Mea Culpa

David’s sexual dalliance or his murderous plot? There were good reasons to justify himself just like any other self-made person: “I’m in charge here, and I deserve to do what I want.” Consequences? Easily arranged—in order to avoid the law’s death sentence for adultery. Victims? Hardly noticeable.
Under the sometimes lurid exterior of King David’s adultery is another sad story: the moral descent of a person who yields to the temptation of thinking that he is god. Theologians call this “self-idolatry.” Today we meet an apparently righteous guy who is slowly decaying inside his own self-image: a man of unquestionable authority, a man unafraid to use that power to satisfy his own urges for pleasure. King David is a person who can do no wrong, someone privileged—in literal Latin, “operating according to a private law.” No mea culpas for David.
Sometimes not for me, either.
I’ve never stolen another person’s spouse, and I don’t recall having arranged for anyone’s death. My sins are small, economy-size. Sure, there are lots of them, but they’re easily admitted. So I can rest easy because I think I’m basically a righteous guy. I deserve to be forgiven, right? No foul, no problem.
But inside that unrighteous notion is this dangerous notion: I also have trouble admitting that I’m not god. I think I can do whatever I want simply because it pleases or entertains me. I don’t always count consequences or victims of my small-and-continuing sins. I sometimes believe that mea culpa does not apply to me. In the long run, this does not make for easy—or righteous­—living.