Part 1: The Truth About Sin

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Rom 3:23)

Today I heard a sermon called Guilty, But Forgiven. And I think I am going to sit with this one for a while. Actually, I think I am going to write about it for a while.

Because there are some truths you hear and agree with, and then there are truths that expose something inside you. Truths that follow you home. Truths that make you realise that perhaps you have known the language of grace for years, but have never really stopped to think about what grace is saving you from.

So before I write about forgiveness, I want to start somewhere much less comfortable.

Guilty.

I am guilty. There. I said it. And strangely, there is something freeing about saying it.

Because we have become incredibly good at avoiding that word. We explain. We rename. We soften. We justify. We compare.

At least I didn’t do what she did.

Yes, I said it, but you don’t know what happened beforehand. I know it wasn’t right, but I was hurt. That’s just how I am. Everybody does it.

We have developed very sophisticated ways of making sin sound less like sin. But the Bible doesn’t. So what actually is sin?

I wrote this sentence in my notebook today:

*Sin is anything contrary to the will and character of God.*

Let that sink in. Because if that is true, sin suddenly becomes much bigger than the handful of terrible things we normally put into the category of “sin.”

Romans 3:23 says: “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” All. Of. Us.

Not some. Not the really bad people. Not the people whose sins became public. Not the people sitting in prison. Not the person whose life looks messier than mine. All. Me too.

The biblical picture behind sin is often described as missing the mark. And I find that picture incredibly powerful.

Imagine an archer aiming at a target. God establishes the mark. His holiness. His truth. His love. His righteousness. His will. And then humanity takes the shot. We miss. Some miss spectacularly. Some miss quietly. Some miss publicly. Some miss privately. Some sins become stories everybody knows about.

Others happen entirely inside the heart. But missing by a centimetre and missing by a kilometre still means one thing:

I did not hit the mark. And that means comparison becomes useless. Jesus made this even more uncomfortable. Because we like measuring sin by behaviour.

Jesus looks at the heart.

In Matthew 5:28 He says that anyone who looks at another person lustfully has already committed adultery in the heart.

Ouch. Suddenly this isn’t only about what my hands have done.

It is about what my heart has entertained. My thoughts. My motives. My desires. My bitterness. My pride. My jealousy. The things I secretly enjoy thinking. The conversations I replay in my head. The forgiveness I refuse to give.

The obedience I keep postponing. And then James 4:17 takes it even further:

“If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.”

So sin is not only doing what I know I should not do. Sometimes sin is knowing what God is asking me to do… and refusing to do it.

That one sat heavily with me.

Because suddenly I cannot reduce holiness to: Well, I don’t murder people. Jesus never gave us that luxury. He keeps bringing us back to the heart. And suddenly there is nowhere to hide. Maybe that sounds harsh. But I don’t think it is.

I think it is actually the beginning of freedom. Because I cannot truly understand forgiveness while I am still trying to prove that I don’t really need it.

And perhaps that is one of our problems. We want a Saviour… without admitting we needed saving.

We want grace… without acknowledging guilt. We want forgiveness… while still explaining why what we did wasn’t really that bad. But the Gospel doesn’t begin with pretending I am innocent. It begins with truth. I missed the mark. I have sinned. I have fallen short. I am guilty.

And so have you.

Romans 3:23 doesn’t leave anybody standing on higher ground. There is no superior Christian here. No spotless pastor. No perfect mother. No flawless husband. No untouchable church leader.

No person who has somehow graduated beyond needing grace. We all stand in the same place. Short of the glory of God. And perhaps that is why grace is so breathtaking.

Because guilty is only half the sentence. The sermon wasn’t called Guilty. It was called:

Guilty, But Forgiven.

Catch you in the next read with part 2!

Love

V.L