Sin

Take it from the Prairie Dog

If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word is not in us. (1 John 1:8-10)

On its face, the principle seems simple: if a child knocks down, breaks his mother’s precious vase and admits to having done it, the door to forgiveness, healing and restoration of relationship is opened, even if the vase was a highly valued possession and the breaking of it was a deliberate act performed in the heat of anger, possibly. Contrarily, a refusal to admit the act or justify it blocks that doorway. Restoration of relationship begins with honesty; we know this intuitively.

So did the child commit a “sin?” And if “sin” is the right word for breaking the vase in anger, was that sin the act of breaking the vase, was it the anger toward the mother, or was it the dishonesty in denying, then justifying the act? Whatever best defines what “sin” is (as the writer of the John epistle uses it) is certainly subject to discussion and discernment, in part because the theme expressed in 1 John 1 has become Christianity’s central theme, the foundation on which its meaning rests. Eternal peace rests not on being sinless, but on admitting that we are sinful, confessing that fact and receiving forgiveness.

It’s one of those words we use far too loosely. I grew up with the understanding that “sin” was my natural condition: I was born with my condemnation already established through the “sin” of Adam and Eve, handed down through our genes, as it were. That would make “sin” a human condition much like walking erect and having only one nose and two ears. That concept is far removed from the use of the word in the confessional, “forgive me father, for I have sinned,” where the sin is a discrete act known to be contrary to Biblical ethics. Stealing a watermelon, for instance.

For certain, sin—whatever else it is—can leave a trail of heartache, brokenness, isolation, anger, anxiety, disappointment and/or self-loathing. Should the child convince his mother that he didn’t break the vase, he will have erected a barrier to their relationship by compromising truth in an effort to save himself from punishment. By whatever name you call it, trading away love and truth for immediate gratification is a bad, bad idea. Sinful, even.

Is sin an act, or is it a condition? The writer of the John epistle characterizes sin as an act by using it in the plural: “If we confess our sins. . . ” Seeing it in this way, unfortunately, leads to the making of lists: Is stirring the dough in a counter-clockwise motion a sin or not? Lighting a fire on the Sabbath? To what degree must a white lie shade to dark before it becomes a sin? In a Christianity that holds human sinfulness, confession and forgiveness as the core of faith, such listing is bound to happen. And the listing can come to govern our ethic.

Certainly, truthfulness about ourselves is critical to healing. But recognizing, admitting that we are vulnerable to unloving, harmful acts and attitudes is surely a sub-heading under what must in the end be the core of the determination to follow Christ: You shall love the Lord your God with all your being and your neighbour as yourself. With that written on the lintels of our hearts, there remains little to separate us from the love of God and healthy relationships with others.

It’s a place where the social sciences and the gospels are in total agreement.

I think. At least that's what the prairie dog said.