Despair Is Worse Than Sin
by Donavon L Riley

Faith in Christ is a door flung wide, a new sky blooming overhead. But before long, we stumble on another truth: this faith demands that we sit down with ourselves—alone, face-to-face. And this is where the wrestling begins. Sin is no abstract list; it sits in your own chest, crouching. The world is no distant grief; it snarls right here, now. And there are darker things, too—whispers and claws that come in the night, drawing circles of fear around us. Faith does not shield you from this reality. It casts a sharper light on the ache, making you ask: Can God forgive what is so deeply twisted in me? Can this wreck of a world ever be healed? Can I stand against what hunts me?

But despair—despair is worse than any of these. Sin, we know, can be grieved and turned from; there is always that long root of repentance to draw us back. But despair is refusal. It cuts the rope and lets the whole body tumble into the pit. In despair, we become blind to the mercy that always follows behind us, close as a shadow. “You are alone,” despair barks. “There is no one to catch you.” But to run from mercy is the truer calamity, the greater abandonment. Despair locks the gate not on God’s love but on our hearts, retreating into rooms where the light cannot fall.

Yet even here, there is grace that calls out. Look again at the One who bore the weight of all things: the Christ who stands unmoved in the storm, even as we quake. The cross itself rebukes despair. It says, Do not flee. Do not forget. The deepest shame you carry, I have borne already. The bruises of the world, I have suffered. The wolves that claw at you, I have silenced. You tremble not because God is weak but because you forget that His strength never relied on your own.

The wrestling will not cease—it is part of this crooked life. But despair will never have the last word. You cannot unmake the promises of Christ, nor can your fear undo the arms He has wrapped around you. So when you stumble—and you will—reach not for the hollow victory of escape but for the God who sits beside you, strong in your frailty, resolute where you falter. Hope will hold, even when you cannot. It is not a flame of your making, and it will not go out.