judges. So it’s quite a show he puts on. And quite depressing.
Mostly because, as he loves reminding us, we’re the ones
who’ve given him so much material to work with.
Under more constructive circumstances we might actually
be able to learn from it—see another option we could’ve taken
to avoid what ultimately happened, in order to not be so rash
or gullible next time. We might be able to teach from it—help
steer others who might one day face the same set of choices
(our children, for example) toward an alternate ending that’s
likely to result in something more favorable for them. But in the
hands of the enemy, it’s always a horror film—run from it, hide
from it—keep living and reliving it, over and over again. With
no resolution, just a persistent dread and heartache. Never out
of range from his cackling, accusing reappearance. Always at
risk of having it jump up and scare us, just when we thought
we and God had finally settled it for good.
And that’s how, instead of living with assurance, we
become bombarded with shame. Instead of celebrating God’s
grace, we feel undercut by continual guilt over the same old
things. Instead of experiencing the ongoing, residual blessings
of being regenerated by His Spirit—all things new—we’re
caught in the spin cycle of ceaseless regrets.