Imagine you’re driving down a familiar road. You’ve driven it a hundred times. You know every curve, every turn, and probably every pothole along the way. Then, suddenly, you see a sign that reads, “BRIDGE OUT AHEAD. DETOUR.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to take the detour. I might complain about it. I might wonder how much longer it’s going to take me to get where I’m going. I might even question why they couldn’t have fixed the bridge before I needed to cross it. But I’m not going to keep driving toward a bridge that isn’t there. That would be stupid, frankly.
Imagine ignoring the warning, driving straight into the gap where the bridge used to be, and then, from the bottom of the ravine, saying, “I’m sorry.” Sorry isn’t going to put the bridge back. It isn’t going to get your car out of the ravine, and it certainly isn’t going to undo your decision to ignore the warning. The problem wasn’t that you didn’t know the bridge was out. The problem was that you saw the warning and decided you knew better.
This morning at Thompson Station Church, Pastor Sam preached a message titled “Revival Happens Through Repentance.” As he talked about the difference between apologizing and repenting, I found myself thinking about a conversation I had with one of my children years ago. The more I thought about that conversation, the more I realized that sometimes I’m not much different from that child.
I Don’t Want Your Sorry
Years ago, when one of my children was either a preteen or teenager, we had a recurring problem. I don’t even remember what the particular behavior was anymore. What I remember is having the same conversation over and over again. Something would happen, we’d talk about it, I’d explain why it was wrong or why it needed to stop, and I’d hear those familiar words: “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Then, before too long, we’d be right back where we started. Same behavior, same conversation, and the same apology. Finally, out of frustration, I said something that has stuck around in our house ever since. “I don’t want your sorry. I want you to change what you’re doing so you don’t have to keep telling me you’re sorry.”
Now, don’t misunderstand me. I wasn’t trying to teach my child that apologizing was a bad thing. I was gently fussed at by my wife for saying it actually. I do in fact believe being able to admit you’re wrong and apologize is an important part of growing up.
But I wanted the apology to mean something. I wanted there to be remorse, an understanding of what had happened, and a genuine desire to do better. Saying “I’m sorry” should carry some weight, especially when you’re saying it to someone you’ve hurt or disappointed.
Sometime later, I overheard that same child talking to Karen. In the middle of their conversation, I heard, “Daddy doesn’t want my sorry. He wants me to change what I’m doing.” Well, at least I knew he’d been listening. And honestly, that conversation has helped shape the culture of our home. We still apologize. We still say we’re sorry when we’ve hurt someone or done something wrong. But we’ve tried to teach our children that those words should lead to something more than another apology a few days later.
As I listened to the sermon this morning, I began thinking about how many times I’ve approached God the same way. I’ve prayed, “Lord, I’m sorry,” and I genuinely meant it. I felt remorse for what I’d done, and I wanted to do better. But then I found myself right back in the same situation, dealing with the same temptation and making the same mistake. And once again, I was asking God to forgive me.
I don’t think the problem was that I didn’t want to change. I did. The problem was that I convinced myself I could handle the temptation the next time it came around. I thought I was strong enough to recognize it, resist it, and walk away. Deep down, though, I knew better. I’d already seen what happened when I tried to handle things on my own, yet I kept putting myself in the same situation. Ignoring detour signs and driving straight toward the big gap in the road.
I knew where the bridge was out. I’d seen the warning sign. Somehow, I still thought I could make it across.
The Detour Is There for a Reason
One of the things Pastor Sam emphasized this morning was that repentance begins with humility. Second Chronicles 7:14 speaks of God’s people humbling themselves, praying, seeking His face, and turning from their wicked ways. Something Sam pointed out that I think is important is that God was addressing His people. He wasn’t speaking to the rest of the world or to those people we like to point fingers at when we’re talking about everything that’s wrong with society. He was speaking to His own people, and that means we need to pay attention.
It’s easy to look around and find someone whose behavior makes ours look pretty good. We can compare ourselves to other people and convince ourselves that we’re doing just fine. We might not be perfect, but at least we’re not doing what somebody else is doing. The problem with that thinking is that other people aren’t our standard. Jesus is. And while we will never reach His perfection on this side of heaven, that doesn’t mean we stop striving to become more like Him. It means we recognize how much we need Him and how far short we fall when we depend on ourselves.
I remember a pastor from my childhood, Brother Paul Woodford. He was animated, funny, and had a gift for illustrations that stayed with you long after the sermon ended. Whenever he preached about repentance, he’d walk across the front of the church in one direction, stop, turn completely around, and start walking the other way. It was a simple illustration, but I’ve remembered it for decades because it made the meaning of repentance so clear.
Repentance isn’t merely feeling bad about where we’ve been walking. It’s recognizing that we’re headed in the wrong direction and turning around. It’s not enough to acknowledge that the road we’re traveling is dangerous if we have every intention of continuing down that same road. We have to be willing to change direction, even when the new direction isn’t the one we originally wanted to take.
Think about that detour sign again. The alternate route might take longer. It might be inconvenient, and it might take us through places we’d rather not go. But the detour exists for a reason. It’s there to keep us from driving into a hole where a bridge used to be. We might not appreciate the extra miles, but we’d certainly appreciate arriving at our destination in one piece.
God’s direction for our lives works much the same way. He doesn’t warn us about sin because He’s trying to keep us from enjoying life. He warns us because He knows where that road leads. Romans 6:23 reminds us that the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. When we consider those two destinations, it seems like the choice should be obvious. Why would anyone knowingly choose the dangerous road when God has shown us a better way?
And yet, I do it. I suspect I’m not alone.
Sometimes the Holy Spirit makes it clear that we need to stop, turn around, or walk away. We recognize the warning because we’ve been down that road before. We remember the consequences from the last time we ignored it, and we know exactly what could happen if we continue. But we convince ourselves that this time will be different. This time we’re strong enough. This time we can handle it without falling into the same trap.
Then we find ourselves asking for forgiveness again. The problem isn’t that God’s warning wasn’t clear. It’s that we thought we knew better. We trusted our own ability to withstand temptation instead of trusting the One who was telling us to avoid it in the first place.
When Our Children Are Sick
There’s another picture from this morning’s sermon that stayed with me. If you’re a parent, you know what it’s like to be awakened in the middle of the night by a sick child. Maybe there’s a fever, maybe somebody’s stomach hurts, or maybe there’s a little voice standing beside your bed saying, “Daddy/Mama, I don’t feel good.”
Karen and I have experienced plenty of those nights with four children. And when one of them needs us, we get up. We don’t stop to consider whether we might catch whatever they’ve got. We don’t tell them to come back when they’re feeling better, and we certainly don’t send them away because we don’t want to be bothered. We take care of them because they’re our children and they need us.
Sometimes that means holding them while they don’t feel well. Sometimes it means carrying them back to bed, sitting beside them, or spending half the night making sure they’re comfortable. We know there’s a chance we might get sick, too. In fact, with four children, there have been plenty of times when sickness seemed to make its way through the entire house. But the possibility of getting sick doesn’t stop us from loving our children or being there when they need us.
Now think about Jesus. We come to Him carrying sin, shame, guilt, and the consequences of decisions we knew we shouldn’t have made. Sometimes we’ve ignored the warnings He gave us, and sometimes we’ve repeated the very behavior we promised we would avoid. Yet when we come to Him in genuine repentance, He doesn’t turn us away.
Unlike us, Jesus cannot be infected by sin. He is holy, yet He willingly came into our broken world, took our sins upon Himself at the cross, and made forgiveness and restoration possible. First John 1:9 tells us that when we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. We don’t have to clean ourselves up before we come to Him. We come because He’s the only One who can make us clean.
That brings me to something else I’ve been thinking about. When Adam and Eve sinned in the Garden of Eden, the first thing they did when they heard God approaching was hide. The very God they had enjoyed fellowship with was suddenly the One they were trying to avoid. They knew they’d done wrong, and rather than running toward Him, they tried to conceal themselves.
We still do that, don’t we? We know we’ve done wrong, and instead of running toward God, we sometimes pull away from Him. We allow shame or guilt to convince us that we need to get ourselves together before we can approach Him again. But that’s exactly backward. Just as I wouldn’t turn away from one of my sick children, Jesus doesn’t turn away from those who come to Him seeking forgiveness. He is the One we need most, especially when we’ve made a mess of things.
Maybe Revival Starts With Me
When we hear the word revival, we often imagine something big. We picture a church filled with people, an altar crowded with those responding to God’s Word, a community transformed, or maybe even a nation turning back to God. Those are wonderful things to pray for, and I certainly hope to see them happen.
But this morning reminded me that revival doesn’t begin with pointing out everybody else’s sin. It begins with examining my own heart. It begins when I stop comparing myself to other people and start looking at my life in light of who Jesus is and what He’s called me to be. It begins when I acknowledge that there are areas of my life where I’ve been ignoring the warning signs and trusting my own strength instead of depending on Him.
James 4:10 tells us to humble ourselves before the Lord, and He will lift us up. That means acknowledging that I don’t have everything under control. It means recognizing that the temptations I think I can withstand are often the very ones that trip me up. It means listening when the Holy Spirit tells me the bridge is out and being willing to take the detour, even when I don’t particularly like the route.
I don’t believe God expects us to achieve sinless perfection through our own efforts. If we could do that, we wouldn’t need a Savior. But He does call us to repent, to turn away from sin and turn toward Him. Not because He’s waiting for an opportunity to punish us, but because He loves us and knows where that road leads. His warnings aren’t meant to rob us of something good. They’re meant to lead us toward something better.
I think back to that conversation with my child years ago. I didn’t want to hear another apology followed by the same behavior. I wanted something better for my child. I wanted growth, maturity, and change. I wanted that child to understand that the rules and boundaries in our home weren’t there to make life miserable. They were there because we loved our children and wanted what was best for them.
God’s direction for our lives comes from a love infinitely greater than mine. He knows the dangers ahead, even when we think we can handle them. He knows our weaknesses, even when we convince ourselves we’re strong enough. And He knows that the path He’s calling us to follow is better than anything we could come up with on our own.
Maybe the question we need to ask ourselves today isn’t simply, “What do I need to apologize for?” Maybe it’s, “What has God been telling me to turn away from that I keep trying to handle on my own?” That’s a harder question because it requires more than words. It requires us to examine our hearts, acknowledge our weaknesses, and trust God enough to follow His direction.
I’m grateful that God is patient with me, because there have been plenty of times when I’ve needed His forgiveness for something I should have avoided in the first place. I’m also grateful that His grace doesn’t run out after the second, third, or hundredth time I’ve come to Him. But I don’t want to use that grace as an excuse to keep ignoring His warnings. I want to grow. I want to become more like Christ, and I want my apologies to be accompanied by a genuine willingness to change.
The warning signs may already be there. The Holy Spirit may already be prompting us to turn around, and the good news is that Jesus is ready to receive us when we do. We don’t have to keep heading toward the same broken bridge, hoping that somehow this time we’ll make it across.
Sometimes the most important thing we can do is admit that we were wrong, trust the One who knows the way, and finally take that detour.
1 Samuel 15:22 reminds us that God desires our obedience over our sacrifice. I think I’ll have to try, “I don’t want your apology I want you to change your behavior,” the next time my kid hits me…