I think even those of us who appear bright and shiny feel a little twinge of this kind of shame. I think we all do. Even if we call ourselves good, deep down somewhere we know we are not. Darker, more disconcerting things sit just under everything nice about us. Paul says, “I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out” (Rom. 7:18). If nothing good lives in us, how can anyone feel self-righteous? We should all be safe before each other if we are all equally messed up. But we don’t feel safe—because it
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