A while ago, I did something thoughtless that angered a good friend. I was faced with the realization that one foolish decision had the potential to irreparably damage this valuable friendship. Although the conflict was ultimately resolved, and the friend forgave me, the feeling of uncertainly beforehand was gut-wrenching. I was horrified by what I had done, and while I certainly apologized, I also lost sleep over my poor judgement.

When I made my examination of conscience to prepare for confession a few days later, I was struck by a question.  Why didn’t I feel the same degree of horror when I sinned against God that I felt when I hurt my friend?  Why was I not equally distressed?  It is certainly not because I am unaware that the wages of sin is death and yet Our Lord paid the price: His death for mine. I owe Him everything. Every time I look at a crucifix, I can see what Our Lord has done for me and I am reminded that each of my sins hurts Him. And certainly, I feel bad when I sin against Our Lord, but not in the same way.

It made me wonder why.

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