I Can't Stop Sinning

A pastor once shared a story that hit like a brick.

He went to a picnic where everyone knew he was a pastor. When he arrived, a man walked up to him—publicly, loudly—and issued a disclaimer:

"I need you to be patient with my profanity today, because I always cuss. It's just a bad habit. That's just the way it is. That's just the way I am. I can't stop."

He didn't say it privately.
He said it in front of everyone—so the picnic paused to see what the pastor would say.

The pastor looked at him and said, "You can't stop cussing, huh?"

The man said, "No."

So the pastor said, "I bet if I handcuffed you to Mike Tyson, and he busted you in your mouth every time you cussed, you'd stop."

The point isn't fear or violence, and that pastor certainly doesn't condone it.
His point was that real consequences reveal what we actually can do.
(And when consequences don't change it, that doesn't mean they failed—it means the person needs light, help, and less isolation).

Everybody understands this basic truth in every other part of life:

We stop what we truly decide to stop when the stakes become real enough.
We break patterns when "I can't" stops being a story we tell ourselves.

That doesn't mean consequences fix everything.
It means "I can't" is often not the whole truth.
It means the battle often needs more light, more help, and less isolation.
And God offers all of those to us.

Which means the issue is often not lack of power—it's lack of surrender.
It's that we want the comfort of our sin more than the cost of obedience.

And that brings us to a category we need to keep clean.

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God holds you accountable to known light

You are not commanded to be sinless in the "flawless" sense—never stumbling, never missing anything, never having blind spots.

You can't repent of sins you don't yet see.
You can't put away what you don't yet recognize.
You can't clean a room God hasn't turned the light on in.

But when God illuminates sin—when He puts His finger on something and says, "That. Put it away."—you are accountable for what you now know.

"Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin." (James 4:17)

Before you knew, you may have been ignorant.
Once you know, you are responsible.

God is not demanding omniscience.
He is demanding honesty.

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Salvation is deliverance from sin—not only forgiveness for sin

One of the earliest promises about the Messiah is not subtle:

"…he shall save his people from their sins." (Matthew 1:21)

Not merely from the penalty of sin.
Not merely from the guilt of sin.
But from sin itself—its rule, its mastery, its right to command you.

That does not mean believers never stumble.
It means believers no longer have to make peace with what they used to obey.

Grace is not a pardon that leaves the prison door locked.
Grace is power that opens the door and teaches your feet how to walk out.

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"I can't" often hides "I won't"

Let's be plain: sometimes "I can't" is just a respectable mask for refusal.

• "That's just how I am."
• "I've always been like this."
• "God knows my heart."
• "Sanctification is a process."
• "Nobody's perfect."

Sometimes those sentences are true.
Sometimes they're camouflage.

Because the real question isn't whether you can become instantly flawless.
The question is whether you will obey the light you've been given.

A necessary distinction (so we don't lie about real suffering)

Not every "I can't" is the same.

Some "I can't" is cherished rebellion.
Some "I can't" is bondage—addiction loops, trauma responses, mental health complications.

Grace doesn't excuse you—but it also doesn't abandon you to white-knuckling.

Sometimes repentance looks like confession and getting help: bringing it into the light with pastors or elders, wise believers, counselors, accountability, and real structure (James 5:16). That isn't making excuses. That's refusing to fight alone in the dark.

Bondage is not permission.
It is a signal flare: this needs light, help, and war—not secrecy and resignation.

Because if you're fighting, confessing, and getting help, this isn't aimed at you.
It's aimed at the part of you that still wants to keep one sin as "non-negotiable."

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Light creates responsibility—and God supplies power

If He says, "Deny it," He gives grace to deny it. (Titus 2:11–12)
If He says, "Put it away," He gives power to put it away.
If He says, "Walk free," He gives the Spirit to walk free.

But hear this clearly: He supplies power, not automation.
Grace is not a remote control.
It is strength to obey—carried by repeated choices, honest confession, and real accountability—not one heroic moment.

And this is where Christ must be named plainly:

Christ offers more than pardon.
He gives a new identity, pulls us out of isolation into His body, anchors us in hope, and gives means for obedience—truth, community, and accountability—where willpower alone collapses.

Not because you're strong—
but because Christ is faithful.

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So which sin is impossible to put away?

Which sin is too strong for God's grace?
Which chain is too thick for the Spirit of God?
Which habit is so entrenched that the Cross can forgive it—but cannot break it?

There is only one.

The one you refuse to surrender.

Not the one you hate.
Not the one you're fighting with tears and prayers.
Not the one you keep dragging into the light again and again.

The one you refuse.
The one you protect.
The one you justify.
The one you keep calling "just how I am."

That is the sin that stays—not because God is weak, but because He will not force obedience on someone committed to keeping an idol.

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The mercy is this: surrender is always available

The gospel is not "try harder."
The gospel is not "fake it better."
The gospel is not "manage appearances."

The gospel is: bring it into the light.
Confess it. Name it. Stop negotiating with it.
Stop defending it.

And then ask God—not for permission to keep it—but for power to forsake it.

Because He has promised the repentant two things:

• Forgiveness for what you have done. (1 John 1:9)
• Grace to walk away from it. (Titus 2:11–12)

So don't hide behind "I can't."

Often that sentence means, "I don't want to surrender yet."
And when it doesn't—when it really is bondage—you still don't get to quit. You get help. You get honest. And you keep bringing it into the light until obedience is no longer a theory.

Here's the excuse-killing question:

What do you already know God has told you to put away—
that you're still refusing to surrender?

Because that is the only sin that is "impossible" to lay aside.

Not because grace has limits—
but because if you insist on keeping the chain, you will keep feeling its weight… while calling it freedom.

If this piece angers you, sit with that before you argue with it.