On being made new again

Despite how much I puffed out my chest when I walked out of the theater back then, I still felt like that 98-pound weakling from the comic book ad. You know the one. The skinny little guy is sunning on the beach when a muscle-bound bully kicks sand in his face and walks off with his girl. Then Charles Atlas tells you how in a few weeks you can have muscles big enough so that you can go kick sand in someone else’s face and steal their girl. It’s the circle of life.

In a similar sense, after seeing The Passion’s powerful portrayal of Christ’s suffering, I wondered how I could ever hope to be the true emulator of Christ that God is calling me to be.

I once again felt like that 98-pound weakling, as if all the sins I’ve ever committed or will commit were suddenly kicking sand in my face.

I was troubled for several days until one night in prayer I heard the voice of God, who said, "Would you relax? No human being has ever been perfect. Try to be the first and all you’ll get is ulcers. Remember, you don’t have to die on the cross to atone for your sins. Jesus already did that. Remember that thing called ‘Confession?’ All you have to do is be sorry, and mean it. That’s it. Period. End of discussion."

I thanked Him for His advice and He said, "Don’t mention it."

But did it really hit home? I don’t know about you, but when I’ve sinned it’s not too difficult to say I’m sorry and really mean it. The problem comes in forgiving myself, which is part of the whole forgiveness package. As long as you’re carrying those burdens, you’re not going to be at peace.

I still feel guilty about things I did years ago, like, say, being born. I just know that were I ever shown what the world would have been like had I never been born, I would see my dad sitting in the west wing of a holiday bungalow ordering "Jeeves" to bring him a dry martini.

If someone took the time and did the research, I’m afraid they’d find that every problem on the planet — from the war in Iraq to the painful corn on someone’s toe in Japan — could be traced back to me.

Each morning as I watch CNN, I’m waiting for the host to say, "We’ve just been given word that the troubles in Haiti could have been averted had Kansas resident David Myers not sprayed his sister with a hose when he was 10 years old. Research shows that if not for this incident, Haiti would not only be at peace, but would today be the dessert topping capital of the world.

"On a related note, the cause of the economic woes the country is currently suffering have been traced back to a typo in one of Myers’ columns."

As I’ve mentioned before, in the back of our minds is a filing cabinet with every sin and/or failing stored in alphabetical order, each in intensely minute detail. Every document is printed in triplicate and in letters so large they can be read from the international space station, just so that you can’t possibly forget what "evils" you’ve wrought.

Meanwhile, all the good things – all our acts of kindness, all our many successes — are written in invisible ink on a torn napkin lodged in some hidden recess of our minds that it would take the Amazing Kreskin to uncover.

Why is it so difficult to forgive ourselves?

In researching the Charles Atlas part for this column (I couldn’t remember his name), I found a sermon hitting on the same subject. Rev. David E. Cobb of Richardson, TX said it better than I ever could. His sermon concludes with the following: