A burial without death only produces a zombie sin, an old enemy we thought was gone but instead had been gathering strength underground and now ready to launch a surprise attack. A zombie sin stalks with frightening persistence, well-versed in our weaknesses and well-educated at the limitations of our self-control.

The lights dimmed. The movie began. A man waking in a hospital bed repeatedly pressing a buzzer that is never responded to. He gathers his strength to stand, slowly exploring the empty halls, calling repeatedly to his echo. He’s alone.

The lonely man wanders the quiet streets. He seems small in empty world. Wind blown waste shudders down the side path, newspaper headings about a virus, the date read 28 days earlier.

That’s when the zombies attacked.

It was also the exact moment I left the cinema. Like a fool, I walked in to watch a movie I knew nothing about while attempting to kill time on an interstate layover. I don’t watch Zombie flicks. I’d like to say I have some grand theological reason why that’s the case, the truth though is simpler—I don’t like scary movies. It baffles me why zombie movies are so popular, why the idea of the living dead still attracts a crowd—but it does. ‘Fright’ is cheap entertainment.

I don’t need to entertain fictional zombies, I have enough of my own to contend with. I’ve been a stumbling follower of Jesus since my mid-teens. I’ve had my moments of victory, mountain-top experiences of joy that modern worship songs love to extol. But sin has plagued me. Of course, the sins of youthful lusts and pride were present, and my twenties were a decade of struggle. My thirties saw the struggle change, but still present. I thought I’d left much behind, but in my mid forties, a new army has arisen—a zombie squad intent on tearing apart what God has built.

“So then, brothers and sisters, we are not obligated to the flesh to live according to the flesh, because if you live according to the flesh, you are going to die. But if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live.” (Romans 8:12–13, CSB)

Here’s what I am learning. Paul asks me to slay sin, a theme that John Owen would later riff off as he famously quipped, “Be killing sin or sin will be killing you,” and I thought I was. But I was wrong.

Burying sin is not the same as killing it.

I’d take a stab at killing my sin, I’d strike at it with my willpower and see it step away into the shadows again. My foolish mistake was assuming I’d dealt it a mortal blow, some fatal slash, and so I would consider it dead and buried. I’d rise on the mountain-top victoriously. But now the horde grows close again. Buried sins. The ugly undead.

A burial without death only produces a zombie sin, an old enemy we thought was gone but instead had been gathering strength underground and now ready to launch a surprise attack. A zombie sin stalks with frightening persistence, well-versed in our weaknesses and well-educated at the limitations of our self-control.

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