What fruit had I then in those things of which I am now ashamed? For the end of those things is death. And yet I loved my fall, not the thing for which I fell, but my fall itself. My soul was depraved, falling away from security in You to destruction in itself, seeking nothing through the shameful deed but shame itself.
There was a pear tree near our vineyard, laden with fruit. To shake and rob this tree, I and a band of young companions set out late one night. We took huge loads, not to eat ourselves, but to throw to the hogs, though we ate just enough to make it clear that we were doing what we pleased. And this was my heart: I loved my own undoing.
I loved not the object for which I committed the theft, but the theft itself. For I would not have done it alone. Nor did I desire the pears, but only the companionship of those who sinned with me. I was ashamed to be less shameless than others.
Behold my heart, O God, behold my heart, which You had mercy upon even while it was in the depths. Now let my heart confess to You what it sought there. I became evil for no reason. I had no motive for my wickedness except wickedness itself. It was foul, and I loved it.
What did I love in that theft? Was it not the thrill of lawlessness? A shadowy likeness of omnipotence? For there is a perverse imitation of the Lord Your God when one desires power without authority, freedom without obedience.
Yet even then You were present, angry yet merciful, striking my conscience with inward rebuke. You allowed me to run headlong so that I might learn by experience how bitter it is to forsake You, the fountain of life, and to dig for myself broken cisterns that can hold no water.
Late have I loved You, O Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved You. For behold, You were within, and I was outside, and there I sought You. You called, You cried out, and You broke through my deafness. You shone, You flashed, and You dispelled my blindness. You breathed fragrance upon me, and I drew in my breath and now pant for You. I tasted, and now I hunger and thirst. You touched me, and I burned for Your peace.
Adapted from Confessions (Book II) by Augustine of Hippo. Public domain.
Augustine of Hippo (354–430) was a North African early Christian pastor, theologian, and bishop whose writings have shaped Christian faith for over sixteen centuries. After years of intellectual pursuit and moral struggle, Augustine experienced a profound conversion to Christ, which he later recorded in his spiritual autobiography, Confessions. His life and work explored themes of sin and grace, restlessness and redemption, and the deep longing of the human heart for God. Augustine reminds the church that repentance is not merely turning from sin, but turning toward the God who alone can give true rest.