by Randall Smith.

"How do people even do it?" she asked. "How do people who don't believe in God get through this?" My friend was applying to graduate schools. "These decisions are in the hands of people I don't know and who don't know me. And they will affect the rest of my life - whom I meet, I marry, my children, my career. If you didn't believe a provident God was watching over all this," she exclaimed, "it would just be depressing."

I know what she means. So many things in life are outside our control. But there's also this even more depressing reality. I am burdened with sin. This should come as no surprise, certainly not to people who know me. I'm not making a public confession here (although that reminds me; I should probably go). I mean, it's not like I've killed millions of people or anything. But that's a low bar, and I would prefer to set it higher.

Let's just say that if the Biblical measure is being forgiven seven times seventy-seven times, I maxed that out a long time ago. And if you challenged me about some horrible sin with the question: "Are you saying that it never entered your mind?" I probably wouldn't be able to say no - not without committing another sin.

There's something wonderful about Confession, but there's also something depressing about confessing the same sins repeatedly, week after week. I won't say that God's grace hasn't brought about some improvement. But fighting sin is a little like playing Whack-a-Mole. You knock one sin down and another one pops up somewhere else. Where did you come from?

When people say, "You're a terrible human being," or "You're an ignorant fool," I can only reply: "Oh my, you have no idea!" And to be honest, I have no idea. As C.S. Lewis points out, sin blinds you to your own sinfulness. When the saints say, "I am a sinner," they're not just being modest. Only saints have the purity of soul and clarity of vision to see the extent of their own sinfulness. For most of the rest of us, following the admonition to "know thyself" is like looking into a dark abyss. There might be some scattered candle lights, but you know there are some nasty orcs living down there, and you'd prefer not to face them, let alone fight them.

Given this grim reality, it's hard for me to hear that "the measure with which I measure is the measure with which I shall be measured." Or that I am supposed to "forgive as I have been forgiven." Not only do I sin and want forgiveness, I don't "forgive as I have been forgiven" (which, as I admitted, is way past the seven times seventy-seven number). So that's yet another sin. It's like looking at one of those digital counters that is ticking up the federal debt. The numbers just keep piling up. So I don't quite understand people who rejoice in condemning others and then calling it "charity."

So, like my friend, I worry about the people who don't believe in a loving God who not only forgives us, but also sends us the grace to do better, "What do they even do? How do they deal with the fact that there's so much evil in the world and in our own hearts? What relieves the burden of sin? What gives them hope in the face of death?

We live in a culture that, for some reason, seems convinced that belief in the Christian God is a "burden" to be avoided. That's odd. One would have thought that belief in a meaningless universe with no moral point or boundaries and no true forgiveness would be the greater burden. At least the Christian God provides a moral standard to guide us and a means of forgiveness when we fail.

If I thought going into a Catholic Church was a public proclamation of sinlessness, I would never enter. But since I take it that going into a Catholic Church is a public proclamation that "I am a sinner, in need of God's forgiveness and grace," I'm happy to go in.

In the same spirit, I wait in line for Confession, and while I'm embarrassed to be back there, I look at the others in line and remember: "I'm not alone. These people must be sinners too, ot...