Ikechukwu saw him on a Tuesday afternoon, from the back seat of a Bolt ride stuck in traffic at Ojota. The man was sitting under a faded umbrella beside the road, selling recharge cards and phone accessories from a small wooden table. He was thinner than Ikechukwu remembered, and his hair had gone grey at the sides. But there was no mistaking him. It was Mr Okon.
Three years earlier, they had worked together at a logistics company in Apapa. Ikechukwu was the operations supervisor. Mr Okon was the senior storekeeper, a careful man in his fifties who had been with the company for nineteen years and who still wrote everything in a ledger by hand, even after the new software arrived.
Then a consignment of imported electronics went missing between the port and the warehouse. It was worth several million naira. The truth, which Ikechukwu had never told anyone, was that he had signed the release papers himself without checking them, in a hurry to leave early for a friend’s wedding. When the loss was discovered, the management wanted a name. Ikechukwu’s signature was on one document. Mr Okon’s was on another, the warehouse receipt, which he had signed in good faith based on Ikechukwu’s paperwork. In the meeting with the managing director, Ikechukwu said nothing about his own carelessness. He simply pointed out that the receiving ledger was Mr Okon’s responsibility. He let the conclusion draw itself.
Mr Okon was dismissed within the week. No police case was filed, but his gratuity was withheld and his name was quietly passed round the industry. Ikechukwu heard later that he had struggled to find work.
Since then, Ikechukwu had changed. He had come back to the Lord in a serious way the following year. He had sat under strong teaching on grace and righteousness. He had wept over his past, including what he had done to Mr Okon, and he had received God’s forgiveness. He knew Romans 8:1 by heart. There is therefore now no condemnation.
But as the traffic began to move and the umbrella disappeared behind him, Ikechukwu found himself shaking. Two voices were arguing in his head. The first said: You call yourself a Christian? You destroyed that man’s life. You are a hypocrite and a fraud. The second said, more gently: That is under the blood. God has forgiven you. There is no condemnation. Let it go.
He realised, sitting in that car, that he did not fully trust either voice.
Two voices, both wrong
Many believers know these two voices. One accuses. It takes every real wrong and turns it into a sentence of worthlessness. It says you are beyond help, that your faith is a pretence, that God must be disgusted with you. The other excuses. It takes the true doctrine of forgiveness and uses it to close a matter that has not been dealt with. It says that because God has forgiven you, nothing more needs to happen.
Both voices sound partly true. That is why they are so persuasive. The accusing voice is right that something wrong was done. The excusing voice is right that God has forgiven. But both lead to the same place: inaction. The accused believer is too crushed to act. The excused believer sees no need to.
The gospel offers a third way. It gives you a secure place to stand, from which you can look honestly at what you have done and take responsibility for it. Assurance in Christ does not remove the need to tell the truth. It makes truth-telling possible.
No condemnation, and why it matters
Paul’s great statement in Romans 8 begins, “There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). The word condemnation belongs to the courtroom. It refers to the verdict of guilty and the sentence that follows. Paul is saying that for those in Christ, the sentence has been dealt with. There is no punishment waiting.
How can this be true when the wrong was real? Paul explains: “For what the law could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh, God sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh” (Romans 8:3). Sin was condemned. The sentence was passed and carried out, in the body of Jesus on the cross. Ikechukwu’s sin against Mr Okon was judged there. God does not hold it against him.
This is why the accusing voice is wrong. When it says, You are condemned, it speaks as though the cross had not happened. “Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth” (Romans 8:33). The believer who lives under constant self-condemnation may think he is being more humble or more holy than one who believes the gospel. In fact he is disagreeing with God’s verdict.
But notice what Paul says next. The purpose of condemning sin in Christ’s flesh was “That the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit” (Romans 8:4). God’s aim in removing condemnation is a changed life. He did not cancel the sentence so that we could carry on as before. He cancelled it so that the righteousness the law always pointed towards could be worked out in us by His Spirit.
And what is the righteousness of the law? Paul sums it up a few chapters later: “Love worketh no ill to his neighbour: therefore love is the fulfilling of the law” (Romans 13:10). The life that flows from no condemnation is a life of love for neighbour. And love for a neighbour you have wronged includes putting the wrong right where you can.
No condemnation is where the matter begins again: it is the ground on which you can finally stand up straight, tell the truth, and go and repair what you broke.
A secure place to tell the truth
Why do people hide what they have done? Usually because they are afraid. The first words Adam spoke after his sin were, “I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself” (Genesis 3:10). Fear produced hiding. And when God questioned him, hiding quickly produced blame: “The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat” (Genesis 3:12). Adam blamed Eve, and in the same breath blamed God for giving her.
That is exactly what Ikechukwu did in the managing director’s office. He was afraid of losing his job, so he hid his carelessness, and his hiding quickly became blame placed on another man. Fear of condemnation does not make people more honest. It makes them more defensive.
This is why assurance matters so much for the healing of wrongs. A person who believes that his acceptance with God hangs on his record will find it almost impossible to admit a serious failure, because every admission feels like a threat to his standing. He will minimise, rationalise, change the subject or shift the blame. But a person who knows that the verdict has already been given, that he is accepted in Christ and that nothing he confesses can change that, is free to say, “Yes, I did that. It was wrong. I will put it right.”
Think of Peter after his denial. He had sworn three times that he did not know Jesus. After the resurrection, Jesus met him by a charcoal fire on the shore of Galilee and asked him three times, “lovest thou me?” Peter was grieved, John tells us, and he answered, “Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee” (John 21:17). Jesus did not pretend the denial had not happened. The threefold question brought it gently back into the light. But He asked it inside a restored relationship, over a breakfast He had cooked Himself. Peter could face what he had done because he was facing it with Jesus.
PunchlineThat is the place assurance gives you. You do not have to defend yourself, because Christ is your defence. So you are free to be honest.
Confession without fear
John wrote to believers who needed both assurance and honesty, and he held them together:
If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us. My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous: And he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.
“If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves.” John begins by refusing denial. Believers sin. To claim otherwise is self-deception.
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” The word confess means to say the same thing, to agree with God about what we have done. Confession involves no grovelling and no bargaining. It is honest agreement. And God’s response is described in two words that might surprise us. He is faithful, keeping His promise. And He is just, because the penalty has already been paid. When God forgives the believer who confesses, He acts in perfect justice, because Christ has borne the sin.
Some teachers argue that believers do not need to confess sin, because all sins past, present and future were forgiven at the cross. It is true that the believer’s standing does not hang on each confession. But John is writing to believers, and he clearly expects them to confess. Confession does not create our standing. It keeps us honest within it. It keeps fellowship open and the conscience clear.
“My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not.” John’s goal is not to make sin easy. He wants his readers not to sin at all.
“And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.” An advocate is someone who stands alongside you, a counsel for the defence. When a believer sins, Jesus does not abandon him. He stands with him before the Father. And He does so as “the propitiation for our sins,” the One whose sacrifice satisfied God’s justice completely.
This passage is the antidote to both voices. To the accusing voice, it says: you have an advocate, and His sacrifice is enough. To the excusing voice, it says: you must still confess, which means you must still be honest about what you have done.
Dead to sin, alive to God
Paul anticipated that some would hear the message of grace and draw the wrong conclusion. Romans 6 opens with the question: “What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound? God forbid. How shall we, that are dead to sin, live any longer therein?” (Romans 6:1-2).
Paul’s answer is not a threat. He does not say, “If you keep sinning, you will lose your salvation.” He says something far more profound. You have died to sin. You were united with Christ in His death and buried with Him, “that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4). The purpose of your union with Christ is a new way of walking.
“Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin” (Romans 6:6). Sin’s legal claim over you is broken. You are no longer its slave.
And then the instruction: “reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God” (Romans 6:11). “Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body” (Romans 6:12). Yield your members “as instruments of righteousness unto God” (Romans 6:13).
The excusing voice treats grace as the end of moral seriousness. Paul treats grace as the beginning of it. A person who has truly died to sin and been raised to newness of life does not use forgiveness as a reason to leave wrongs unrepaired. The same grace that lifts condemnation off him sends him back into the world to live righteously, and that includes the places where he did harm.
“For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace” (Romans 6:14). Grace is no weaker form of righteousness than law. Grace is the power that produces what the law demanded and could never create.
The injury is real
NuggetHere we must face something the excusing voice often overlooks. When you sin against another person, God’s forgiveness deals with your guilt before Him. But it does not automatically heal the injury you caused to that person.
The story of David and Bathsheba shows this. David committed adultery, then arranged the death of Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah. When God sent the prophet Nathan to confront him, Nathan did not begin with theology. He told a story about a rich man who took a poor man’s only lamb. David was furious:
And David’s anger was greatly kindled against the man; and he said to Nathan, As the LORD liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die: And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity. And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man. Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, I anointed thee king over Israel, and I delivered thee out of the hand of Saul.
Notice that David, judging the case of the stolen lamb, instinctively knew that the guilty man must “restore the lamb fourfold.” His sense of justice included repair for the injured party. Then Nathan turned the story on him: “Thou art the man.”
David confessed. “I have sinned against the LORD.” And Nathan replied, “The LORD also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not die” (2 Samuel 12:13). Forgiveness was immediate. But the consequences of what David had done continued to unfold through his family for years.
In Psalm 51, David prays, “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned” (Psalm 51:4). Some have used this verse to suggest that sin is really only a matter between a person and God. David means something else. He is expressing the ultimate seriousness of sin, which is always rebellion against God. But the story in 2 Samuel makes plain that Uriah was murdered and Bathsheba was wronged. Nathan’s parable was about the poor man who lost his lamb. God’s word cared deeply about the victims.
The believer who says, “God has forgiven me, so that is the end of it,” while the person he wronged is still suffering, has misunderstood forgiveness. God’s forgiveness frees him from condemnation. It does not release him from love’s obligation towards the one he injured.
Fruit that fits repentance
When crowds came to John the Baptist, he told them that genuine repentance would show itself in concrete action:
And the people asked him, saying, What shall we do then? He answereth and saith unto them, He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do likewise. Then came also publicans to be baptized, and said unto him, Master, what shall we do? And he said unto them, Exact no more than that which is appointed you. And the soldiers likewise demanded of him, saying, And what shall we do? And he said unto them, Do violence to no man, neither accuse any falsely; and be content with your wages.
Notice how practical John is. He does not tell the tax collectors to feel worse. He tells them to stop overcharging. He does not tell the soldiers to perform religious rituals. He tells them to stop extorting money and making false accusations. Repentance takes the shape of the specific wrong.
Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector of Jericho, understood this when Jesus came to his house. Without being asked, he stood up and said, “if I have taken any thing from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold” (Luke 19:8). Jesus did not tell him that restitution was unnecessary because grace had covered everything. He said, “This day is salvation come to this house” (Luke 19:9). Salvation showed itself in repair.
Even under the old covenant, the law required that a person who had wronged another should confess and make full restitution, adding a fifth to what had been taken, and give it to the person he had wronged (Numbers 5:6-7). We are not under that law as a system. But its instinct reflects the heart of God. Wrong done to a neighbour calls for repair to that neighbour.
Jesus Himself said that if you are about to offer your gift at the altar and remember that your brother has something against you, you should leave the gift, go and be reconciled first, and then come back (Matthew 5:23-24). Reconciliation with people runs on the same track as worship. It belongs within it.
What does repair look like in practice? It depends on the wrong. It may mean telling the truth to the people who believed a lie you told. It may mean returning money or property. It may mean clearing someone’s name publicly when you damaged it publicly. It may mean a sincere apology that names what you did without excuses. In some cases it may mean going to the authorities. And sometimes, when the injured person does not want contact, it means respecting that and finding other ways to make things right, perhaps through a third party.
Sometimes full repair is impossible. The person may have died, moved away beyond reach, or refused every approach. Paul’s counsel is realistic: “If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men” (Romans 12:18). You are responsible for what lies in you, not for what lies in the other person. Do what you can. Where the injured person cannot be reached, some believers have chosen to help that person’s family, or to give what they owed to a cause that serves people in a similar situation. Then leave the rest with God.
There are also limits. Repair must never re-traumatise the person you hurt. If your wrong involved abuse, the injured person’s safety and wishes come first, and you should seek guidance from a pastor or counsellor before attempting any contact. Repentance is never a performance designed to make you feel better. At its heart is love for the person you wronged.
Freedom from self-hatred
There is one more danger. Some believers who take their wrongs seriously fall into the opposite pit. They become so consumed with guilt that they cannot function. They punish themselves endlessly. They decide they are worthless.
Paul saw this happen in Corinth. A man in the church had committed a serious sin, and the church had disciplined him. He had repented. And Paul wrote:
Sufficient to such a man is this punishment, which was inflicted of many. So that contrariwise ye ought rather to forgive him , and comfort him , lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow. Wherefore I beseech you that ye would confirm your love toward him.
“Lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow.” Paul understood that sorrow can become destructive. There is a godly sorrow that leads to repentance, and there is a sorrow that drowns a person. Elsewhere Paul makes the distinction directly: “For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death” (2 Corinthians 7:10). Worldly sorrow is turned in on itself. It ends in despair. Godly sorrow turns towards God and towards the person harmed, and it produces change.
Self-hatred is not the same as repentance. In fact it often prevents repentance, because the person is so preoccupied with his own pain that he cannot attend to the pain he caused. Freedom from condemnation releases you from self-hatred precisely so that you can do the work of repair. The man who believes he is worthless will often not bother to apologise, because he thinks it will make no difference. The man who knows he is loved and forgiven can face the person he wronged with humility and courage.
“For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things” (1 John 3:20). Let God’s verdict silence your self-condemnation. Then let His love send you to put things right.
If your guilt has become overwhelming, if it is affecting your sleep, your work or your health, please speak with a pastor or a counsellor. Persistent, crushing guilt can sometimes be connected with depression, and that deserves proper care.
Ikechukwu did not sleep well that night. In the morning he called his pastor and told him everything. The pastor listened, then asked a simple question. “What would love for Mr Okon look like now?”
It took Ikechukwu three weeks to act. He wrote a letter to the managing director of his old company, explaining exactly what had happened with the release papers, and accepting full responsibility. He asked that Mr Okon’s name be cleared and his gratuity paid. He knew it might affect his own reputation in the industry. He sent it anyway. Then, with his pastor’s help, he worked out what Mr Okon had lost in salary over the months he had been out of work, and he began setting aside money to repay him, from his own pocket.
When he finally went to the umbrella at Ojota, Mr Okon did not recognise him at first. When he did, his face hardened. Ikechukwu told him everything, standing in the dust beside the road. He did not offer excuses. “I let them believe it was you. I was a coward. I am sorry. I have written to the company to tell them the truth, and I want to repay what you lost.”
PunchlineMr Okon was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Do you know my daughter had to leave university because of this?”
Ikechukwu had not known. He felt the accusing voice rise up again, louder than ever. But this time he knew how to answer it. I am forgiven. And I am responsible. Both were true.
“I did not know,” he said. “I will help with her fees, if you will allow me.”
Mr Okon did not forgive him that day. He took Ikechukwu’s phone number and said he would think about it. Two months later, the company wrote to Mr Okon, cleared his name and paid his gratuity with an apology. A month after that, his daughter returned to university, with Ikechukwu paying her fees.
Ikechukwu still does not know whether Mr Okon has fully forgiven him. That is Mr Okon’s to give, in his own time. But Ikechukwu’s freedom never depended on it. He was free from condemnation the day he trusted Christ. What changed on the roadside at Ojota was that his freedom had finally been put to work.
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- Which voice do you hear more often when you think about your past wrongs: the one that accuses, or the one that excuses?
- How does Romans 8:4 change your understanding of the purpose of “no condemnation”?
- Is there someone you have wronged whose injury you have never addressed because you knew God had forgiven you?
- What would “fruit worthy of repentance” look like in your specific situation?
- Where has guilt become self-hatred in your life, and how might God’s verdict free you to act?
This Week
Ask the Holy Spirit this week to bring to mind anyone you have wronged in a way that has not been put right. Write down their name and what you did. Then ask, with your pastor or a trusted mature believer, what repair would look like: an apology, a payment, a correction of the record. Take one concrete step towards it before the week ends. If the situation is complicated or involves risk to the other person, seek counsel first. And each time the accusing voice returns, answer it with 1 John 2:1: “we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.”
A Prayer
Father, thank You that there is now no condemnation for me in Christ Jesus. Thank You that my sin was condemned in His flesh, and that He is my advocate and the propitiation for my sins. Silence the voice that accuses me, and expose the voice that excuses me. Give me courage to tell the truth about what I have done, and wisdom to repair what I have broken. Show me the people I have wronged and how to love them now. Free me from self-hatred so that I can walk in newness of life. Let Your righteousness be fulfilled in me as I walk after the Spirit. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.