Illustration by Stephane Denis/Three in a Box

• The note slid under my door and skittered across the floor of my room at the retreat center where I was the weekend speaker. "I had an abortion seven years ago," it read. "I can't forgive myself. Can you give me some hope?"

• The large gentleman wore a Jesus T-shirt and cap and carried a huge Bible, the very image of the eager Christian. "I look good on the outside," he said. "But inside there's all this ugliness. I can't forgive myself."

• A young couple, picture-perfect Christian newlyweds, stared at the floor. "We may have been virgins technically when we married," he said. "But only by the strictest definition." "We feel so guilty about the fooling around we did," she added. "We can't forgive ourselves."

Forgiving ourselves has become an accepted concept. We hear it on TV, read it in books, and are instructed from pulpits: "Forgive yourself. God can't use you until you have forgiven yourself."

At a Christian writers' conference, I related a story of some shenanigans that got me in trouble one summer as a teenager at a very strict Bible conference. Everyone laughed except one woman who looked at me very seriously. "It's obvious," she said, "that you've never forgiven yourself."

I was appalled that someone would make such a judgment about me, especially based on such a lighthearted story. I was also struck anew by the pervasiveness of the "forgive yourself" mentality.

Perhaps it's time to rethink this whole concept and evaluate it in the light of Scripture.

What does the Bible say?

Certainly the most magnificent revelation of Scripture apart from the character of God Himself is the story of redemption and forgiveness. It is the scarlet cord that threads its way through the glorious and scandalous tapestry of history. God has never shirked from the reality of our sin nor denied the harm it does to us and those we know and love. Rather He has chosen to send it away and treat us not as we deserve, but as ones bought with the sacrifice of His Son.

"When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your sinful nature, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins" (Col. 2:13).

As we read about the gracious forgiveness extended to us by God, we also read about our responsibility to forgive one another, not because people deserve our forgiveness but because we are instructed to offer it. We don't deny the wrong done to us, nor do we brood on it or suppress it. We acknowledge it and its pain, and then by choice we yield our rights to redress, to apology, to being understood. We forgive out of obedience.

"Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you" (Col. 3:13).

But nowhere in Scripture do we find instruction to forgive ourselves. I'm not certain of the reason for this silence on God's part. Perhaps it is because His forgiveness is perfect and complete, and there is no need to address any other form of forgiveness.

False Accusations

Another consideration when we talk about forgiving ourselves is the fact that all sin is an offense to God's holiness. Sin is sin in His eyes.

Certainly the consequences of some sins are more harmful than the consequences of others, but the affront to God is the same. "Your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you" (Is. 59:2). The man in the Jesus T-shirt whose heart devised evil, the young couple who rushed to wrongdoing—they are as wrong in God's eyes as the woman who shed the innocent blood of her unborn child, as wrong as the layman who stirs up feelings against his pastor.

It is we who excuse some sins, we who assign additional blame to others. God runs, as it were, an equal opportunity shop. Therefore the thing we have done that is eating us alive is no worse than the sin we readily forgive in others.

Still we struggle with the all-sins-are-equally-offensive logic because Satan, the great accuser (Rev. 12:10), knows our vulnerability and goes after us. If he can accuse us again and again of the same wrong, he can drive a great wedge between us and our Father. Instead of approaching the throne of mercy with confidence, we find ourselves coming hesitantly, apologetically. We act as if our Father is angry with us or disappointed in us when He is really accepting and forgiving, longing for our company.

Satan's accusations cripple us and make us pull away from God in needless remorse and regret. In contrast, genuine Spirit-sent guilt turns us to God in repentance, to restore the damaged relationship between Parent and child. Once confession has been made, Spirit-induced guilt disappears, its purpose accomplished. If guilt continues beyond confession, it is not of God.

"Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water" (Heb. 10:22).

Receive what is already yours.

When we worry about forgiving ourselves, we demonstrate a view of God's forgiveness that is too low and a view of ourselves that is too high.

When Christ died on the cross, He washed us of all our sins. All. Every single one. When we believed, He forgave us entirely. Absolutely. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness" (1 Jn. 1:9).

The blood of Christ isn't like bleach, which makes the stain seem to disappear when in reality it still exists, visible in certain kinds of light. Jesus' cleansing is total, His forgiveness absolute.

If we insist on forgiving ourselves, we are saying—intentionally or not—that the atonement wasn't sufficient. The stain still lingers, visible to our perceptive eye, and only we can deal with it. We are telling God, "I'm sorry. It's not that I don't appreciate what Jesus did for me. I really do, and I mean no offense. But I have to forgive myself, or this issue in my life isn't properly handled."

If we think carefully about such a mind-set, we will be struck by our egotism. Jesus can't do it all. He needs my help.

I have a memory with which I struggled for a long time. Regret mingled with guilt, and any time the memory came to mind, I was spiritually paralyzed, even though I had not fallen into that particular sin in many years. I felt like David when he cried, "My guilt has overwhelmed me like a burden too heavy to bear" (Ps. 38:4).

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" I'd cry time after time.

Then in one of those wonderful moments of God-granted insight, I realized I had no need to ask forgiveness for that particular sin. It had been forgiven years ago, and I had forsaken it. Every time I cried anew for release from guilt, I was denying the effectiveness of Christ's death. How dare I demean forgiveness bought at so great a price!

This insight was the first step in claiming what was already mine as a child of God.

What freedom there is when we accept God's forgiveness as sufficient, when we act on what we say we believe.

Deliverance

I shared many of these thoughts with the women at the retreat, hoping to touch the heart of the woman who had written the anonymous note about her abortion. I scanned the crowd, wondering to whom I was speaking.

On Sunday afternoon, when everyone was saying good-bye, a young woman shook my hand.

"Thank you for coming," she said. Then she leaned in and hugged me. "And thank you," she whispered in my ear, "for answering my question and giving me hope."

Gayle G. Roper is a teacher, speaker, and writer who has had 21 books published, including Balancing Your Emotions (Harold Shaw). She says, "For years I've listened to women talk about guilty consciences and forgiving themselves. The doctrinal unease I felt resulted in a Bible study on God's forgiveness."

Most people would be surprised to know that Gayle is an introvert. On her days off, she likes to sleep, read mysteries, and take herself out for lunch.