The 1,000 Lincoln logs scattered on the carpet in my living room were proof that scarcity doesn’t breed selfishness. Human nature does. 

It’s easy to understand why an orphan child would fight to hang on to the only toy he possessed, but it’s harder to understand why kids would act selfishly in the face of abundance. Yet this was the scenario unfolding before me. 

“These are mine,” one grandchild shouted. “I’m using them to build a tower.” 

“No, they’re mine,” the other said, snatching the log from her sister’s hand. “I need them to build a bridge.” A tug of war ensued, and I stepped in to mediate. 

“Girls, these logs aren’t yours. They belong to Gigi, and I’m sharing them with you. If you want to play with them, you’re going to have to work out a way to share with each other. If you fight again, I’m going to put them back into the attic.” 

I shake my head at my grandchildren’s squabbles, yet I am often guilty of the same crime—selfishness in the face of abundance. Apparently it’s a sin that goes back to Bible times. The book of Jonah describes an ancient version of the Lincoln Log scene. 

You know the story. God commanded Jonah to go to the city of Ninevah and deliver a message: Repent of your sinful ways or I will destroy you.” Instead of rushing to obey, Jonah jumped aboard a ship and hightailed it in the opposite direction. 

A storm arose, Jonah confessed to the crew that his disobedience was the cause, and they threw him overboard to save their lives. He sank into the depths of the sea, only to be swallowed by a giant fish. 

In the belly of the fish, Jonah had lots of time to think. But he was stubborn. My, was he stubborn. It took him three days and three nights, but finally, surrounded by partially-digested fish, his head wrapped in seaweed, and his skin bleached white from the fish’s stomach acid, he repented. 

God, in his mercy, gave him a second chance. He commanded the whale to burp Jonah out—guess where—on the coast of Ninevah. Then he repeated his call, “Arise, go to Ninevah.” 

This time Jonah obeyed. 

You’d think, after being tossed into the ocean, swallowed by a fish, and swimming in gastric juices for three days and three nights, Jonah would be eager to share the God of Second Chances with the Ninevites. I can hear his opening line, “Boy, do I have a story to tell you. . .” 

Instead, he delivered God’s message verbatim and sulked when the entire city repented and turned to God. “This is why I didn’t want to come,” he muttered. “I know that You are a gracious and merciful God, slow to anger and abundant in loving kindness, One who relents from doing harm” (4:2). 

It’s easy to cluck our tongues at Jonah until we look in the mirror and see bits of seaweed clinging to our faces.

Like Jonah, I readily accept God’s mercy and forgiveness. When I sin, I rush to drink from the cleansing water, allowing his grace to expunge my guilt. I revel in his mercy, marveling that one so holy would even look at a sinful soul like me, let along welcome me into a relationship. 

Yet when the opportunity comes to extend forgiveness and grace to someone who has wronged me, instead of lavishing it on them in the quantity I have received, I hoard it selfishly, unwilling to share the smallest drop. I ignore Ephesians 4:32, “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” and instead crave judgment and punishment. They hurt me, so they should hurt a while, too. Forgiveness lets them off too easily.

When I need forgiveness, when I confess my sin to a holy and righteous God, He doesn’t let me stew and sweat. He doesn’t require penance and purgatory. Even before the words leave my mouth, his response covers them, “Yes. Yes! A thousand times yes. Not only do I forgive you, but I cast your sins as far as the east is from the west to remember them no more. You are cleansed. You are restored. You are forgiven.” 

And then he wipes the seaweed, sea salt, and stomach acid from my Jonah face and gives me another chance. And another. And another. 

Consider the precious words of Psalm 103: 8-14.

The LORD is compassionate and gracious, 
slow to anger, abounding in loving devotion. 
He will not always accuse us, nor harbor His anger forever. 
He has not dealt with us according to our sins 
or repaid us according to our iniquities. 
For as high as the heavens are above the earth, 
so great is His loving devotion for those who fear Him. 
As far as the east is from the west, 
so far has He removed our transgressions from us. 
As a father has compassion on his children, 
so the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him.

“He who has been forgiven much loves much,” Jesus once said of a sinful woman. Like her, we, too, have been forgiven much. Let’s do our best to live like it. 

Father, remind me every day how great a love debt I owe you and how quickly you forgive me every time I ask. Help me forgive others just like you forgive me. In the mighty name of Jesus I ask, Amen.

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