The Distance
I hate sin for a different reason. I hate sin because it has separated you and I. There is a distance now.
I believe firmly in honest conversation. I so badly want those who are older than I, to share some word of truth with me. To help me, mend me, to notice a hitch in my gait. To point out the fault in my ways.
And your sin keeps you from it. Almost every time.
Like David and Amnon. Just like them. (1 Sam. 13)
David sinned with Bathsheeba and when his own son committed a similar crime, he had nothing to stay. He recused himself.
He did… nothing. So little that Absalom took the situation into his own hands and killed Amnon.
Sin does this. Almost every time.
And we have all piled up a stack of sin. You have yours, and I have mine. And it keeps us from even going near one another. From ever sharing something of meaning. From ever trying.
To the point that when we cry, when we cry over deep hurts... Deep sin. We apologize. We apologize for our tears.
We want with every fiber to be know and to be known. And we apologize for being known. We apologize for a tear on our cheek.
I will not trust a man who will not cry with me. They have nothing for me. They don't know themselves. They aren't real, aren't honest. They are caught up in their sin. They want to be known, but their fear has overtaken their desire.
But I will cry with you. I will let the words flow through tears. I promise. Ask me and I'll tell you. I'll tell you anything, I'll tell you it all.
And then we can know, and be known. We can smile an honest smile. We can smile in the truth. And the distance. The distance is narrowed. Maybe we can be close. Maybe we would like that.
I believe firmly in honest conversation. I so badly want those who are older than I, to share some word of truth with me. To help me, mend me, to notice a hitch in my gait. To point out the fault in my ways.
And your sin keeps you from it. Almost every time.
Like David and Amnon. Just like them. (1 Sam. 13)
David sinned with Bathsheeba and when his own son committed a similar crime, he had nothing to stay. He recused himself.
He did… nothing. So little that Absalom took the situation into his own hands and killed Amnon.
Sin does this. Almost every time.
And we have all piled up a stack of sin. You have yours, and I have mine. And it keeps us from even going near one another. From ever sharing something of meaning. From ever trying.
To the point that when we cry, when we cry over deep hurts... Deep sin. We apologize. We apologize for our tears.
We want with every fiber to be know and to be known. And we apologize for being known. We apologize for a tear on our cheek.
I will not trust a man who will not cry with me. They have nothing for me. They don't know themselves. They aren't real, aren't honest. They are caught up in their sin. They want to be known, but their fear has overtaken their desire.
But I will cry with you. I will let the words flow through tears. I promise. Ask me and I'll tell you. I'll tell you anything, I'll tell you it all.
And then we can know, and be known. We can smile an honest smile. We can smile in the truth. And the distance. The distance is narrowed. Maybe we can be close. Maybe we would like that.
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