Let me tell you something about me: I hate shame.
I don’t just hate it intellectually, I hate it experientially. The cells that store memory in my brain can well testify that I have felt its paralyzing power.
The insidious power of shame over past sin is that it keeps you fighting ghosts. It distracts. It keeps you swinging at shadows, seeking to slaughter sins long dead.
It’s goal: keep you from seeking to slay shame itself.