You are heading to your office after finishing a sermon on “The White-Hot Holiness Of God.” The theme was somber, to say the least, and the congregation seemed quietly contemplative — too hard to gauge whether or not the message hit home. You open the door only to find two men you have never met waiting for you. Uh-oh.

These men are not here to complain, however, but to pour out their souls. Both are full of tears, remorse and shame . . . You listen, nod, share some Scriptures and pray for each of them. As you walk them both out the office you can’t help thinking, this is why I do what I do. These men will be changed people from here on. They thank you for your message again, and it dawns on you — “Pardon me, men. I didn’t get your names.” The first says, “I’m Peter.” The second says, “I’m Judas.” Uh-oh.

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What’s going on here? Two men, both under what many would call “conviction.” Both men denied Christ. Both men bailed when it came time for courage. But one man went on to grab the brass ring of church leadership while the other put his neck in a noose. How could two remorseful men end up so differently? The naked eye will not help us; it sees only tears and clenched teeth. The Spirit, however, sees the difference between conviction and guilt. Our preaching hangs on this distinction — it’s a matter of life and death.

The Instant Gratification Of Guilt

Nothing produces more immediate results than a heaping dose of good old-fashioned guilt. A seminary friend of mine used to joke, “Just preach about the importance of prayer- that always nails them to the wall.” And who can disagree, has anyone ever met a Christian who thinks he prays enough? To the frustrated preacher who sees little signs of change in his listeners, the appeal of instant tears and regret is a seductive force when entering the pulpit.

The problem with guilt is that it’s a bear trap, not a springboard. Sure it hurts like the dickens when it chews its way through you, but where do you go from there? A springboard, however, certainly grabs your attention, but it also moves you forward. The problem for the preacher, though, is that guilt looks so darn similar to conviction. Is there anyway to tell the difference?

Had I pastored the church of Corinth, I don’t know if I could have resisted guilting them to death. Division, sexual immorality, lawsuits, abuse of spiritual gifts just lend themselves to guilt’s precision-guided missiles. Yet in the middle of Paul’s second letter to them he points us to the razor-sharp distinction between conviction and guilt. Notice the words in bold . . .

Even if I caused you sorrow by my letter, I do not regret it. Though I did regret it — I see that my letter hurt you, but only for a little while — yet now I am happy, not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led you to repentance. For you became sorrowful as God intended and so were not harmed in any way by us. Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death. See what this godly sorrow has produced in you: what earnestness, what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what alarm, what longing, what concern, what readiness to see justice done. At every point you have proved yourselves to be innocent in this matter. (2 Cor 7:8-11, NIV)