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In trying to reach this seeker, the church has been given a severely reduced pack of options. Since he is aware only of seeking comfort, it looks like that's what we have to headline in any message we send. Neither this need, nor our response, is untrue. A profound sense of unease and dislocation is indeed part of the human condition, because sin has estranged us from God. "I'm Mr. Lonely" is the theme song of everyone on Earth. The church has the only authentic solution to this problem, because we bear the Good News of reconciliation through Jesus Christ.

The problem comes when we never get around to talking about the hard part of the Good News. The problem can even be that we start forgetting it ourselves, and start believing that consolation is the main reason Jesus came. But what's wrong with us required much more than a hug; it required the Cross. It doesn't seem this way; we too, have been catechized by the world and reflexively think of ourselves as needy, wronged children. We'd rather feel as if we're victims of a cruel world than admit we are contributors to the world's cruelty, lost sinners who perversely love our lostness, clinging to our treasured sins like a drowning man to an anvil.

How bizarre such language seems today. We look around our neighborhood and our congregation and everyone seems so nice. We know what really wicked people are like—we see them in the papers every day—and we're not like that. God must find us, in comparison, quite endearing. And of course he knows the hurts we bear deep inside, and anyone who's been hurt can't be bad (I call this the "victims are sinless" fallacy). With these and a thousand other sweet murmurs we shield ourselves from our real condition and remain Christian babies all our lives: pampered, ineffective, whiney, and numb.

Jesus didn't come to save us just from the penalty for our sins; he came to save us from our sins—now, today, if we will only respond to the challenge and let him. A nation of grownup Christians, courageous, confident, humble, and holy, would be more compelling than any smiley-face ad campaign. The Lord does not love us for our good parts and pass over the rest. He died for the bad parts and will not rest until they are put right. We must stop thinking of God as infinitely indulgent. We must begin to grapple with the scary and exhilarating truth that he is infinitely holy, and that he wants the same for us.

I propose that we recover the ideas of sin and repentance, and reinstate them at the heart of all we do. Such words make us uncomfortable, and raise images that come more from old movies than Scripture. "Repent!" is what's on the soundtrack when a sweating, shouting preacher in a string tie starts slamming his Bible around and making everybody cower. But the meaning of repentance in Scripture and the early church was very different. It was part of the good news, so any bad-news associations we find lying around are just plain wrong.

A good place to start is with the word repentance, or the Greek metanoia, meaning a change of mind. (The Hebrew word is shub, which means to change from the wrong to the right path.) Metanoia is a compound word; "meta" is a versatile preposition that here denotes transformation. Metamorphosis is a change of shape; metanoia is a change of the "nous," or the innermost consciousness, a region that lies below both rational thought and emotion. "Be transformed by the renewal of your mind [nous]," Paul wrote, and the devotional classic "The Shepherd" (a.d. 140) says, "Repentance is great understanding." Repentance is not blubbering and self-loathing. It is insight.

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February 4 2002, Vol. 46, No. 2