I’m not saying that I have already achieved these things or that I have reached perfection. But I press on to gain that for which Christ Jesus first took hold of me. Although I have not achieved it, I focus on one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end and receive the heavenly prize for which God is calling us through Jesus Christ.

Phil. 3:12-14

Last time we were together online, we entertained ourselves at the expense of poor Saul, the first human King of Israel. Unfortunately, the entertainment was somewhat short-lived, especially once we began thinking about how much like Saul we all can be. It’s a tough go trying to be clear and honest about what we are in the face of our sin. Like Saul, we are masters of the bob-and-weave, the shimmy-and-shake, and the if-only dance – the last better known as the “what might have been” syndrome.

WMHB syndrome means the temptation to express some kind of fantasy evaluation of our actions. We want to have been better than we turned out to be. We run for cover through whatever means necessary to distract attention from the truth. Maybe we shift the blame, indulge in false guilt, or outright lie about circumstances. Fortunately, the Father will have none of such silliness. As he did with Adam and Eve in Eden, he pursues us, calls us from hiding, and exposes the inadequacy of our fig leaves.

The Father rarely, if ever, is interested in telling us what might have happened if we had “only just done” such-and-so. He wants to un-Saul us. He wants to ground us in three realities: The reality of who we are without him; the reality of who he intends us to be in him; and the reality of who he is as the Shepherd who makes good on his promises and purposes. We are small enough – but not the proud, ashamed smallness that hides in the Garden or among the baggage – to merit his attention. He is great enough – and yet full of humility – to raise us up from our collapses. We have marred Paradise; he relentlessly woos us back.

How do we find freedom from WMHB disease and from Saulitis? The true anti-Saul is Jesus (good Sunday School answer). And it’s crucial to keep in mind that he is the only source of the faith that liberates us. The question is, how do we connect to the perfection of Messiah as sinners who are carriers of the contagion. I want to propose one kind of answer based on two different Scripture passages that address our predicament.

First, Psalms 130 begins with the writer confessing, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.” There is no other way to begin in our desire to be well than to have a realistic evaluation of our plight. I have recently been in several situations where either I, or friends of mine, were interacting with doctors about diagnosing a medical condition. What we – and most of us – have discovered is that some physicians are loath to be honest about what ails us. To compound matters, we are often complicit in the deception. It’s better, or so we think, to avoid the truth and live in blissful denial. The same approach bedevils us when we consider our spiritual state. We, and often those near to us, would prefer to play Emperor’s parade spectators. Nice suit you’ve got there …

But the Psalm breaks the deception. It is the prayer of an Emperor who knows his nakedness. It is a cry from the depths. It’s not from someone just a few feet from the shore who just needs a little hand to find safety. The Hebrew speaks of being covered by a flood, of drowning. Drowning in what? “If you O Lord would mark our sin …” It’s not our circumstances or other people’s fault or bad timing. It’s our own warped-ness that creates the tsunami that overwhelms us. Along with the Psalmist, we are praying across what, from our perspective, is an unfathomable gulf between his perfection and our constitutional frailty. And yet the writer is not afraid that his voice will fall into the void, “For with the Lord is found forgiveness, (v. 4) always faithful love, and perfect redemption” (v. 7).

Our second verse displays the same confidence in the face of a desperate situation. In 1 Tim. 1:15, Paul makes this declaration: “Here’s something you can count on: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, and I am the worst.” Another picture of infinite separation that only God can resolve. We have everything lining up in perfect dialectic tension: In this corner, the Son of God, righteous, glorious, surrounded by beauty. In the other, the world, populated by sinners, each of whom can stake the same claim to being the worst. The balance is exquisite. The “we” side covers the whole range of “what we have done, and what we have failed to do.” The Jesus side encompasses everything that God provides for our freedom. It negates all the regret, the wishing that we were different or better. Indeed, it makes us different and better in ways that we probably weren’t imagining or asking.

Why do we come back to this point over and over again? Because, at heart, no matter what we say about who we are as sinners, we really do want to think of ourselves as not that bad. Even when we acquiesce in the charge against us, we can be prone to do so in a way that distances ourselves from God’s gracious help. As a male human, I can remember the many times that I engage in self-pummeling to no effect (“I’m just a terrible person”) as if a generalized bad feeling could pass for virtue. The same goes for those of us who indulge in hand-wringing, unresolved guilt. Such futile exercises are just part of an entire wardrobe of fig leaves covering nothing.

Meanwhile, I have sensed for myself a word from the Lord for this year. It is a frightening question that tears the fig leaves to shreds: “Where is your heart?” An honest answer reveals the truth of words from the old hymn: “Prone to wander.” But the Father is undeterred. He persists in asking, in seeking, in knocking. I’ve come to realize that he has a dual purpose in wanting my whole heart. On the one hand, it is for my own good. On the other, he wants to have glory for himself, glory that others can see in me.

What becomes more apparent each day is that these two outcomes of the Saul-free life present a unified whole. Finding freedom from the plague of regret and self-justification releases me to glorify God for the greatness of his mercy and his sovereign grace over my life. Brining him glory increases my faith and confidence in him as it corrects and breaks down the idols and idol worship that compete with my surrender to him as my true God and Lord. In the end, more and more my answer to the question, “Where is your heart” can be “steadfastly set on you.”

So long, Saul.