Forgiveness

When we look at Denny Hastert, we see a man we're relieved to hear was the longest-running Speaker of the House. Bumbling, always a smile, self-deprecating; he's a man so he's not Hillary; he's adipose and frumpy so he's not Cruz; there's not a macho bone in his body so he's not The Donald. It's icing on the cake that he's a Wheaton alum, his base is Joliet (Joliet?), and his springboard into politics was the office of a high school wrestling coach. It's all good, right? Very, very good.

So what's the angle?

Some would accuse the man asking that question of being cynical. Those "some" would likely be good church-going citizens whose Christian faith goes as deep as "judge not" and "love always expects the best." These "some" sit under preachers whose sermon every week tells them "you're much worse than you could ever know, but God's grace is much deeper than you could ever imagine" as a way of reassuring them their sin doesn't matter because... Ta-da-da-dum! Jesus did it all! It's all of grace! Just believe the Gospel and everything you've ever done and do still today will never matter. Only one life, 'twill soon be past; only the grace of God will last.

Here's where it gets interesting. The FBI announces they've caught Speaker Hastert in a money laundering scheme. When they question him, he claims his former high school student is extorting him. Who would doubt it? After all, this is frumpy, bumbling, self-deprecating, tubby-cute Speaker Hastert. He'd never lie, but he'd make a great mark for a greedy fraudster. Denny would pay up to avoid public scandal—he's from Joliet and unassuming. He doesn't care about money. He'd let them have whatever they demanded and keep quiet.

But it wasn't Denny's Senior Pastor who decided whether his story of being falsely accused and extorted was true. It was the FBI. And like forensic accountants, FBI men and women don't believe ingenuousness is next to godliness. They think it's sloth and they know if they give in to this weakness, they'll be useless in protecting...

Some years ago, I was speaking to a middle-aged woman who had been raised in a pious Christian home, sent to a good Christian liberal arts college, married a handsome young man entering the ministry after getting his seminary degree at one of the finest and most conservative Evangelical seminaries, but then given herself to adultery which had marked her and her family for the past twenty years or so. She had long ago given up any pretense of Christian faith, but I appealed to her to pray to God, asking for His help. I told her God would hear her prayers. She responded with a broken question: "But what if He doesn't answer?" She added, softly, "I've tried to pray, but He doesn't answer." It was unbearable and I didn't know what to say.

Later I was speaking to her Christian brother whose faith is strong. I asked if he had any advice concerning future conversations I might have with his sister and he didn't hesitate in his response: "Did she come to God in repentance? There must be repentance." His statement didn't come out any of those sins we associate with calls to repentance today, such as unkindness, vindictiveness, bitterness, moralism, censoriousness; in general, "elder brotherhood." Rather, his comment came from an evident spirit of mourning and faithful love, and it left me very, very sad.

What is the nature of repentance? Is there false repentance, or is all repentance efficacious just like the "Trinitarian baptism" the new Presbyterian sacramentarians hold out to their followers? Should a father or mother, pastor, elder, deacon, or older woman simply comfort those souls who confess to them that they have a bad conscience, telling them that knowing our sin is half or three-quarters of the way to being forgiven; "just ask Jesus and He'll certainly forgive you."

How very enticing it is to heal the souls under our care falsely, as the shepherds of Israel did in the time of...