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You Again The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. -Romans 7 by Nicole Panepinto At my core, I believe that redemption and renewal are possible ... for others and for myself. Very often, though, they don't really FEEL possible. Recently I've been visited by an old sin, one that I thought I had kicked, to be honest. When I first started sensing the comfortable tug of its appeal I shrugged it off (after all, my particular "sin of choice" isn't inherently bad), but in short order the tug grew more insistent, and I was intrigued ... drawn in. I felt it happening, but by the time that I admitted it to myself I had already been captured. I would imagine that you might know how this story goes. There's this passage in Romans (chapter 7) about doing the things you don't want to do instead of the ones that you do want to do. A particular translation of the Bible, called The Message, puts the idea into familiar language. It says: "Sin simply did what sin is so famous for doing: using the good as a cover to tempt me to do what would finally destroy me. By hiding within God's good commandment, sin did far more mischief than it could ever have accomplished on its own. I can anticipate the response that is coming: "I know that all God's commands are spiritual, but I'm not. Isn't this also your experience?" Yes. I'm full of myself — after all, I've spent a long time in sin's prison. What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. So if I can't be trusted to figure out what is best for myself and then do it, it becomes obvious that God's command is necessary. But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time. It happens so regularly that it's predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God's commands, but it's pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?" I do feel utterly sabotaged by sin, and yet I keep on buying in to its lies. "This time will be different," "I'm in control," "It will all be fine." The truth never takes too terribly long to come out, have you noticed? Guilt takes hold almost immediately. My pastor in St. Louis offered a powerful explanation of the difference between condemnation and conviction. He said that condemnation (which, by the way, is Satan's way of keeping us held hostage) sprays all over our life, leaving us feeling despondent and consumed. Conviction, on the other hand, is like a laser. It's God's way of pointing directly to the place in our life where we need deliverance. It is often painful, but it can represent freedom if we will respond with obedience. I know what I'm feeling on this particularly bleak Monday is condemnation. But somewhere in my desperation I am cognizant of the last part of that passage you read earlier. After Paul asks "Is there no one who can do anything for me?" he realizes this: "The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different." God, renew me ... again. I don't want to be kidnapped by this sin. Its restraints are too familiar, its cost so high. God, I believe that redemption and renewal are possible ... but they don't feel possible. Mercy, Lord. Mercy.