I find life's most complex issues are usually best illustrated by the daily struggles of three-year-olds.
After two years working on and off at a daycare, I have realized the lack of sincerity that the typical toddler exhibits in his apologies. The rough "I'm sorry" is usually spawned in the back of the throat, continuing laboriously on it's way through tightly-drawn lips. The arms are often crossed during this guttural event, which is usually finished off with a sharp turn of the head. The entertainment value of such an event is positively correlated with the number of ounces of cold-press I've enjoyed that morning.
But the thing that REALLY gets me is when kids throw rocks at the other kids on the playground. I recall one instance in particular. Every time I told him to stop, the kid would look at me, grin from ear to ear, and launch another handful of rocks from a pudgy fist. Why? Because he can. But this isn't just a kid thing, this is an everybody thing.
Sin really only comes in one variety: Original.
Our church is discussing the Beatitudes this summer, a subject that only gets more complicated as time goes on. "Blessed are those who mourn," (or in other words, blessed are those who mourn for their sins) has been a major concern to me. Accepting Christ at an age where apologies often aren't sincere
has made me wonder if my apology has ever been sincere.
Have I mourned for my sins?
The first time I asked myself this question, I was reminded of one night a couple years back. A friend accused me of a long list of offenses against her, and I knew I was guilty of each one. I had been caught in the act, casual gossip still stuck in my teeth, and she was the one who had caught me.
Those who have been in a similar situation know what follows. Your heart suddenly becomes a bowling ball. You can't comfort because you've made your words worthless, and every apology is like shooting a blank at your ugly mistake. It's a helpless feeling.
I hadn't felt so incredibly guilty in my whole life. I spent hours trying to figure out how to make it up to this friend, the whole time realizing that my error would always stick with me, and that, if she would allow me to earn her trust back, it would take a very long time.
The only difference between me and the kid who throws rocks is that I felt remorse, the oops factor.
What the Oops Factor is:
The concept of the Oops Factor is simple; it's the ability to feel regret for a mistake. It's what makes apologies sincere. You don't have to be a Christian to have the oops factor, you just have to understand that your mistakes hurt others, not just yourself. It is unselfish remorse, or, in other words, you are sad because you've made someone else sad, not because of the consequences you will receive.
What the Oops Factor is NOT:
But what I have been learning recently is that the born-again Christian feels something more, something beyond compassion for those we've hurt. Christians also feel remorse because they have hurt God as well, because they know that this and other sins separate them from God, who is perfect and perfectly Just. From what I can gather, this type of remorse is simply called mourning. And "blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." (Matthew 5:4)
The Mourning Thing:
Mourning brings comfort? Yes, because only when we mourn for the magnitude of our sins can we truly understand the even greater magnitude of God's Grace. When we mourn, we pull the shrapnel out of the wound, realize the depth of our injury, and surrender to God's ability to heal. It's more than saying sorry. It's more than being sorry. It's more than feeling sorry for others. It's realizing that your actions have separated you from your Creator, your truest love. Then the comfort comes. Only through Grace is our hopeless situation remedied. We mourn because we've made a mess of things and can't fix it; we are comforted because God fixes our mess.
Real Life:
The other day I was looking through old files on my computer. I came across a letter written a couple years ago. It was an apology to the friend I had offended. As I read through it, these few sentences caught my eye.
But Christ demonstrated his own love for me in this, that according to His Mercy, he saved me. I am horribly flawed, I’ve always known this, but it is nights like tonight during which I truly realize my need for a savior.
Could it be that this was the moment of true mourning I was afraid I lacked? Knowing you're imperfect is the Oops Factor, but realizing your need for a savior? That sounds like mourning to me. I'm a worrier to a fault, and concerns like this tend to stick with me. But perhaps this is why I'm a writer as well, so that by recording things I feel, I create a helpful history of thoughts I would otherwise doubt or question in the future.
