Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. A young man suspects his wife of cheating and confronts her with his suspicions. The wife, cornered, admits to it, explaining through tears why she felt driven to such misbehavior.
The husband, a Christian who loves his wife, offers to work through this together. The wife is grateful and says she is sorry for hurting him.
But…
Her behavior doesn’t change. She doesn’t want to give her husband access to her phone or social media accounts, even though those were the venues of her affair.
“I said I was sorry. I didn’t even have to come clean. You should trust me.” When the husband says that trust is earned, the wife brings out the trump card:
“It’s not very Christian of you not to forgive me when I asked for it.”
This is a heavily simplified conversation, but it happens every day in a variety of contexts. Party A egregiously wrongs Party B. Party A says sorry. Party B is allowed no further discussion of the wrongdoing. After all, “God knows my heart.”
There is much discourse these days about the life-coachification of the Christian church, with most of the criticism going toward evangelical congregations. They focus on feelings, fellowship (consensus), and inclusion, rather than enforcing the standards set forth by Jesus and later, Peter.
Everybody wants to talk about forgiveness and redemption. But they skip over contrition and repentance. Those feel icky to talk about. “Stop shaming me!” the mega-church attendees insist. “You’re ruining the vibe, man.”
Christian movies like to feature forgiveness and repentance as major themes but… those movies don’t quite resonate. Even with believers. The cringe is too strong.
Surprise of all surprises, Hollywood actually did it justice. In 2010, Devil was hardly a box-office smash, but it was one of the better religious horror movies of the time, largely because it showed us an aspect of Christianity that often gets glossed over these days.
Yes, you can be forgiven no matter how badly you have sinned, but there is a price of admission. One that goes way beyond saying you’re sorry.
A Gallery of Rogues
In a high-rise office building, five people get into an elevator. Three men and two women. Only one gets out—even though his sins were arguably the worst.
Subscribe to continue reading