Good Grief
Good Grief
Public relations experts say that sometimes when a controversy is so severe and the evidence is so stacked the best thing to smooth it over is to publicly repent. They say that, but they also say that sometimes the best strategy is to divert attention. Hey, isn't that Osama bin Laden? Whatever works.
Too often our repentance is actually blame evading. We are more concerned for blame than the well earned shame and guilt. For example, maybe I harbor bitterness and hatred for a brother in my heart and I perceive that others may sense this bitterness and hate. I then repent from this sin of bitterness and hate for others to see so that I avoid being the subject of an admonishment or worse, a dirty look. But my heart hasn't changed. The only thing I have tried to change is what others perceive of me. I then harbor my sin more deeply. If I hear anyone mention my bitterness and hate, I can simply refer to my act of repentance. It's not true repentance—but I can sleep better at night.
In any example, I might have grab bag of excuses for avoiding repentance. "Well, I'm working on it." Or, " I'm going as fast as I can." Or "Look at how far I've come." None of these things are the words of the penitent heart. But the heart is a hard thing to change. And it's a hard thing to see when I am concerned so well for my perceptions of how I am being perceived. The end of repentance is not to be unchanged, but to be unchained.
Sometimes repentance is a public act. But not always. Even when it is necessary to do so publicly, I might try to repent of as little as possible. Now, I ought not read the long list secret and private sins to an uninfluenced public, but to truly repent I have to look at all that I have done wrong. The unchanged heart tries to get away with as little as possible in order to get away with as much as possible. I need to admit that I have sinned, not just that I am changing my ways.
Perhaps the hardest part of repenting is admitting I was wrong. It is one thing to say that I've found a better way, but it is quite another thing to say I was going the wrong way. Men, sometimes, have a unique problem with this. I don't just mean that stopping at the gas station and asking for directions means to admit that I really don't know how to get there. I mean husbands and fathers can be reluctant to openly repent for fear that our own wife and children will know that we had been wrong or had done wrong. Do we think that we will lose precious grip on the reigns of authority in the family? Do we fear that we will be seen as weak in their eyes?
I knew of a certain man. He was a strong man, a father and husband as his own father had been. God had blessed the man with several sons. He took his responsibility seriously and purposed to lead these miniature men to be mighty in mind and body. But he wasn't strong enough. This father did not want his sons to question or doubt his authority and wisdom. So his sons never saw their father repent and admit that he had been wrong about any certain thing. When he came to new understandings of old truths, he was careful not to admit that the old path was foolish and leading to destruction, but instead that this new way was wiser and better. This it is not really repentance. It is simply wiser choice in mind. At best the old way was foolish, not that the old way was wrong. As if foolishness is not sinfulness. His sons grew up to be quite knowledgeable and strong men themselves. These sons, though strong in mind and body—you know how the song goes—grew up to just like you, Dad.
Why in the world would we think that our own children are going to obediently repent if all the time they were growing up they had never seen there own father repent before his family? We are to repent and let them see us repent. And how much are they going to look forward to confessing their sins if then they think they have to wallow in despondency? We are to take comfort, peace, and joy in the gospel and let them see us do it.
The answer to every sin problem is repentance and, well, they're all sin problems. The first step to repentance is godly sorrow or, in other words, good grief. But we don't stay there. Grief and sorrow are not the ends of honest repentance themselves. We are not to wallow in our sorry pig sty. We are sorry, so we need act and be sorry for all wherein we have displeased our Father. This godly sorrow and good grief is to push us forward to repentance "For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death." (II Cor. 7:10)
Repentance is no small thing. Repentance, I hope we can see, is not so much cast as a soldier turning and making an about face. I've heard this a thousand times as we all may have. But repentance is pictured as the son turning and leaving his filthy ways, aware and sorry for his sinfulness into the forgiving arms of his father. To truly repent, we have to look at all that we have done wrong. The soldier making an about face was following orders from the same commander the whole time. The prodigal son, on the other hand, returns to the father he had deserted.
Let us be ashamed of our sin and may tears well up in every eye. Let us believe the gospel of Jesus Christ. Then may these penitential tears turn to tears of joy in the eyes of our Savior and our own. After repentance, there is forgiveness. And with forgiveness, there is joy with feasting. We are called to His table to eat with him in joy and peace where He has called all the rest of the repentant and forgiven. We bow our heads in thanksgiving for the good gift of repentance (II Tim. 2:25) and for the forgiveness of a loving Father in heaven. And being his sons, we keep coming back to rest in Him.