Mornings and Sunday evenings and December 31 have the same affect on me. They bring me hope.
There is something hopeful about embarking on a new day, new week, new year. It feels like a chance to put aside the past and begin afresh, living the way I always intend to live.
Sometimes when I’ve had an especially painful day (or week, or year), my heart longs to get the day over with so I can go to sleep and start over again in the morning.
Sometimes when I wake up, I do feel the Lord’s new mercies covering me. I linger under the comforter in His comfort, not wanting to mar the yet-perfect (yet-lived) day.
And there is my bad theology. (Did you catch it?)
It’s the assumption that upon waking, before living any moment of my day, I am in some temporary state of sinlessness. It’s the assumption that I have not “done” anything sinful yet so I am in the clear. There are no tallies on my slate because I have not yet put my foot to the ground.
In my mind, sin is married to action. And in many cases, that is true. The acts of sin are real. But the action is merely the end result of sin carried out.
But the root of sin is hidden, and it’s uglier than any particular action. It cannot be subdued by lingering in bed a bit longer. The root of sin is lodged in the heart that ignores God and chooses to do whatever it wishes.
That sort of ugliness can’t be helped by staying in bed.
Only in the redemptive work of Jesus Christ can sin be eradicated. Hope is found in Jesus, who died and rose again to kill off the sin that infects me and entices me to act on its whims.
His sin-conquering blood covers me before my foot hits the ground each morning.
That’s not only hope for the day, week, and year—but it is also hope for the hour, moment, and second. In Christ there is always a new beginning to hope in.
In Christ, there’s no need to linger in bed to savor blemish-free moments. Every moment births a new one, like a perpetual New Moment’s Eve. And the moments come pre-soaked in the blood, so we’re all set to live the way we always intend to.
