Sin Messes Everything Up
I don’t think I will ever forget it. It was Mrs. Frank’s second period class. She was a stern, but kind woman. I liked her, in fact. She had been gone for a few days and we’d had a substitute teacher (whose name I’ve conveniently forgotten). And, you know, subs just don’t always know what’s up. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember what I did: I lied. And, whatever I lied about, it let me and my classmates get out of doing something that we were supposed to.
When Mrs. Frank returned, it didn’t take long for her to figure things out. And boy did she let me have it. Not, mind you, in a gentle and discreet way. I got both barrels. In front of the whole class, as I remember it. I can feel that moment even now. The intensity of her anger. The sting of her rebuke. The discomfort of her displeasure. My stomach, warning that my breakfast was about to make an escape.
Maybe you’ve wronged someone and felt that too—nausea, weakness in the knees, shame burning a hole in your side, the desperate desire to snap your fingers and disappear.
And then there were the consequences. The principal’s office. The dreaded call to my parents. Sitting on the curb at recess—not once, but for the whole week! My friends keeping their distance. Enduring the ridicule from my fourth-grade enemies. That week might as well have been an eternity for a ten-year-old.
Regrettably, things were never the same for me and Mrs. Frank after that. I felt pained when I saw her—being, as it was, that I never quite owned up to what I’d done.
I didn’t yet have the categories for sin as an offense against God and others. I just knew that, for some reason, every time I saw her in the hallway, I felt that pained sickness return. Not because I despised her—but because I had wronged her—and my classmates, and my parents, and that poor, nameless, substitute teacher. But I couldn’t work out what was to be done about it. And while that fourth-grade experience was the first time I remember feeling pain because of sin, it wasn't the last time. I won’t ever forget it. And I shouldn’t.
Those feelings are a merciful reminder to me that sin messes everything up. Sin is not benign, it is malignant. It brings fearsome consequences and, oftentimes, great pain. And it is only by God’s mercy that we are saved from the wrath that is justly due us for our sin.
That’s what Psalm 38 is about. If there’s a warning in the Bible about the physical consequences, emotional anguish, and relational alienation from God and others caused by sin, then this is it. Friends, sin messes everything up. But it also reminds us that the pain that comes about in our lives as a result of sin is often God’s mercy in disguise. Because pain leads us to find refuge in Christ. So, that’s the outline:
Sin messes everything up
Pain is God’s mercy in disguise
Only God’s mercy saves us from God’s wrath
Psalm 38 is a painful Psalm to read, but we need the reminder.
In fact, that’s what the prescript says. Look at verse 0: “Of David, for the memorial offering.” Literally, the Hebrew reads: “Of David, to cause to remember.”
When we read this Psalm and see David’s pain, we’re supposed to remember the pain of our own sin—and how sin messes everything up.
Sin Messes Everything Up
Psalm 38 is a lament. We’re going to run into several Psalms like this in the coming weeks, so it might help to briefly define what a lament is. A lament is simply a prayer in pain that leads to trust. Almost all the laments in the Bible have the same features. In the midst of pain, the person (1) turns to God in prayer, (2) brings his complaint, (3) asks for relief, (4) and trusts that God will answer.
Sometimes we experience pain because others sin against us. The Bible gives us laments for times like that. In Psalm 55, David turns to God in prayer because he has been betrayed by his closest friend. He is in deep emotional anguish and his physically in danger from enemies who are seeking his life. His pain is the result of being sinned against.
But sometimes we experience pain because of our sin against God and others. And the Bible gives us laments for time like those, too. In Psalm 38, David’s pain is because of his sin. This is his lament over personal sin. Look at vv 3-4:
There is no health in my bones because of my sin. For my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden they are too heavy for me.
As he eased into sin’s shallows, perhaps David thought, “I can handle this. No one needs to know.” But the dark waves were soon washing over him. Above his hopes, his strength, his life itself—his sin rises in terror. He is utterly sunk under the flood of his own iniquities.
His sin has led him not to green pastures or still waters, but to the very precipice of destruction. No longer able to ignore the pain, he stands, looking over the edge, realizing the catastrophe about to come—and wanting to go back. Look at vv 17-18
For I am ready to fall, and my pain is ever before me. I confess my iniquity and I am sorry for my sin.
Throughout the Psalm, David describes the physical, emotional, and relational consequences of his sin in graphic detail. He says, there is no “soundness in my flesh” or “health in my bones” (v3). The phrase, “no soundness in my flesh,” which he repeats in verse 7, can be translated “my whole body is sick.” The wounds that his sin has brought about “stink and fester” (v5) and his “sides are filled with burning” (v7).
Added to the physical suffering is his emotional anguish. David is “burdened beyond strength” (v4) and “utterly bowed down and prostrate” (v6). His suffering is such that he is like a dazed man, utterly humiliated by his plight, who (v6) goes about his whole day in a state of mourning. He feels (v8) “feeble and crushed”, literally “roaring because of the groaning of my heart.”
Not only is he in physical and emotional pain, his sin has alienated him from his closest relationships. Look at v 11:
My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague, and my nearest kin stand far off.
His enemies are watching his pain (v12), ready to seize the advantage when he goes over the cliff. They say that he is ruined. The wicked (v 20), even say that this suffering has come upon him because he follows after God. Essentially, they are saying “this pain is punishment from the Lord—it’s what you get when you follow after him.”
The physical, emotional, and relational consequences of his sin have so deadened his soul that David is nearly useless to himself and to others. Look at vv 13-14
I am like a deaf man; I do not hear. Like a mute man, I cannot open my mouth. Truly, I am like a man who cannot hear. And whose mouth can make no reply.
Friends, don’t be fooled. You may be tempted to think that your secret sin has little effect on your life or the life of others. But this is what sin really does. When we cultivate sin in the garden of our soul, like a wicked weed it spreads its branches and chokes out our spiritual life. There are no exceptions. Psalm 38 is a warning of the dire consequences of personal sin. Sin messes everything up.
No one in history labored more diligently to unpack the nature and effects of sin in the Christian life than 17th century pastor, John Owen (1616-1683). Listen to how he describes David’s condition in Psalm 38:
If [sin] has lain long corrupting in your heart, if you have suffered it to abide in power and prevalency, without attempting vigorously the killing of it and the healing of the wounds you have received by it for some long season, your [sickness] is dangerous. Have you permitted worldliness, ambition, greediness…or uncleanness to defile your heart with vain and foolish and wicked imaginations for many days? So was the case with David…When a lust has lain long in the heart, corrupting, festering, infecting it brings the soul to a woeful condition.[1]
For eight years, Owen was Chancellor of Oxford University and regularly preached to college students in its chapel. His sermons eventually became a book, Overcoming Sin and Temptation. In it, Owen describes five things that happen when we are cultivating rather than killing sin in our life.
First, sin weakens our soul and deprives it of strength: “An unmortified lust” Owen says, “will drink up the spirit and all the vigor of the soul and weaken it for all duties.”[2] Cultivated, unmortified sin, makes us less interested in prayer, less motivated for spiritual exercise, less eager for spiritual conversation, less active in doing good to our neighbors.
Second, sin replaces the love of God with love of itself: Owen says that sin, “lays hold of the affections, making itself beloved and desirable and so expelling the love of the Father, so that the soul cannot say uprightly and truly to God, “you are my portion,” having something else that it loves.” When we give space to things we know dishonor God, lingering over an evil thought, cultivating a grudge, assuming the worst about someone else—we shouldn't be surprised to find our affection for Christ cooling.
Third, sin occupies our thoughts with tactics to acquire more of it: “Thoughts are the great purveyors [suppliers] of the soul,” Owen says, “to bring in provision to satisfy the soul’s affections, and if sin remains unmortified in the heart, [our thoughts] must ever and always be making provision for the flesh, to fulfill the lusts thereof.[3]” Our mind is created to refresh our soul with thoughts of God—his beauty, faithfulness, truthfulness, loving-kindness, holiness. But sin often chokes out those thoughts and occupies us in self-centeredness and worldliness.
Fourth, sin breaks loose and hinders our Christian walk: Owen writes, “the ambitious man must always be scheming, the worldly man must always be manipulating, the sensual and vain man providing for himself vanity, when they should be engaged in worship of God.” Sin hinders our spiritual life by stealing the time, energy, and affection we need to walk with Christ.
Finally, sin darkens our soul: “It is a cloud, a thick cloud, that spreads itself over the face of the soul and intercepts all the beams of God’s love and favor. It takes away all sense of the privilege of our adoption, and if the soul begins to gather up thoughts of comfort in Christ, sin quickly scatters them.”
Friends, sin messes everything up—if we are cultivating rather than killing sin, be assured, sin will choke out our affection for Christ. Be killing sin or it will be killing you. There is no third option.
Maybe, like David, you are trapped in sin, and it is crushing you like a vise. You are so eaten up by your iniquities, so weak, so tired that you can’t even think. The rebukes and exhortations of others fall deaf on your ears. You have stopped preaching the gospel to yourself and you have nothing of help to say to others. The physical sickness, the emotional anguish, the relational alienation is a message. The pain you feel, like an arrow to the heart, is designed to tell you that something is wrong. Pain is God’s mercy in disguise.
Pain is God’s Mercy in Disguise
That pain I felt when I saw Mrs. Frank in the hallway was a mercy. It told me that something was wrong—that my deceit was wrong. That pain showed me my sin. And, like an arrow, it lanced my infected heart. Friends, pain is God’s mercy in disguise.
David knows that the pain he is experiencing—the sickness that has overtaken him—has come from the Lord. Look at verse 1:
O, Lord rebuke me not in your anger nor discipline me in your wrath! For your arrows have sunk into me, and your hand has come down on me.
The suffering David is experiencing has come from the Lord. It is YHWH’s arrows that have pierced him and it is YHWH’s hand that rests heavy on him.
Sometimes it feels like God is killing us. The pain we feel because of our own sin or because of the sin of others can tear at our very heart. We feel as though we are under attack—trembling under a hail of arrows. But God is an expert marksman. He doesn't shoot to kill us, he shoots to kill what is in us. His arrows are painful—but that pain is his mercy in disguise.
The author of the letter to the Hebrews says that God’s corrective discipline in our lives is one evidence that we are his sons and daughters. Listen to Hebrews 12:7–11:
God is treating you as sons….If you are left without discipline…then you are illegitimate children and not sons. We have had earthly fathers who disciplined us, and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits, and live? For [our earthly fathers] disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. For the moment, all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness for those who have been trained by it.
Here is how Jesus says it, in John 15:
I am the true vine and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch of mine that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit, he prunes, that it may bear more fruit…By this my Father is glorified: that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples (Jn 15:1–2, 8).
Pruning is painful. A skilled gardener always cuts off more than novice gardeners think he should. Pruned vines may look sore—but, stripped of wanton growth, they grow strong and fruitful. And God’s arrows, sunk deep into the heart of our sin, kill what would kill us. They destroy what replaces our affections and eats up our time and darkens our soul. Spurgeon writes,
In truth, God shoots at our sins rather than us, and those who feel his sin-killing shafts in this life, shall not be slain with his hot thunderbolts in the next.
Make no mistake. God is angry over sin—because sin deludes, deafens, debilitates, and destroys. At the very heart of sin is the elevation of created things over the Creator, who is blessed forever. Sin is being satisfied with the shadow, rather than the substance. Sin is choosing earthly life on our terms over eternal life (both here now and there then) on the terms of the One who created us for relationship with himself. Sin promises what only God has power to deliver. Sin is a cheat, a defrauder, a beguiler. God is all hope, all joy, all mercy, all comfort, all peace, all satisfaction.
So, when we feel his sin-piercing arrows—painful as they may be—we know that his corrective discipline is saving us from eternal wrath. For he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness (Acts 17.31). That is why Paul says to the Corinthians, “Behold, now is the favorable time, now is the day of salvation.” Therefore, if you aren’t trusting him for forgiveness and refuge and eternal life, “We implore you, on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God! For our sake, he made him to be sin who knew no sin in order that we might become the righteousness of God” (2Cor 6:1; 5:20-21).
Do you feel David’s pain? Your neglect of your spouse. The rude word you said to a hurting brother. The unethical compromise you made at your workplace. The website you looked at that you shouldn’t have. The relationship with your girlfriend that has become sexually immoral. The growing resentment against your dad, or brother, or sister, or mother. A growing devotion to toys or leisure or winning or independence. That pain you feel is God’s mercy in disguise.
Are you sick? Listen to me very carefully. Not every sickness is a result of sin. David is sick because of his sin. In other words, sickness can be a result of sin. Paul tells the Corinthians that their sin against one another is reason that some of them are sick and even some of them have died (1Cor 11:30). The Lord can and does discipline through sickness. Listen to James 5:13-15:
Is any among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing praise. Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up. And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven.
James clearly believes there are situations where sickness has come about because of sin. And so, while not every sickness is the result of sin, every sickness is a call to self-examination. “Lord, is there anything that has not been brought out into the light?” James goes on to say, “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16).
Don’t ignore pain. Don’t write off sickness. God wounds to heal. God afflicts to restore. Pain is God’s mercy in disguise.
Only the mercy of God can save us from the wrath of God.
David is in pain because of his sin—and what does he do? He doesn’t promise to do better. He doesn’t plead the merits of an otherwise righteous life. He doesn't try to find relief in entertainment or work or self-harm or sex.
In his pain, he turns to God for salvation. Only the mercy of God can save us from the wrath of God. Rather than murmuring to himself, or grousing with a friend, or venting his spleen on social media, he brings his complaint to God, (v1): “Lord, do not continue rebuking me in your anger or disciplining me in your wrath!” David knows that God has afflicted him on account of his sin. God’s arrows have pierced him, God’s hand has rested heavy on him. And David also knows that pain is God’s mercy in disguise, prompting him to go to the only place where help is to be found:
He turns to the Lord in faith (v15):
But for you, O LORD, do I wait; it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer.
He unburdens his heart (v18):
I confess my iniquity; I am sorry for my sin.
He confesses and he trusts God for help. Look at vv21-22.
Do not forsake me, O Lord! O my God, be not far from me! Make haste to help me, O Lord, my salvation.
David’s prayer in pain leads to trust. When we recognize our sin and our need for help, we turn in faith to the only one who can help. The one who has promised us that “when we sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Christ Jesus the righteous. He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world” (1Jn 2.1).
The pain we feel because of sin is God’s mercy in disguise. It prompts us to examine ourselves, to remember that we belong to God in Christ, to confess, and make war against sin in our lives. And it reminds us that salvation from sin is found only in the mercy of God in Jesus Christ our Savior.
In closing, I want to speak, especially, to two people this morning.
If you are a struggling sinner who feels discouraged by your slow progress in the battle against sin, remember this morning that the LORD God, the creator of heaven and earth, is on your side. He has called you before the foundation of the earth to be his son or daughter. He loves you with an enduring and immeasurable love.
And, at the Cross, he secured you forever by the blood of Christ Jesus. His righteousness is yours. His victory over sin and death is yours. His sanctifying, comforting, empowering Spirit is yours. Friend, remember that your adoption and your justification are the cause, not the effect of your sanctification. Press on in putting sin to death knowing that Christ Jesus has made you his own.
Or, if you are sitting here this morning thinking, “Pastor Ryan, you have no idea what I have done. I’ve done unspeakable things. There’s no way that God can accept me” or “I’ve walked away from Christ, I’m too far gone.”
If that is you, friend, listen closely. The pain you feel right now is God’s mercy in disguise. And the moment we are at our worst, when we could not be more detestable, more distant, more dirty, or more damnable, is the very moment when Jesus’s love is the greatest. It is the moment when his power to save is the strongest.
The Lord Jesus himself says to you:
Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Matt 11:28).
You don’t need to clean yourself up. If you have a burden, you are qualified. All you need to do is to go to him, because he says in John 6.37, “whoever comes to me, I will never cast out.” Friend, do not wait. Today is the day of salvation.
The Table
For all of us who sin and need mercy, Jesus is enough. There is salvation in no other name.
And that is what we remember at this table. Peter tells us in 1 Peter 3:18, “Christ suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit.” When we celebrate the Lord’s supper, we remember what Paul tells us that “in him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according the riches of his grace” (Eph 1.7). And so this moment is holy and sobering. Because it is only for those who have, indeed, trusted in Christ for righteousness. If you are trusting in Jesus this morning, you are invited to this table. But if you haven’t yet sought salvation in him, seek him now and let the let the bread and cup pass by.
His body is true bread. His blood is true drink. Let us serve you.
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[1] John Owen, Overcoming Sin and Temptation (Crossway Books, 2006), 90.
[2] Owen, 64.
[3] Owen, 65.