Sin serves a purpose.
In fact, having observed a little of the way God works, I’m guessing it
probably serves more than one.
But this at least sin
does: it proves God right.
“Against you, you only, have I sinned … so that you may be justified in your words and
blameless in your judgment.”
Oh, we can rationalize
our desires with the verbal dexterity of a sophist, excuse them with petulance
of a six-year old, or romanticize them with the eloquence of a poet, but the
places they lead us are inevitably, inexorably and invariably bad.
Just as God has warned.
He warned Cain, as he has since warned so many of us through our consciences and in his word:
“If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is contrary to you, but you must rule over it.”
“Its desire is contrary to you.” No kidding
it’s contrary.
Sin produces guilt:
“For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.”
Guilt affects the sinner’s physical health:
“Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have broken rejoice.”
Sin produces inconsistency and incoherence:
“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right [or steadfast] spirit within me.”
Sin produces sorrow:
“Restore to me the joy of your salvation.”
Sin sometimes produces legal culpability:
“Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God.”
Kings apparently get a pass from the
justice system when they plot murder and carry it out. At least David did. The
rest of us may have to deal with the practical repercussions of our actions
well into the future.
Sin mutes our testimony to the world:
“O Lord, open my lips.”
Sin makes our worship null and void:
“For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.”
Ultimately, sin breaks us:
“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
And that’s not a bad thing. After all, there’s
one thing worse than being broken.
That’s not being broken.
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