My eyes filled with tears when I heard the sermon subject: Gentleness. The irony was too much to bear. On our way to church, I was the opposite of gentle. I had snapped at my husband Chris. Twice. I knew I had spoken harshly and that I was wrong, but instead of just apologizing, I ended up defending what I’d said (and the critical tone in which I had said it), which only added insult to injury.
When we arrived at church, I didn’t want to go in. I was irritated and disappointed with myself. I felt like a poser singing worship songs and greeting people with a fake smile. When the sermon started, I wanted to crawl under my seat. My face felt hot, and I wondered what Chris must be thinking. Worst of all, my husband is the gentlest person I know. Even after thirty years of marriage, he rarely loses his temper, uses sarcasm, or corrects me. Gentleness comes easily and naturally to him, a businessman who works in a secular field and wasn’t a Christ follower until later in life.
I’m a Christian speaker and author who went to seminary. I’m in ministry and made a profession of faith in middle school. Although I know that Jesus’ forgiveness of my sins has nothing to do with how I behave, I sat in that pew feeling defeated. I know that Rom. 3:10b says, “There is no one righteous, not even one,” but I wondered why Chris so effortlessly responds gently, but I default to harshness. I trust Acts 13:39a that says, “Through him everyone who believes is set free from every sin” and I’ve memorized Ps. 103:12, “as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.” But when I continually hurt the people that I love the most it’s difficult for my heart to receive what my mind believes.
What do we do when the weight of our repeated failures feels bigger than the cross? How do we experience Christ’s forgiveness when the shame and embarrassment of hurting others causes us to lose hope? As I tearfully prayed these questions sitting in that church pew, God answered. He gave me tangible grace and truth when I felt hopeless. How? By bringing to mind, as I prayed, another verse I’d once memorized: “What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?” (1 Cor. 4:7). The Spirit lovingly reminded me in that verse that my husband didn’t have to study or strive to be gentle. God equips all of us differently according to the grace given each of us (Rom. 12:6a). Although I was convicted to ask the Lord for help responding gentler in the future, the Spirit used this passage to remind me I did not need to condemn myself.
What’s the difference between condemnation and conviction? Romans 2:4b says that God’s kindness leads us toward repentance. Conviction sounds kind, patient, and loving. Conversely, Rev. 12:10 says that Satan accuses Christ followers “day and night.” When we mess up and the voice in our head sounds like a bully, that’s condemnation.
When you lose your temper or are judgmental and you can’t seem to stop, what does the voice of correction in your head sound like? Does it lovingly remind you that you’re already forgiven in Christ, or does it reprimand your inability to improve? Does it make you focus on or forget the cross? If you’re quick to beat yourself up, remind yourself about the truth of God’s Word and ask the Lord for help believing it, especially when you can’t see or feel it. That will give you hope and freedom. The Bible centers our heart and our hope on the truth that Christ died to ensure no one can condemn those who love Him, not even ourselves.
For Further Study:
📖 Read:
💭 Reflect:
When I mess up, do I respond with self-condemnation or with godly sorrow that leads to change?
What does grace sound like in my own heart?
🙏 Pray:
Jesus, thank You for setting me free from condemnation. Help me to hear Your voice over the accuser’s and to walk confidently in Your grace. Amen.
