How joyful is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered! How joyful is a person whom the Lord does not charge with iniquity and in whose spirit is no deceit! ~Psalm 32:1–2
The word hate was rarely used around our house. Early in their lives, our daughters learned that unless they were talking about monsters or poisonous snakes, they couldn’t use this word. “I hate you,” for example, would have meant permanent and eternal exile to their bedrooms. (They’d probably still be in those rooms, even though we moved a couple of times.)
This house rule notwithstanding, there was an object I grew up as a youngster hating as much as monsters and poisonous snakes—no, actually more than these. The object was a book. It was a black-and-gray-speckled, spiral-bound, eight-and-a-half-by- eleven-inch book, and it sat on all my teachers’ desks. Long before they kept track of their students’ performance on computers, grade- and secondary-school instructors used these books. Printed on the top of the cover were the words “Student Records.”
I hated—see, I’m using the word again—these books, sitting precariously close to the trash can below! Maybe someone will accidentally knock it off, and it will rest in its rightful place. Why did I feel so strongly about these? You know, don’t you?
These record books contained inside information about me. They knew about every late paper, every failing grade, every citizenship faux pas, everything I didn’t want anyone to know. Perhaps the most memorable dimension of my hatred for the book was the way it kept me from appreciating my teachers, especially those whose books contained lots of bad Robert Wolgemuth marks.
King David lived a life filled with tardiness, failure, and poor citizenship. And he knew what it was to have all these marks indelibly inscribed on the public record. He also knew how this deficiency affected his relationship with his heavenly Father.
Because of his willingness to confess his sin, is it any wonder David wrote the open- ing lines to this psalm? Can you blame him for referring to the forgiven person—in this case, himself—as joyful (which is perhaps best translated as just plain “happy”)?
It’s as though that despised record book found its way to the desk’s precipice, fell into the garbage, and was delivered to the city dump for burning. Imagine the feeling: sins forgiven; sins forgotten.
The best part of this truth is the transforming effect it can have between student and teacher, sinner and Savior.
Confess your sins. Watch them burn. Then bask in the love and embrace of the Teacher.