Short Fiction About Failure and Hope: Stories of Sin, Confession, Forgiveness, and Redemption

By Mark McFaddyn

"McFaddyn's stories are not only entertaining, but they led me to evaluate my own faith. I found myself nodding my head, frowning, laughing, and at times becoming a bit uncomfortable. Highly recommended!" —Louis Smith, The Writing Lab Journal

 

In the introduction to this collection, Mark McFaddyn writes that he "always wanted to explore the use of fiction in spiritual growth...Jesus often told stories in order to teach important concepts; it seems a viable method." This unique collection of stories, written over a period of years, were each inspired by a nonfiction project on the topics of sin, confession, forgiveness, and redemption.

 

Each of the four sections begins with a discussion of each of each topic, accompanied by a notes on each story in the section. Read them for entertainment, read them for growth, or use them in a study group for discussion about the topics.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keledei Publications
• Release date: Feb 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9798215132074

Mark McFaddyn

Mark McFaddyn is an author and an editor, working on both fiction and nonfiction. He has co-edited How to Self-Publish, and a re-release of th classic SF magazine, Amazing Stories, Volume 1, from 1946. 
Mark began working with the Praying Through the Bible project in 2018.

Book preview

Sin, Confession, Forgiveness, and Redemption:

A Collection of Short Stories

Mark McFaddyn

Introduction

These short stories were written over a period of about six years, and were some of my first serious attempts at fiction. I had written non-fiction books and articles for decades, but always wanted to explore the use of fiction in spiritual growth. Jesus often told stories in order to teach important concepts; it seemed a viable method.

Over a decade ago, I was asked to write a number of essays on the theme of redemption. It seemed a good opportunity to write some fiction alongside the essays. As I researched the theme assigned, I found that I could not explore redemption without first exploring forgiveness, and that forgiveness could not be understood without an examination of confession, which in turn required a discussion of the concept of sin. My series of essays evolved into a four-part series on sin, confession, forgiveness, and redemption—which made perfect sense from a theological point of view. As I finished researching and writing each section, I kept notes and snippets of ideas for short stories based on the topics. Over the next few years, I occasionally pulled out those notes and wrote a story or two. I did nothing else with them. I was busy writing books and articles and editing. Finally, at the urging of a friend, I decided to publish them all together.

The result is this four-part collection of stories. Each section (Sin, Confession, Forgiveness, Redemption) begins with an introduction of the theme and concepts from which the stories grew. I have also provided brief explanations of each story at the end of each introduction. I run the risk of saying too much—after all, most literary scholars suggest that art should stand on its own; the author should allow the reader to be the interpreter of meaning! I agree, but I cannot resist, since the purpose of these stories was to encourage spiritual growth. Feel free to ignore those notes, or come back and read them after you have read the stories. If you gain something from a story that I did not intend, I am thankful! Not only should art stand on its own, but good spiritual writing should allow the possibility of God working through it in ways that may have not been intended by the author.

Reviewing these stories a decade later, I found some of them to be less profound than I thought. I also note that I tend to deal with the darker sides of these issues—the human toll that sin, confession, forgiveness, and even redemption, can take. Perhaps that is best: true confession of sin and genuine forgiveness are difficult, and both required sacrifices and painful self-examination. I hope you find the stories both entertaining and thought-provoking in the underlying themes.

I wish to thank my wife for reading through these stories so many years ago and offering unvarnished criticism and plain-spoken encouragement. Her quick mind and substantive analysis make me appear to be better writer than I am. More than that, her love and support have taught me more about these subjects that any amount of study.

Part 1

Sin

Introduction: Sin

The first four stories grew out of a study of how the Bible presents sin, especially the book of Genesis. A careful study of that book and and ancient literature, and of the characters in those stories, indicate that the creation story is not there to tell us how God created humans, but why. Those stories show us that God is a loving God. He created humans so that He could love them. He gave them good things. He planted a beautiful garden for them to live in, filled it with everything they could ever want or need. He lived in harmony with them.

They were innocent creatures who needed protection, like parents who protect children who cannot understand all the dangers of the world. Humans are innocent and they do not know what can hurt them spiritually and in relationships. The price of protection and nurturing is that children must trust their parents; God asks his children to trust him and all will be well. A mom picks up her daughter and whispers, Trust me; I know what can hurt you.

Instead, however, humans chose knowledge above trust. Usually, knowledge is good, but some knowledge results in a knowledge without the ability to act upon it (or refrain from acting upon it). This is the power of sin. The serpent told Adam and Eve, You will be like God if you eat of this fruit. That was not a total lie, for they would be able to understand sin and the damage it causes, just as God did. Unfortunately, they did not have the ability to refrain from it. Humans are not God; they are only like him. Adam and Eve’s choice was not merely that they broke a rule. It was an attempt to take control of their lives; an attempt to be like God. God said, Trust me and I will protect you. Humans respond by saying, No, thank you, I want to know everything and make my own decisions.  They assumed that they had the power and ability to use that responsibility properly, and they refused to consider that they might be weak and frail.

Everything that is made, everything that is constructed, has a purpose. Driving planes on the freeways would be inefficient and dangerous. trying to sail the seas in a car will result in bad things happening—perhaps death. That is not the created purpose of planes or cars. God created humans to live a certain way and function in a certain manner—we have a created purpose.  Imagine a long, serrated blade that is less sharp than other knives, created to cut bread cleanly. It is specifically designed and constructed for that purpose. What if I decided to cut down a tree with my bread knife? That isn't its purpose, but I could try. I might be able to accomplish the task, but it would take much longer than using a tree saw (the tool made for that purpose). In the process, I would damage the bread knife, maybe so much so that it could not perform its created function any longer.

This is what we do. God created us with a purpose, but we choose to live, act, or speak in ways contrary to that purpose. Sin is outside that created purpose. As a result, we cause damage to ourselves, our relationships, and our lives.

If only we could always live within our created purpose! There would be so much less stress and pain. Unfortunately, we cannot. The story of Adam and Eve is not just an old story about some ancient couple who disobeyed God passed the consequences down to all of us. It is a story of how each of us, every day, in little ways and big ways, make the same choice Adam and Eve made.

The following stories explore the idea of sin as a power that we cannot control on our own, and the concept of living outside our created purpose.

Notes

Fishhooks.  This story explores the fact that sometimes, we repeatedly engage in a sin when we know it is wrong and hurtful. Most Christians admit that they sin: we might tell white lies, cheat on a test, pad an expense account, or act selfishly. Sin usually results in some form of damage or destruction, Our lack of attention to life can cause us to act in subtle ways outside of our created purpose, unaware of their danger and consequences. It could be anything: lying, alcohol, sexual sin, or stealing. This is the idea of sin as a power. Of course, there is always something attractive about such sins; otherwise there would be no temptation at all. The insidiousness of sin can catch us unaware until one day we awake with a horror of realization.

Showpiece. The subtle power of acting outside our created purpose might not take us over fully, but act more like a slow-spreading disease. All the while, we continue living as if all is fine. We may continue to work, worship, pray, do good acts, and remain close to God and his people in some fashion. Sometimes, people with terrible diseases show remarkable strength in continuing to live and work as if the disease was not terminal. Eventually, though, the decay becomes too great.

You Made Your Bed... This story combines the themes of the previous two stories: the slow ability of sin (as a power) to to creep into our lives and take over, and our ability to keep going even though there is a slow decrepitude taking place. Here, our weakness in addressing those issues can be the result of good things, or things out of our control. Working hard and being responsible in our jobs is a good thing in itself—but what if we use that good thing as an excuse to neglect our spiritual decay? Sometimes, as in the previous story, we spend so much time on the exterior that we ignore our interior life. We become so busy—with admittedly important things (work, service, and family) that we allow our spirituality to become a secondary concern. This can also be quite insidious, because it feels like we are being responsible. In truth, we are worried and distracted by many things (Luke 10.38-41); so much so that we are unaware of the bed we are making for ourselves.

Looking Through Me. This story was a rather obvious attempt to play on the fears and attitudes of many teens (and adults!)  of not fitting in leading to a negative and destructive mindset. Sometimes, people become invisible. They are not literally invisible, of course, but they might as well be—either of their own doing or of the actions of others. We are all guilty, at times, of dismissing other people. We probably do not consciously label someone worthless, but we treat them that way through our actions or lack of actions; by our words or lack of words. It may be the way they look or their lifestyle. Perhaps they are not people of character. Yet nothing makes them less a child of God. This story explores how easy it is for our worlds to become small, which leads us to blame others and refuse to take responsibility for our own sin. We are willing to label people, and therefore to render them meaningless and invisible in the world, all in order not to face our own fears of being made invisible. It is the story of the Garden of Eden, it is the story Joseph and his brothers, it is the story of David. It is the story of us. It is why we all stand in such need of redemption. This blindness is not only true of the ones who treat others as if they are invisible, it is true for those of us who feel invisible.

Fishhooks

The small, barbed hook slid slowly into his skin, just below the surface. It was enough to hurt and to catch within his flesh, but no deeper. The hook was attached to a line that receded into the darkness ahead. He could not see where it ended, and, frankly, he was paying so much attention to the hook itself he did not give it much thought. It hurt, but it was just a small fishing hook, with a barbed end. After some struggling with it, he decided it would hurt more to try and remove. Best to leave it where it was. Probably, he thought, it will work itself out over time.

When the second hook punctured his skin, he was alarmed, but he noticed that it was the same size as the first. It, too, had a line receding away from it. Maybe it was best to leave it alone, too. If he didn’t move around too much, he didn’t notice any pain.

As subsequent hooks pierced his flesh, each with its own thin line, he was used to the momentary pain, as if his outer skin and flesh had become numbed to that particular sensation. Sometimes, he wondered if he should pull and yank them out, but he knew the pain would be intense. Far worse than simply leaving them there. They couldn’t stay forever, of course. Maybe they would all work themselves out—didn’t the skin automatically reject foreign objects, like a splinter that eventually gets pushed out? He would be stronger when he was older, and have more willpower to