This text was regularly quoted by my mother. She was right.
Two London women struck up a conversation, and the topic got around to their husbands. They then were seen to rummage in their purses. One pulled out a photo and said, 'That's my husband.' The other did the same - and it was the same man. Result: an ageing ex-romeo arrested for bigamy.
In medieval times, sins were real, and specific. So was hell. These days, we are more prone to feel shame than guilt. As someone put it, 'Sin, that old dynamo, has lost much of its power since we ceased to believe in hell.' We don't call it sin today, said one (honest) cynic, we call it self-expression.
We reap what we sow. If we sin, we are punished not for our sins, so much as by them. And sins cannot be undone, only forgiven.
I will arise and go to my Father and say to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and against you, and am no longer worthy to be called your child.
My child, your sins are forgiven you. Amen.
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