Personal Blogs

Can I Ever Be Forgiven?

15 years ago, while visiting Italy I was having  an evening meal with friends. One of them spent time visiting local prisons, bringing the Christian message to inmates. During one visit, a former member of the mafia confessed something that had deeply unsettled him. He had taken many lives and finally asked, almost in desperation, “Will God ever forgive me?”

The question lingered with me long after the meal ended. Beneath the crimes and the years behind him, something within the man still cried out for mercy. His conscience had not died. In fact, it seemed to accuse him more fiercely with age. That inner disturbance felt significant to me, as though another voice beyond his own had begun pressing upon him from somewhere deeper.

It brought to mind the reflections of C. S. Lewis, who wrote often about divine influence and conscience. Lewis argued that if God exists, He would not simply appear as another object within the universe, another fact among facts. Rather, He would reach us differently—through the inner world of conscience, longing, truth, and moral awareness. Not from outside like a sound in the street, but from within, like a persistent call we cannot entirely silence.

Lewis used the image of a house to explain this mystery. A builder is not trapped inside the walls he constructs, yet evidence of his mind and purpose can be seen throughout the structure. In the same way, God, if real, would not merely be one more visible thing inside creation. Instead, He might quietly impress Himself upon us through our inner moral awareness—through that strange pull toward goodness, truth, love, and repentance.

And that pull is difficult to explain away. Why does the human soul continue to ache for meaning? Why does guilt remain even when no earthly punishment follows? Why do qualities like mercy, kindness, and truth seem to carry weight beyond mere preference? Even amid the noise and distractions of modern life, this inward voice persists with quiet endurance.

There have been moments when I have ignored it myself. Pride, self-will, and the illusion of independence can easily drown out gentler things. Yet ignoring that inner prompting never brings peace. It leaves a subtle disquiet, a feeling almost like stepping out of alignment with something essential. The voice does not vanish; it presses back softly but steadily, calling attention to what is true.

That is what conscience really is— a kind of summons. A reminder that we belong not only to ourselves. Lewis believed these inner promptings should “arouse our suspicions,” and I think he was right. They hint that there may be more at work within us than chemistry and impulse alone.

This quiet influence has become less an argument and more an invitation. If there truly is a voice within that calls us toward truth, mercy, and reconciliation, then perhaps it is the clearest sign that we are known by Someone beyond ourselves. Not controlled, but gently pursued.

And in listening to that voice—in yielding to it rather than resisting it—I believe we begin to find something of lasting worth. Not the satisfaction of our own ambitions, but the deeper peace that comes from being fully known, fully seen, and still called toward grace.

“Come now, let us reason together,” says the LORD.
“Though your sins are like scarlet,
they will be as white as snow;
though they are as red as crimson,
they will become like wool.”

Isaiah 1:18

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