There are so many things that I wish I could say today.  Cleverness is on the tip of my fingers, yet I am consigned to only quote so simply:

I, I am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins.

“For my own sake?”

“But what about me and my sake?” I argue.  So, you’re telling me this has nothing to do with me and what I deserve?  This is a preposterous and a scalding grace to be rediscovered with such frequency; to learn I play only the smallest of roles in my own redemption, like a spectator at a gallery, one who has paid a few dollars for admission.