Please Don't Forgive Me

Over the summer, I got into the TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. (Yes, I know I'm a little behind.) I'm now on season 6. The other day, I watched an episode where Buffy confesses to a friend for the first time that she has been sleeping with Spike, a vampire whom she hates with every fiber of her being. Tara is reasonably concerned and doesn't condone Buffy's actions, but she does comfort her--we all make mistakes, she says; it's OK; you've been going through a lot lately. At that, Buffy breaks down and makes this pitiful plea: "Please don't forgive me." She wants to be told that something is wrong with her, that she's bad and deserves to be punished; instead, she is receiving grace, and it is more than she can take.

The scene moved me, because I know exactly how that feels. Sometimes, forgiveness can be an even heavier burden to bear than sin--or maybe that's just my prideful, fallen nature talking. But forgiveness requires confession, vulnerability, being known in your most humiliating and painful moments. No one wants to be known that well, and even when we are, we want enablers, people who will help us punish ourselves. Hurt can become familiar, comfortable even, and healing threatens to introduce unfamiliarity.

This morning, I read Luke 5:1-11, where Jesus has the fisherman cast their nets until the boats are sinking with so much fish, and then calls them to become fishers of people. In verse 8, Peter reacts a bit surprisingly to Jesus' show of power: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!"

Does Peter not know that sending Jesus away is the surest way to remain in his sin?

I bet he does. Sin is easy. Forgiveness--especially receiving it--is hard.