Fouls and Forgiveness

My Dad and I are at the NCAA tournament. Nevada is playing Florida. We’re only four rows from the court—close enough to hear sneakers squeak against the wooden floor.

“Close game,” my dad says. “Either team could win this.”

The clock continues to count down. As it does, the crowd tenses, and the players get more aggressive. Their movements are sharper, and their plays are quicker.

Florida has the ball. The players pass it amongst each other, circling the basket. Then, the ball is passed to the player closest to the hoop. He springs into the air to make the shot, and his defender mirrors him.

The two players come in contact mid-air, and a whistle pierces through the stadium.

“That’s a foul,” my dad says. “It might cost Nevada the game.”

The players begin preparing for the free throw. They form lines of alternating blue and white jerseys.

Foul.

I can’t help but think about that word. In the context of basketball, the word foul has been stripped of its power. It’s synonomous with “contact between the players.”

But in any other context, the word carries weight. Foul is used to describe things that are rancid, filthy, and rank. It isn’t a term we throw around lightly. It describes the worst of the worst.

The word foul reminds me of sin. Sin is everything that is impure, unclean, and immoral. But how often do I sanitize sin? How often do I justify my wrong thoughts and actions?

My sins aren’t as bad as other people’s.

Nobody’s perfect.

I’m a good person.

I diminish my own wrong until my sin has lost its weight. But minimizing the weight of my sin diminishes the saving grace of Christ. Jesus didn’t die because I make little mistakes. He died for me because the penalty for my sin was complete separation from God. He cleansed me of all foulness and made me righteous.

The ball arcs through the air and into the basket. The free throw was perfect. My dad was right—the foul might cost Nevada the game.

But I’m so glad that, because of the sacrifice of Christ, my sin won’t cost me a thing.