Cheap Repentance

Consider the word “repent.”  As I have heard in numberless sermons, it means turning away from your past sins, expressing sorrow for those past sins, asking for forgiveness for those sins you committed in the past, vowing never again to do those sins, and so on.  So far, so good.

Then, there is the three step process: Repent, accept forgiveness, move on.  Periodically, you need to repeat the process (after all, you will sin again).  Every now and then you pause, think about how bad you have been, and then be glad you are forgiven, and move on.

Enter Augustine:

Such was my heart, O God, such was my heart. You had pity on it when it was at the bottom of the abyss. Now let my heart tell you what it was seeking there in that I became evil for no reason. I had no motive for my wickedness except wickedness itself. It was foul, and I loved it. I loved the self-destruction, I loved my fall, not the object for which I had fallen but my fall itself. My depraved soul leaped down from your firmament to ruin. I was seeking not to gain anything by shameful means, but shame for its own sake. 

Now that is repentance. 

Here is what fascinates me.  I have read that paragraph from Augustine many times over the years.  I’ve read it aloud many time in classes discussing the book.  Last week, I read it in a reading group when we were talking about repentance.  Everyone agrees that Augustine is really repenting here.

But, is that a good model for repentance?  Because, as one student put it, it is a bit over the top. 

Now add in the fact that the great sin for which he was repenting was stealing some pears off a tree.  Does that ridiculously trivial sin require that much repentance? 

Then add in the fact that this passage was not written the day after he stole the pears, or a week later or a month later—it was written 30 years later.  Does he still need to repent for a three decade old event in his life, an episode of youthful indiscretion?

Suddenly the word “repent” becomes rather difficult to define.  If what Augustine is doing is an example of true repentance, then that thing I and everyone else I know has been doing for years barely qualifies.  We could even call what we have all been doing “Cheap Repentance.”  Sure, many times I have thought “I wish I had not done that. Sorry, God!” And then I moved on as if nothing had happened.  Augustine and I are playing in different ballparks here.

But, wait, there is more.  Augustine is not only repenting of the pear stealing episode.  There is also this:

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Yet, for an infant of that age, could it be reckoned good to use tears in trying to obtain what it would have been harmful to get, to be vehemently indignant at the refusals of free and older people and of parents or many other people of good sense who would not yield to my whims, and to attempt to strike them and to do as much injury as possible? There is never an obligation to be obedient to orders which it would be pernicious to obey. So the feebleness of infant limbs is innocent, not the infant’s mind.

Yep. Augustine repents of the sin of being selfish when he was an infant. Do I need to do that too? (Suffice it to say, the students in the discussion had a hard time believing that they needed to repent of the sins of being a selfish toddler.)

The first instinct is to simply dismiss all this as Augustine using his autobiography to foolishly wallow in his own guilt. Indeed, he tipped us off in the title: the book is Confessions.  He is, therefore, confessing his sins.

But, the focus of the book is not his sin; the focus of the book isn’t even Augustine.  He doesn’t want you thinking about him at all; he wants you to be thinking about God.  The entire book points toward God, not Augustine.

The direction the book points is the key.  Augustine is confessing all these sins to point our attention to the God who forgives all these sins.  Augustine wants to convince you that he is not good, that he is really wicked.  “Don’t admire me,” Augustine says. “Admire God.”

So that makes sense of the tone of the book.  But, what do I do about repentance?  If what Augustine is doing is a model of repentance, then why don’t I repent like that?  Why do we in the church talk about repentance like it is a simple thing; you do it and then you accept the forgiveness of God?  You confess your sin, say a few quick prayers, and then we are all done here. 

Do I really have to examine the depths of the depravity of my heart all the time, thinking about the sins I committed not just in the last week, but over my whole lifetime, and repenting of them even today?

Reading Augustine, it is hard to believe in the lazy cheap repentance we find so appealing, that it is easy to repent and get the nice thrill of forgiveness.  On the other hand, though, continually repenting of the sins of my infancy seems so tiresome.  When do I get to stop repenting? 

Augustine says, “Never.” 

Augustine’s answer is surely right.  We cheapen repentance when we make it easy.

This is undoubtedly why, sitting in a room of thoughtful students, constantly probing to come up with a definition of repentance, repentance comes off as such a trivial thing. Everyone knows it isn’t a trivial thing.  But, the rhetoric surrounding repentance in the modern age sure makes it sound like a trivial thing.  Every person in the room had a definition of repentance they learned at some point; every definition collapsed under scrutiny; the notions of repentance could not stand the weight of sin.

We need a stronger definition of what it means to repent.  Why?  Because until I really come to grips with how much I need to repent and how little I actually feel compelled to repent, I can never really understand the depth of God’s love and forgiveness.  When we cheapen repentance, we cheapen grace.