But I do wish there was more talk about being forgiven for actual sins. There seems to be a trend now, to call things “mistakes” or “weaknesses,” as if it would be offensive to label something a sin. Sometimes I want to interrupt the speaker who is calling things a “mistake” and say, “guess what? I’ve committed actual sins, and I can be forgiven for those too!”

There’s rules and there’s exceptions. Church leaders teach the rules. The Spirit teaches the exceptions. A standard, often unspoken, exception to almost every rule in the church is: unless the Spirit dictates otherwise.

I think being sinners we constantly underestimate the badness of sin, and how much we’re still in it. ‘I learned from it.’ ‘Everyone makes mistakes.’ ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ That’s too arm’s-length for me. Sin isn’t my past. It’s my present, too. Christ erases sin, but I don’t think he transforms it into something good.

You nailed it.

Most of their tearful confessions strike me as self-indulgent.

Self-indulgent and often self-promoting. I think if we really got it we would probably shut up about our sins except to apologize.

Rock bottom for the progidal son was eating pig slop. That’s the humiliation, the shame, and the repulsiveness of sin. It doesn’t usually make a great personal story.

Great line Jeremiah. Thanks for your thoughts.

Not everyone who confesses feels that way and talks that way. But still, I think being sinners we constantly underestimate the badness of sin, and how much we’re still in it. ‘I learned from it.’ ‘Everyone makes mistakes.’ ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ That’s too arm’s-length for me. Sin isn’t my past. It’s my present, too. Christ erases sin, but I don’t think he transforms it into something good. There was a guy in my college ward who, whenever he needed a poigniant story for a talk or testimony, would bring up the night he was driving drunk and crashed, killing his best friend who was in the car with him. His friend’s parents forgave him. The Lord forgave him. But his whole self-image seemed to be the jerk drunk whom everyone forgave. It seemed like he liked being that person, rather than the ordinary, prideful slouch God forgave, because he had the distinction of having committed dramatic sins.

So I think that the confessional American evangelicals have it mostly wrong. Most of their tearful confessions strike me as self-indulgent. It must be true that those who have been forgiven more must love more–I believe it because Christ said it. But do they have to rub my face in it? Or do I have to trot out my sins, too (even if they disgust me), to prove that I’m as wretched, and thus as grateful and grace-filled, as they are? Rock bottom for the progidal son was eating pig slop. That’s the humiliation, the shame, and the repulsiveness of sin. It doesn’t usually make a great personal story.

Thankfully, because of a combination of my glaring faults, my kids above-average intelligence, and my wife’s helpful habit of pointing out my faults at every opportunity, my kids figured this out when they were still very small, so they’ve had time to decide that they will still try to like me anyway.

Your point about the kid with the sinning parents reminded me of something that happened between me and my 14-year-old daughter the other night. One of our joint-guilty pleasures is to watch “Pawn Stars” on the History Channel. We were catching up on TiVo’d episodes the night before last, when someone went in trying to sell the very first edition of Playboy. The show made the mistake of showing one of the inside pages with some strategic blurring. My daughter commented, “I didn’t know they had naked women in the magazine. I thought they were, like, wearing lingerie and stuff.” I muttered, “No… they’re naked.” Then she turned to me and asked, “Did you ever read a Playboy?” Well, I don’t lie to my kids, so I said, “Well, yeah… when I was a teenager.” She turned back to the TV and got really quiet. I feebly added, “It was before I joined the church. I didn’t know better.” She just nodded, not looking at me. After some more quiet, I asked, “Are you mad?” She shook her head, no. “Just disappointed.” Ouch.