I heard a sermon recently that transported me back to the fourth quarter of my seventeenth year. Actually, I heard it twice, but it didn’t click the first time. The sermon was from Genesis 19.

The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah receded into the fiery background of the source of sorrow: Even the righteous stray from God’s righteousness. Don’t compromise with the world, was the application. And the empowering grace was: I can trust God to punish me for my sins—eventually. The fear factor,¹ which was probably also intended as motivation, was that even though Lot was saved, he lost everything, particularly his wealth.

To any who would strive to become the righteousness of God² by obeying applications, “Don’t compromise with the world,” offers the vaguest direction possible and the widest possible latitude for those who would police others. This sermon confronted me with my church and my own religious beliefs at seventeen.

Though the text wasn’t mentioned explicitly, the empowering grace reminded me of the Lord’s words to Moses (Exodus 34:6a, 7b ESV).

The Lord passed before [Moses] and proclaimed, “The Lord, the Lord [Table]…who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation” [Table].

My actual experience at that time helps now to clarify the empowering grace that I misunderstood then: You can’t trust God to punish you for your sins in the near term, because He is (Exodus 34:6b, 7a ESV):

…a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness [Table], keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin [Table]…

I don’t recall being led to Exodus 34:6, 7 at seventeen. I may have received it then as more evidence that “God’ll getcha if you don’t watch out!”³ As my last hope for God’s existence—my faith that God would punish me for my sin in the near term—proved false (and after a very brief last ditch effort to retain some faith in Him as evil), I became an atheist.

Now, fifty-three years later, I’ll look more closely at the Scripture He brought to mind in response to this sermon.

In the Tanakh on chabad.org the Hebrew verbs וְנַקֵּה֙ (nāqâ) and יְנַקֶּ֔ה (nāqâ) separated by a negative particle לֹ֣א (lō’) were translated, He does not completely clear [of sin]. The explanation of that clause is a bit clearer as well: He visits the iniquity of parents on children and children’s children, to the third and fourth generations.⁴ This characterizes the main point of this sermon as well as anything I heard in it: One’s sins show up again in one’s children—whether those children are actual biological descendants or not, I’ll add from my own experience.

I wouldn’t have recognized this as filling the position of empowering grace in this sermon apart from Brian Chapell’s book⁵ and the gentleness of the preacher. At seventeen, I had no children. I couldn’t imagine how seeing their own sins revisited in their children might impact parents, especially if they knew God through Exodus 34:6, 7. But being brought back, after so many years, to the final moments before I became an atheist has focused my attention on the time and the many trials and errors that have led me to this current moment. It prompts a question:

Is there anything I can do to help others shave a few years off that time, anything that might mitigate or eliminate the necessity of enduring some of those same trials or errors?

I hope to explore that possibility in future essays.