Apology Aversion

“For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of a huge fish, so the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.” Matthew 12:40

The waves tumble like scribbled chalk lines across the blue slate ocean. I can see the whale in the distance and know he is coming for me. I dig my feet into fickle sand that is pulled out from under me. I stand defiantly linking arms across time with my brother Jonah—in repentance purgatory— under the leafy plant you provided. Do I really need to do this? The other person started it! Can’t I just feel guilty and try not to do it again?

Yes, this edits You out of the process and completely misses the point. Probably why I just got swallowed. As the whale dives down through layered hues of blue, You and I travel through the dark layers of my inadequacy. This should be fun.

To truly confess I need to stand and face You and be specific about what I have done. I have learned this after many years of vacillating between the blanket “forgive me all my sins” and the even lazier “well you already know what I did.” Being specific allows me to see the difference between my actions and Yours, which is important if I want You to change me to be more like You. In my anger this head knowledge has a shadowy substance at best but here we go…

Going to You with my sin means that I admit I did not trust You to guide me in the first place. I put the crown on my head and took over, thinking I knew best. The next layer is a path of destruction caused by doing something out of my own strength, proving I am unsuited to take over and am in desperate need of Your help. Then I have to admit my hesitation in going to You once I have messed up, which means I have a lot of growing to do and still fear the process of sanctification. 

That is a lot of unhealthy soil for you to overturn.

You remind me that even as You dig to uproot what is unhealthy in my heart, You don’t even scratch the surface of the depth of Your love for me. 

Still, it feels impossible to go to You when I mess up. 

It is even harder when the situation involves apologizing and showing grace to a fellow imperfect person. The projector starts and the scene opens on my most recent apology. This hurting person hurt me deeply and refused to apologize. I see myself praying—woefully far from being my first course of action—and remember that You revealed to me that the person did not know about Your unconditional love. You told me I would have to apologize for not being a good example of God’s love and reflecting Your heart for her. I staggered under the weight of Your version of justice. I was hurt, but I needed to apologize? It was shocking to learn I was not Your only priority. I still wanted to “hold court” and get justice for myself. You wanted to reach a person who had hardened themself to You. I begrudgingly carried out Your plan but still held onto my anger. I allowed myself that one thing and marinated in it, waiting for the person’s punishment and for justice to be done.

Hence, I am here instead of tanning on the beach.

“Is it right for you to be angry?” You say, echoing Your words to Jonah.

Good point. Did I really need to have an apology if it meant going against You and Your plan? You sit with me in my discomfort, holding Your divine watering can. The screen flickers to show Jonah under the withering plant You provided, losing his cool, so angry he wanted to die. He chooses to sit in the hot sun, angry at Your compassion for Nineveh, even when You offer him Your protection and love. Jonah and I—united in our older brother syndrome.

Then You show an image that dispels the scorching heat of anger, fear, and resentment I am roasting under—Jesus. You gently reminded me that Jesus already died for my sins and the sins of those around me. My selfishness is jarring. Did I really think Jesus’s sacrifice was just for me?

I forget in the fog of self-centeredness that He went first. Long before me, You tilled the soil of all of our lives by sending Jesus through the layers of heaven, earth, hell and back so that we could have a healthy place to be planted, surrounded by Your love. He was perfect and sinned against and He still moved forward through the process. He was a perfect reflection of Your heart no matter what happened to Him or the people who hurt Him.

Unlike Jonah, I have the benefit of Jesus’s example. It is because of Him that I can see the other side of the tilling process. After confession comes the turning away from sin to face You. I receive all Your protection and nourishment. No apology can top that. It is in that space that You change my heart and shift my appetite. Instead of choosing the scorching heat, I crave healthy soil and Your life-giving water. Then You pass on the secrets of your mighty green thumb and equip me to help nourish others. My surrender brings more than just my growth.

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.” Romans 3:23-24

Lord, thank You that Jesus led the way through the painful tilling process. Forgive my lack of understanding and gratitude for His sacrifice. I admit I am imperfect and often part of the problem instead of the solution. Help me to endure the discomfort and let You work to the end—all the way to sanctification. Remind me that Your correction is loving, leaves no root rot residue of guilt or shame, and grafts me to You. You choose to see Jesus and His perfect record when You look at me. Please give me the strength and grace to do the same for others. Amen.