences or the sinfulness of the sin? (I heard someone once say shallow contrition is sorrow for breaking God’s rules; deep contrition is sorrow for breaking God’s heart)
– Take steps to avoid the sin the in the future
– Make reasonable steps for restitution
How do you see repentance played out?
Sam
Hi Sam,
By the time I finished writing my reply, I was pretty sure you weren’t going to argue with it anyway – I guess I was just fleshing out the other side of the point you were making. Like a great many truths, we can probably get into trouble by pushing one (true) doctrine and neglecting its complementary (true) doctrine. Not that you were doing that, of course. I think I’m just naturally contrary, and like to look for the argument against whatever anyone’s saying, just to see if it can be made!
I love that description of being sad for breaking God’s heart as opposed to for breaking his rules! As ever, hard to distinguish within our own minds, but very important to watch out for. I’d agree with all of that description of repentance, except that I would expect contrition – all that emotion of guilt and shame and regret – to come before most of it, and be present during at least the first two points (identification and confession). After all, what leads us to “name” a sin in our own lives and if we’re not already somehow grieved by it (either in a righteous sense or a selfish sense)? But I really don’t mean to be nitpicky – I don’t suppose you were trying to say that the 5 steps always happen perfectly consecutively and with clear delineation!
~Tim
Hi Tim,
Contrary is welcome here, at least if I’m welcome here!
I hadn’t thought of the order. But not that you mention order, I have to laugh. Because I simply listed them in the order that came to my mind.
I certainly think that contrition will overlap many of the other points. It may also provide motivation to avoid the same action in the future.
I’m not sure it always comes before identifying and admitting.
I think for me, contrition occasionally comes immediately while other times it only comes after meditation. Sort of like that phrase (breaking rules vs. breaking God’s heart); when I first identify it, it sometimes is a matter of surprise more than contrition. I had never realized that “this” is a sin. Maybe someone pointed it out or maybe scripture finally broke in. For the first time, I identify “it” as sinful.
But I’m not quite remorseful; I might simply be surprised. As I think of what it means (rejecting God, rebelling, trusting in flesh, thinking I know better…) I begin to grow remorseful.
Of course, though, there are also my repeated sins, and for those I feel contrition pretty quickly. Although…not always as much as I could (or why would I be repeating it?).
Thanks!