If we say that we have not sinned, we make Him a liar, and His word is not in us.

—1 John 1:10

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m completely biased in my esteem of my husband’s sermons.

He’s a man of few words, and his sermons are no exception. On average, they’re one single-spaced piece of paper, front and back. Those two pages are packed with deep exegesis, evidence of his rigorous and thorough preparation process, which involves translating that week’s Scripture readings, consulting multiple commentaries, reading what the early church fathers and Luther had to say about the texts, and so forth. No matter the sermon’s topic, it always ends with the hope we have in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Once in a while, my husband will lament to me that he’s dissatisfied with the way his sermon is—or isn’t—coming together. In those conversations, I tease him: “It’s not always about you, dear!” What I mean is that he doesn’t always know what someone in the congregation needs to hear, and that perhaps, through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, God can use his sermon to speak to that person.

Sure enough, what often happens is that after the service, while he greets members on their way out of the sanctuary, someone will say to him that his sermon was just what he or she needed to hear. Praise the Lord for His providence!

Although I tease my husband that it is not always about him, sometimes it is about us.

In my read through the Bible in a year plan, I’m currently in the book of Job. This morning, I read Job’s “closing argument” as the “defendant” in chapter 31, and the youngest of Job’s three friends, Elihu, begins the “prosecution’s closing argument” in chapter 32. Up to that point, the prosecution had been led by Job’s other friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar.

As I’ve wended my way through the book, I’ve lamented the way Job’s friends have acted after his tragic ordeal. Upon their arrival, they mourned with him for seven days, but then they open their mouths and start accusing him of wrongdoing that led God to punish him. My heart has ached for Job because his friends’ words were rubbing salt in his significant wounds.

But this week, something occurred to me: I have been that friend.

I’m ashamed to admit this, and I asked the Lord to forgive me for the times I’ve been more of a stumbling block and hindrance to someone in need than a support and encouragement. And this applies to my thoughts, words, and deeds.

It reminds me of a few years ago, when the summer women’s Bible study group I facilitate at our church did a study about forgiveness. A few sessions in, I shared with the ladies: “When we started this study, I thought, Oh good—this will help me learn to forgive people who have wronged me. However, I now realize this is really about the people I have wronged—and why I need to seek forgiveness from them.”

When I read or hear about injustice or other people’s wrongdoing, it gets my dander up. As it should. Yet relating to the victim shouldn’t blind me to the times that I’m the perpetrator.

In 2 Samuel 12:1–15, the prophet Nathan went to David and confronted him about his adultery with Bathsheba and murder of Uriah the Hittite. After recounting these events as a parable, which triggered David’s righteous anger toward the rich man who’d taken a poor man’s sole lamb, Nathan told the king in no uncertain terms: “You are the man!”

Yes, I have been that friend. I have been that woman.

These kinds of realizations remind me that I must continually pray to God to keep my heart soft, so His Word can convict me of my sin. Then I can repent, confess, and receive His forgiveness. For “if we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:8–9).

With love in Christ,

Amanda

xoxo

Scripture taken from the New King James Version^®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.