The entire passage about "Bobo Heaven" in Bobos in Paradise is hilarious. I wouldn't even know where to begin or end quoting it. One of these days I'm going to finish that book. Hopefully it's one of these days soon, because I've borrowed it from John for nearly a year now. "Never loan books."
Repentance is on my mind. As with sin itself, it's tempting to focus on others', but I really need to consider my own. What does it mean for me to turn from sin and to Christ? In some respects, my question is not even genuine—the meaning is self-evident; I just don't like admitting I'm not doing it, so I try to make it into something more complicated in an effort to reconcile my rebellion.
It's not working. I'm being a jerk to God and others in ways that are both chronic and gross. Though God's forgiveness is secured for me in Christ, there are few accusations that could be hurled my way that I could do much but accept as accurate. For the most part, I stay distant enough from others, God, and myself never to hear them (not everyone has this "luxury"). But I know who I am, even if I try to deny it.
I have problems, and grace doesn't make that untrue. I've stopped short of true repentance time and again, instead swiping at some imagined "Get Out of Jail Free" card even as I opt to remain a prisoner. I like the accommodations, you see, and I don't believe in God's goodness enough to leave them behind. So my rebellious reconciliation is to profess forgiveness while I hold onto my sin. And that's just not how reality works.
By God's grace I can see that, and start to ask for a heart that's really changed rather than just behavior management (or lack thereof, which is more often my case). Doesn't mean I won't stumble or struggle as a repentant man. But I first need to be honest about whether and when I've been a repentant man at all.