The Blame Game

A few months ago, I caused my son to fail his driver’s test.

The day before his scheduled appointment, I took him out to show him the old “three-point turn”—that infamous trial that has ruined the day for so many upstart drivers. He called it a “turnabout,” but I’ve been around the block enough times to know what they wanted. “Let’s do it here,” I said on a quiet residential street. As he pulled past a driveway and began to shift the car into reverse, I met his tentative action with incredulity, “What are you doing?” I carefully explained to him all three parts of the “three-point turn” and how the maneuver was valuable precisely because it allowed you to turn around without a driveway to back into. It was the same way I learned to do it on dirt roads in Alabama, and it had gotten me through more than twenty-five years of driving.

Being a trusted authority on these things, my son complied. And then, when he mimicked my example in front of his examiner the next day, he failed. The know-it-all told him, “Son, you have just performed a dangerous maneuver.”

When my son returned home, he was understandably disappointed and justifiably annoyed by my guidance. Reflexively, I deferred the blame. “Our world is so coddled now that a three-point turn is even too dangerous.” “Why can’t Kentucky teach normal driving?” I even googled “three-point turn” to justify my version of it.

Why do we do that? What is it about our race that leads us to reflexively—subconsciously even—defer responsibility and search for excuses in the face of blame? I notice it in myself, in my children, and in people I counsel. This tendency is as old as humanity, for our ancient father Adam managed to blame both God and his wife Eve in one swoop after his fall, “The woman whom you gave to be with me” (Genesis 3:12).

It’s also one of the chief characteristics of Israel’s first king, Saul—the one who, in contrast to his successor David, was noticeably not “a man after God’s own heart.” Saul functioned as another Adam, for in establishing a kingdom, God was granting his people a new start. However, just like Adam, Saul would fall by not listening to the word of God. And again, like Adam, he had excuses for his decision. He managed to blame the people of Israel, the Philistines, and Samuel (1 Samuel 13:11), before further minimizing his actions by declaring he had to force himself to do it (1 Samuel 13:12). Later, he would find new scapegoats for a separate act of disobedience. This time, he spiritualized his rebellion as an act of worship (1 Samuel 15:15) and blamed the people once again (1 Samuel 15:21).

I don’t think Adam and Saul stand as examples of unusually evil people. I tend to think rather that they represent us all. We are excuse makers. It seems to be our natural disposition. We are far more interested in justifying ourselves than in taking responsibility. From the outfielder who didn’t catch the fly ball because the sun was in his eyes to the husband who wouldn’t be so irritable if the house was cleaner when he got home, we share this repulsive habit.

We choose excuses, deflection, and scapegoating because we’re looking for comfort. We’re trying to convince ourselves that we’re not as bad as we really are. To the degree that we deflect blame for our mistakes, we participate in a story that claims we are the sum of our actions. We seek to soothe our consciences by convincing ourselves and others that we’re a little bit better than the next person.

But here’s the irony. When we defend ourselves, we forfeit the genuine comfort of grace through Christ in favor of the mirage of comfort that comes from self-vindication. You’ll never understand grace deeply until you understand your own guilt truly. People who aren’t guilty disqualify themselves from grace. Jesus tells us plainly, “I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance” (Luke 5:32). Salvation only visits those who need saving. Christ made atonement for the sins of the world. If you want your sins atoned for, you must be a sinner.

I have found that, while new Christians enter the kingdom only after confessing their sin, something tends to happen along the way that makes us hesitant to continue the habit. I’m not sure exactly what it is. If I had to guess, it has something to do with life in community. We enter the church as lowly beggars in desperate need of grace, but along the way, we gain the respect and esteem of members in our community. Our focus then changes to maintaining or even growing our reputation, and this shift makes us eager to defend ourselves once again. Growth in righteousness, however, includes growth in humility. We’ll never grow out of sinning in this life. Let’s grow deeper in grace by continuing to own responsibility through confession of sin.

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