  does it ever seem like some sins bother you more than others?  I don't mean to go so far as to imply condoning any sin,  but I've noticed in my own life that there are some sins I commit about which I'm very embarrassed,  sorrowful,  et al;  there are other sins I commit that don't cause me as much turmoil.
 I don't think that's the way it should be.  for instance,  my sins of omission ,  things I ought to do but leave undone,  as a group don't tend to cause me as much sorrow and shame as some of my sins of commission,  things I do that I shouldn't.
 First off,  am I the only one in this particular boat,  or is it possible that other Christians,  if they were being honest,  would admit this is true for them?  I may never know.
 But secondly,  why is this so and what can I do about it?  firstly,  I think pride plays an important role in all of this ( go figure)  That is,
 we ( by " we"  I mean " I"  since I can't at present tell if this phenomenon is unique to me)
 are more embarrassed by some sins because we feel ourselves to be above them in some way.  If for the most part I am not a gossip,  and all of a sudden find myself drawn into a deliciously gossip- laden conversation about someone in the community,  I may afterward feel absolutely terribly about what I've done,  because,
 after all,  " I'm really not a gossip.  of course we know from the Bible that the fastest way to find oneself caught in some transgression is to boast about one's ability to resist it ( that whole pride goeth before the fall thing comes to mind)  to extend this idea,
 it may also really bother us to commit some act ( or abstain from one)  that we thought we had put aside entirely,  or defeated,  so to speak.  I suppose it would be akin to thinking you had finally kicked a bad habit only to find yourself giving into the impulse,
 almost entirely out of the blue.  granted,  my first observation may be a bit tenuous,  but I am fairly confident that I am onto something with this second one:  we ( by "
we"  I now actually mean " we"  have for some reason felt the need to classify sins,  either according to our own societal appraisal of their heinousness or perhaps based with a slanted view to protecting our own proclivities ( like when fat preachers tell smokers they're going to hell:
 " nevermind my lack of self- control around fried chicken,  smoker man,  you need to throw those cigarettes away and make things right!  in the church today there may be an agreement that all sins are bad,
 but all too often there is an unspoken rule which makes some sins badder than others,  whereby allowing those Christians who avoid these second level sins to feel as if they've accomplished something by " sinning small"  To put it real erudite- like,  that's just silly.
 God's view on sin is simple and straight to the point:  sin-  all sin -  equals death.  There are no big sins and small sins.  Jesus drove this point home by taking adultery out of the bedroom only and into the minds of men.
 He did the same thing with murder:  I don't need a knife or a gun or any physical act to be guilty.  Sin is sin is sin.  We should sorrow over all of them,  public or private,  individual or aggregate.
 ultimately,  confronting the horror of all of our sins brings us to the place where we more fully understand the magnitude of God's grace,  made known through Jesus Christ.  If some sins aren't so bad,  then by extension you may arrive at the place where you don't really need all of God's grace,  just enough to cover the badder sins.
 This is,  of course,  a lie.  I stand in need of all of God's grace all of the time.  On my own,  I am unrighteous in every way:
 word,  thought,  deed,  and then some.  Yet in Christ I find myself clothed in perfection,  forgiven of all iniquity,
 made to stand and not fall,  to live and not die.  we will rejoice in our redemption all the more when we summon the courage to experience sorrow over all of our sins.  It is only those who are most fully aware of their illness who can appreciate the work of the physician on their behalf.  peace,  steven.
