Psalm 51: Sin; It's Everywhere, It's Everywhere!

Sin is not hurtful because it is forbidden, but forbidden because it is hurtful.
Benjamin Franklin

Marriage is three parts love and seven parts forgiveness of sin.
Lao Tzu

Other men's sins are before our eyes; our own are behind our backs.
Seneca

Pleasure is the bait of sin.
Plato

A sin takes on new and real terror when there seems to be a chance that it is going to be found out.
Mark Twain

Do not bite at the bait of pleasure till you know there is no hook beneath it.
Thomas Jefferson

Sin is sweet in the beginning, but bitter in the end.
The Talmud

Laziness grows on people; it begins in cobwebs and ends in iron chains.
Thomas Fowell Buxton

To sin is a human business, to justify sins is a devilish business.
Tolstoy

If you have sinned, do not lie down without repentance; for the want of repentance after one has sinned makes the heart harder and harder.
John Bunyan

The beginning of atonement is the sense of its necessity.
Lord Byron

It is impossible for a man to be freed from the habit of sin before he hates it, just as it is impossible to receive forgiveness before confessing his trespasses.
Ignatius

We have a strange illusion that mere time cancels sin. But mere time does nothing either to the fact or the guilt of sin.
C.S. Lewis

Self is the root, the tree, and the branches of all the evils of our fallen state.
William Law

In short, a man must be free from the sin he is, which makes him do the sin he does.
George MacDonald

The temptation of the age is to look good without being good.
Brennan Manning

Repentance is but a denying of our will, and an opposition of our fantasies.
Montaigne

Personal sin reflected upon breeds compassion.
John M. Shanahan

People don’t do what they believe in – they just do what’s most convenient and then they repent.
Bob Dylan

I would rather feel remorse than know how to define it.
Thomas A’Kempis

Why does no one confess his sins? Because he is yet in them. It is for a man who has awoke from sleep to tell his dreams.
Seneca

All sins tend to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is damnation.
W.H. Auden

Adam ate the apple, and our teeth still ache.
Hungarian Proverb

Sin is never at a stay; if we do not retreat from it, we shall advance in it, and the farther we go, the more we have to come back.
Issac Barrow

Out of timber so crooked as that from which man is made nothing entirely straight can be built.
Immanuel Kant

We are all too Christian to really enjoy sinning, and all too fond of sin to really enjoy Christianity. Peter Marshall

Original sin is that thing about man which makes him capable of conceiving of his own perfection and incapable of achieving it.
Reinhold Niebuhr

Few love to hear the sins they love to act.
William Shakespeare

Psalm 51: What Does It have to Do with Me?

So what does it have to do with me, this poverty child? What does it have to do with me, this homeless birth in a busy town? What does it have to do with me, these shepherds searching for angel-announced hope? What does it have to do with me, this little boy wandering among the shavings of newly-planed wood? What does it have to do with me, these dirty feet from dusty paths of middle-eastern villages? What does it have to do with me, this unremarkable vagabond? What does it have to me, this traveler with his motley pack of men? What does it have to do with me, these weird sayings and mysterious stories? What does it have to do with me, this healer man with crowds of broken citizens? What does it have to do with me, these jealous leaders plotting evil? What does it have to do with me, confusing predictions about a future unclear? What does it have to do with me, these hungry crowds fed by a little boy's lunch? What does it have to do with me, prostitutes and drunkards made to feel welcome? What does it have to do with me, these courageous declarations while standing in the synagogue? What does it have to do with me, this palm branch carpet processional? What does it have to do with me, this private dinner in a rented room? What does it have to do with me, this basin unused with proud men at the table? What does it have to do with me, this dark garden echoing with painful prayer? What does it have to do with me, these three asleep, with a friend in torment? What does it have to do with me, this kiss of death with soldiers as witnesses? What does it have to do with me, these trumped-up charges by jealous men? What does it have to do with me, this bruised and bloody back? What does it have to do with me, this crown of thorns with flowers removed? What does it have to do with me, this Roman ruler washing his hands? What does it have to do with me, this cross dragged outside of the city? What does it have to do with me, this dirty, bloody man nailed to a tree? What does it have to do with me, these criminal companions hung on either side? What does it have to do with me, soldiers gambling for the accused clothes? What does it have to do with me, sword to the side to finish him off? What does it have to do with me, this scarred corpse placed in a borrowed crypt? What does it have to do with me, these women surprised at the body gone? What does it have to do with me, this story so removed, so long ago? What does it have to do with me, this one wise and suffering man? What does it have to do with me, Palestine graced, hope rejected? What does it have to do with me? This story is my story, each chapter is for me. This unattractive man of humble beginning and ignominious end is the Hope of the Universe. Mercy is what it has to do with me, it is what my sin requires.

Psalm 51: Somebody Else

I really wish I could blame
somebody else.
I wish I could place the responsibility
on somebody else.
I would love to point the finger
at somebody else.
I wish I could convince myself
that it was somebody else.
I tried to feed myself the logic
that it was somebody else.
For a moment I bought my argument
that it was somebody else.
There is always another sinner
who can bear my fault.
There is always some circumstance
that can carry my blame.
There's always some factor
that made me do what I did.
There's always somewhere else to point
rather than looking at me.
But in the darkness of bedtime
the logic melts out of my heart.
In the moments before sleep
the pain begins to squeeze away my breath.
As my mind replays the day's moments
the conclusion is like a slap.
There is no monster
to hide from.
There is no excuse that holds.
My war is not external
the enemy is not outside.
The struggle rages within me,
nowhere to point or run.
No independent righteousness,
no reason for smugness or rest.
I am my greatest enemy
and rescue my only hope.
In the quiet I face it
I cannot blame somebody else.
One more time I close my eyes admitting
my only hope is found in Somebody else.