Contrite Heart

Three Faithful Wounds Philippians 1:27-30 I want to invite you to open your Bibles with me, to Philippians chapter 1, verse 27. And I need to tell you something from the start: There's a part of me that doesn't want to preach this message. Because I don't want suffering to be part of your life, and I don't want it to be part of mine. But it is. There are people in this room right now who have suffered in ways I cannot imagine.

Some of you are walking through painful circumstances right now—in your body, in your family, in your marriage, in your mind. And I'm with you. That's why I needed this word this week. But there are also others of you—things are going well right now. And I thank God for that. But if life is good right now, hide this word in your heart today. Store it up. Because you're going to need it.

So let's hear straight from God's Word. Philippians 1:27-30. Now let me just stop right there. Paul is writing this from prison. He's in chains. And he says: It has been GRANTED to you—that word means grace—it has been graciously GIVEN to you not only to believe in Christ, but to suffer for Him. Suffering is a gift. Most of us don't want to hear that. We want Jesus plus comfort.

Jesus plus health. Jesus plus everything going according to our plan. But the Bible doesn't say that. Look with me to John 16:33. Jesus says: "In this world you WILL have tribulation." That's a promise. And we usually like to claim promises from Jesus. This is not one we often claim. And yet—somehow—Jesus ends that same verse with "But take heart, I have overcome the world." So the question is: how do we take heart when the world hurts us?

How do we see suffering not just as something to survive, but something God can actually use to shape us? And so I love to go back to old writings of simple ordinary people who lived like that. And,…. I found a woman who had a unique story about suffering. Her name was Julian of Norwich. Before Martin Luther's infamous moment in church history when he nailed the 95 theses to the door of a Catholic Church—200 years before that—there lived this woman.

While she was praying one day—and of course during this time the Catholic Church had all these things you had to do for prayer—the Lord appeared to her and said, "You don't have to have all this stuff to pray. All God wants and expects is that you should believe in Him and love Him with all of your heart.” So 200 years before Martin Luther would challenge the church on justification by faith, Lady Julian would write: If you love God with all of your heart and believe in His son, you will be all right.

She realized way before Martin Luther that we are saved by faith, not by our works. But, One day she became very sick and she laid on her death bed. She thought this was the end, and people began to gather because they thought she was going to die. So of course they began to do all the ritual things they did back then. Anointed her with oil, sprinkled water on her, all sorts of things the Catholic Church believed needed to happen on the death bed.

Her feet began to get cold and dead. It moved up from her feet to her waist. She was dying, and at this moment everything from her waist down was dead. So she began to cry out to God: "Lord, Lord, I am only 30 years old. I would hate to die and leave my work. Now, it's perfectly alright if you want me to die. I'll die, but think about it a little and see whether it wouldn't be a good idea if I lived, for I am still young.

I've got a long time on earth in the natural course of things, and if I die, I won't do much good. So, Father, just give me some attention.” She continued to die. But after her prayer, she was dying now from her head down. She writes: "My head began to die and I went blind. There was total darkness, and it began to settle down towards my heart, and I felt myself going.

Just when I was about to breathe my last breath, suddenly and instantaneously I was perfectly well. I know God did it, and it wasn't nature, but grace, because it came so suddenly and I was dying and I knew it.” Now, obviously I do not claim to know all that God does and I never will. But in my heart I believe that as death began to overtake her legs and brought darkness to her mind, and once death reached her heart, death was met with a heart burning brightly with affection for Christ, and it was so stoked by the coals of adoration that if Death was going to take her, it was going to take her with a heart burning for affectionate worship towards God.

As Paul puts it, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” I believe that… I believe that if she was going to die in that moment, it would have been gain for her… And perhaps—I don't know but… I imagine—at that last moment, death looked to the throne of grace. Yes, even death has a master named Jesus. And death said, "Lord, are you sure? There's much work to be done for the kingdom.

Lord, you don't find many hearts like this. Hearts with a burning desire to grow the kingdom. And for whatever reason, God spared her. I don't know why God spared her. I do not know why God spares some who cry out for mercy and not others. I can only imagine He does what He does because of grace. He knows more than I know. But her heart was not only burning with affection—that affection was leading her heart to be a faithful servant.

So why do I share her story? I share this story because I want to share her prayer. She prayed: "I want thee to wound me with the wound of contrition, and then I want thee to wound me with the wound of compassion, and then I want thee to wound me with the wound of very longing after God.” And God did. She lived a very long life, and people came from the north to the south and the east to the west, and they found a lady of compassion and a woman pursuing and longing for God.

Now, when I first read that prayer, I thought: That's crazy. Who prays for pain? But then I realized—she wasn't asking for suffering for suffering's sake. She was asking for wounds that would help her delight in God more. Remember what we talked about in week one? God's glory and our joy aren't competing. They collide. They become one when Christ becomes our greatest treasure. And I asked, what treasure in this life are you more prone to cling to that would be greater than a death, that leads to being in Jeuss’s presence?

Where death is a gain… So she's praying: Lord, Wound me with contrition so that…. I’ll treasure Jesus more than my sin. Wound me with compassion so I'll love people the way Jesus does. Wound me with longing so deep that only God can fill it. And I think…. She must have understood something we're still learning: that… Sometimes the very wounds that break us open are the ones that make room for deeper joy in Jesus.

Now, I could preach for hours on all three of these… so for your sake, and your sanity, for this week, I want us to just focus on one of these, so, lets look at this first part of her payer… the prayer for a contrite heart. Point One: The Wound of Contrition Julian prayed: "Wound me with the wound of contrition." And when I first read that, I thought she was crazy.

Who prays to be wounded? Who asks God to break their heart? But then I realized something. She understood what we often miss. Contrition isn't just feeling bad about sin. It's being crushed by the weight of it. Crushed enough to finally stop making excuses and come back to God. And there's a man in Scripture who knew exactly what that felt like. Turn with me to Psalm 51. Psalm 51 is one of the few psalms where we know exactly when it was written.

The heading tells us: "To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David, when Nathan the prophet went to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba." So we know the story. We know what happened. Let me read it to you from 2 Samuel 11: "It happened, late one afternoon, when David arose from his couch and was walking on the roof of the king's house, that he saw from the roof a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful.

And David sent and inquired about the woman. And one said, 'Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?' So David sent messengers and took her, and she came to him, and he lay with her... Then she returned to her house. And the woman conceived, and she sent and told David, 'I am pregnant.'" So David panicked. He tried to cover it up. He brought Bathsheba's husband Uriah home from battle, hoping Uriah would sleep with his wife and think the baby was his.

But Uriah was too noble. Too honorable. He wouldn't go home to his wife while his men were still out fighting. So David did something even worse. He arranged to have Uriah killed. Sent him to the front lines. Made sure he'd die. Then David quickly married Bathsheba to cover the whole thing up. And here's how the Bible describes it—in one of the most understated sentences you'll ever read: "The thing that David had done displeased the Lord." Displeased.

That's putting it mildly. Could you imagine in your sin, you heard the Lord say, I am displeased… with what you’ve done. How different would we live if, every time we gossiped, lied, or spoke behind someone’s back, we felt that conviction? If we heard that voice? And that voice led us imedadtily to repentance? But here’s the thing — we can. That’s what the Holy Spirit does. Jesus said in John 16:8, “When He comes, He will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment.” The Spirit takes what is displeasing to God and makes it heavy on our hearts — not to crush us, but to call us home.

But the question is… is your love for God, at a place that when you hear that conviction, it leads you towards change? But just like how Jesus promises the holy Spirit, to convict us, God sent the prophet Nathan to David with a parable that entices David to pronounce his own condemnation. Nathan told him a story—about a rich man who stole a poor man's only lamb. And David got furious.

He said, "That man deserves to die!" And Nathan looked at him and said, "You are the man!" Then Nathan asked, "Why have you despised the word of the Lord?" David broke. Right there. He confessed: "I have sinned against the Lord." And then Nathan said something astonishing: "The Lord also has put away your sin; you shall not die. Nevertheless, because by this deed you have utterly scorned the Lord, the child who is born to you shall die." Now stop right there.

What? This… infuriates me… when I read this book, and I see Uriah is dead. Bathsheba was raped. The baby is going to die. And Nathan says, "The Lord has put away your sin." Just like that? David committed adultery. He ordered a murder. He lied to cover it all up. He "despised the word of the Lord." He "scorned God." And the Lord just... "put away his sin"? What kind of a righteous judge is God?

You don't just pass over rape and murder and lying. Righteous judges don't do that. I remember this week, I was sharing the gospel with some guys. And nothing I said could persuade them that a murderer, or a child molester could be forgiven. Remember just a few weeks ago, I showed you a man that forgave a murderer for taking the life of his daughter? I struggled with that too.

Like, God, thats not right.. And you know what? I resonate with those guys’s skepticism. I really do. I would be outraged at God's behavior here—except for one thing. The apostle Paul shared my outrage. And he explained how God could be both righteous AND the one who justifies murderers and rapists and liars and, yes, even child molesters. Here's what Paul said in Romans 3:25-26. And I need you to hear this because this is one of the most important sentences in the entire Bible: "God put Christ forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.

This was to show God's righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins. It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus." Do you see what Paul is saying here? The outrage that we feel when God seems to simply pass over David's sin—that would be good outrage if God were just sweeping David's sin under the rug.

But He's not. God isn't ignoring the sin. God is looking ahead. Down through the centuries. From David's time all the way to the cross. To the death of His Son, Jesus Christ, who would die in David's place. David's faith in God's mercy—his faith in God's future redeeming work—unites David with Christ. And its the same faith that as we look back to the cross, unites us, in our sins to Christ.

And in God's all-knowing mind, David's sins are counted as Christ's sins. And Christ's righteousness is counted as David's righteousness. And God justly passes over David's sin. The death of the Son of God is outrageous enough. The glory of God that it upholds is great enough. That God is vindicated in passing over David's adultery and murder and lying. Thats the beauty of the cross… At the cross, every sin is either punished or pardoned—but it’s never ignored.

The reason God could forgive David is because Jesus would one day be crushed for David’s sin. God’s righteousness was not compromised; it was magnified. Now that—that is the objective reality of how David is forgiven. That's the theology. That's how it works. There’s my attempt at systematic theology… I hope I didn’t close you. But here's where we need to get back to Julian's prayer. Why would she pray: "Wound me with the wound of contrition”?

Because she understood something David discovered in the ashes of his sin. Look at what David wrote in Psalm 51, after Nathan confronted him: Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. Notice what David says: "Against you, you only, have I sinned." Wait—what? David sinned against Bathsheba. Against Uriah. Against their families. Against the nation. But David says: "Against you, you only.” Here's what he's realizing: All sin is first and foremost against God.

When I gossip about you, I sin against you—but I sin against God first. When I lie to my spouse, I sin against them—but I sin against God first. Every sin is ultimately a statement to God: "I don't trust you. I don't love you enough. I think I know better than you.” And that's what contrition is. It's not just feeling bad that I got caught. It's not just regretting the consequences.

It's seeing my sin for what it really is, It’s this—cosmic treason against a good and loving King. I think, Our culture has lost this entirely. And, I'm not just talking about our culture out there, in the world—but our church culture. The culture Christians have created in the church building, in their small groups, even in their prayers. Its so easy for any person to just reduced sin to: "Did I hurt someone?" or "Did I break a rule?" But that's not deep enough.

Think about how we talk about sin: We say "I messed up" instead of "I sinned” We say "I made a mistake" instead of "I rebelled against God” We talk about "bad choices" and "poor decisions" like we're analyzing a business strategy that didn't pan out. We've sanitized it. Made it manageable. Turned it into a self-improvement problem instead of a God problem. And here's what happens: We start thinking that as long as we're "pretty good people" who "don't hurt anybody," we're fine with God.

We compare ourselves to whoever's doing worse and think, "Well, at least I'm not like them.” But that's not how David saw his sin. He didn't say, "Well, compared to other kings, I'm doing okay." He said, "Against you, you only, have I sinned.” C.S. Lewis said it this way: "We are not just dealing with crime and punishment. We're dealing with honor and shame, with relationship and betrayal.” When you betray someone you love—someone who has given you everything—"Oops, my bad" doesn't cut it.

What they need to hear is: "I'm horrified by what I've done to you. To us.” That's contrition. And we've lost it. We’ve lost it in our faith. And Julian prayed for it because she knew: until my heart breaks over what my sin does to my relationship with you, God, I'll keep going back to it. I’ll keep justifying it. Let me make this really practical. How do you know if you're actually contrite—or just sorry you got caught?

Here's the test: Are you more upset about the consequences or the betrayal? When you're caught in a lie, are you thinking: "How do I fix this mess?" Or are you thinking: "How did I just trash my integrity and hurt someone I love?” When you look at your phone usage, your spending, your anger—are you just annoyed at yourself? Or are you grieved that you're treasuring these things more than Jesus?

You see, Contrition isn't self-loathing. It's not beating yourself up….. It's clarity. It's finally seeing clearly: "This thing I thought would satisfy me is destroying me. And it's keeping me from the One who actually loves me.” So why would Julian pray for this? Here's why: Because without contrition, we never truly taste grace. David writes in Psalm 51:17: "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” Notice—God doesn't despise it.

He treasures it. Why? Because a contrite heart is a heart that has stopped pretending. Stopped performing. Stopped managing the PR campaign of your life. It's a heart that comes to God empty-handed and says: "I have nothing. I am the problem. But I'm yours.”….. teach me, Oh God. And friends—that's the only posture in which you can truly receive grace. As long as you're minimizing your sin, you're minimizing God's grace.

As long as you're comparing yourself to others ("Well, at least I'm not like them"), you're cutting yourself off from the scandalous, lavish, undeserved love of God that should overwhelm you. It's like this: Imagine you owe someone $100, and they forgive the debt. You say, "Oh, thanks!" and move on. But imagine you owe $10 million—and you know it. You can't sleep. You can't pay it. You're ruined. And then they tear up the paper and say, "It's gone.

You're free.” How would you feel? You wouldn't just say "thanks." You'd weep. You'd be undone. You'd spend the rest of your life overwhelmed by their generosity. That's what contrition does. It shows you the true size of your debt. And when you see that—and I mean really see it—and then see that Jesus paid it all, grace doesn't just make you happy. It ruins you. In the best possible way.

Jesus said in Luke 7: "He who is forgiven little, loves little." The flip side? He who is forgiven much, loves much. Julian wanted to be wounded with contrition because she wanted to love Jesus more. And you can't love Him fully until you see how much you've been forgiven. So here's my question for you today as the worship team comes up: What are you avoiding looking at? What sin are you downplaying?

What are you rationalizing? What have you perfected the art of not thinking about? Maybe it’s: The way you speak to your spouse when you're frustrated. Or The bitterness you're nursing toward someone who hurt you., today, yesterday, 10 years ago… Or The lies you tell yourself about your spending, your eating, your screen time. The things you watch online. Or The pride that makes you need to be right, need to be noticed, need to be in control And you've gotten really good at not letting it bother you.

Do you know what that represents? A hard heart. Its spiritual numbness. Can I tell you what that is? That's self-protection. You're protecting yourself from the wound of contrition because you think it will crush you. But listen: The wound of contrition is not meant to crush you. It's meant to crack you open so grace can flood in. That’s what David discovered. After everything—after the adultery, the murder, the cover-up—he wrote: "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me...

Restore to me the joy of your salvation.” Did you catch that? Joy. Contrition led to joy. The wound led to healing. The breaking led to restoration. Why? Because when you stop hiding and start confessing, you discover what David discovered: God doesn't reject contrite hearts. He runs to them. Let me invite you to pray Julian's prayer with me. Not out of guilt. Not out of obligation. But out of desire for more of Jesus.

"Lord, wound me with the wound of contrition.” Not because you want to feel terrible about yourself. But because you want to feel the full weight of grace. Because you're tired of the shallow spirituality that never quite touches the deep places. Because you want to love Jesus the way Mary loved Jesus—when she washed his feet with her tears and dried them with her hair, and Jesus said, "She loves much because she's been forgiven much.” Maybe you pray that this week.

Maybe you get alone with God and you stop managing the narrative. You stop explaining yourself. And you just say: "God, show me my heart. Let me see what you see. Wound me with contrition—not to destroy me, but to free me.” And then—here's the promise—when you're broken open like that, you'll discover what David discovered:] The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end.

They are new every morning. And next week? We'll talk about the second wound—the wound of compassion. Because here's the beautiful thing: when you've been forgiven much, you start forgiving much. When you've received ridiculous grace, you start extending ridiculous grace. But that starts here. With honest, broken, contrite hearts that finally stop hiding and come home. *