Psalm 51 Has No Sorry in It, and That Changed My Plan

Anyway, the thing that stopped me in this week's reading is how little Psalm 51 sounds like a child apologizing. There's no "sorry" anywhere in it. There's nobody on the receiving end either, no Uriah and no Bathsheba, just David saying "Against thee, thee only, have I sinned" in verse 4 and then talking to God for fifteen more verses.

I had opened to it wanting a verse to hang a post about sibling apologies on, and the verse was right there, so I nearly stopped reading. I kept going and the plan I walked in with didn't survive the second half.

Why does a forced sorry sound so empty?

You know the sound, one syllable said on the way out of the room with the eyes on the floor while the child on the receiving end rolls hers. I taught third grade for five years and covered recess duty twice a week, so I've heard every version there is, including the one where the word is "sorry" and the tone is "there, are you happy now."

I've also been the parent who stands two children at opposite ends of the couch and waits. It works the way a rubber stamp works. A psychologist writing in Psychology Today this June put the whole problem in a sentence: "Requiring one to say they are sorry when they aren't teaches falseness." I've been guilty of every one of those twelve words.

What the child learns is that the word is what you pay to be let out of the room, and whatever is or isn't underneath it is your own business. The child who got hurt learns something too. My eight-year-old can hear a fake sorry from two rooms away and she'll tell you so, loudly, which makes the next round worse than the first.

The apology also becomes the whole consequence, so nobody picks up the Legos.

What does Psalm 51 actually ask for?

David doesn't offer God better wording. He says "thou desirest truth in the inward parts" (Psalm 51:6), and the inward parts are exactly where a forced sorry doesn't reach. Then he asks for something he can't do himself.

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.

Psalm 51:10

I stayed on the word "create" for a good while. He doesn't say he's decided to feel better, or that he'll try harder this time. He asks for a heart to be made, because he knows he can't produce one on request, and here I am at 5:15 telling a seven-year-old to say sorry and mean it, which is asking for a created heart in about ten seconds, on my schedule.

Then, a few verses on:

For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it: thou delightest not in burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.

Psalm 51:16-17

A burnt offering is something you can see and carry to the altar and count afterward, and David says that isn't what's wanted. A forced sorry is the burnt offering of the living room. It's visible, it's the right size and everyone present can tell it was done. God isn't angry at a seven-year-old for mumbling and I wouldn't read the psalm that way, but I know which of the two I'm usually collecting at my house.

The psalm is a heavy one, since David is writing about adultery and a man he had killed. A boy who shoved his sister off the trampoline over a turn isn't in that spot, and I wouldn't read the whole thing aloud to an eight-year-old. Verse 10 is plenty. So is verse 12, "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation," which is where the psalm is headed anyway and where I'd steer a child who is already crying.

Nathan told David a story first

I'd have skipped this part if I'd only read the psalm, but in 2 Samuel 12 David doesn't wake up contrite. The prophet Nathan walks in with a story about a rich man with enormous flocks and a poor man with one ewe lamb that "was unto him as a daughter" (2 Samuel 12:3), and the rich man takes the poor man's lamb to feed a guest.

David's anger is "greatly kindled" (2 Samuel 12:5). He says the man should die and should restore the lamb fourfold. Then Nathan says "Thou art the man" (2 Samuel 12:7).

Six words come back from David, "I have sinned against the Lord" (2 Samuel 12:13), and Nathan tells him right away that the Lord has put away the sin. But the next verse says there are consequences anyway, and they're terrible ones. The sorry didn't undo anything. I think about that whenever a child says it and then looks around expecting the Lego tower to be standing again.

What I took from Nathan is plain enough. He didn't tell David to say sorry. He told him a story where somebody else was the one hurt, and let him feel it from the outside first. The words only came after.

So in my house the first question is about the other person. What did Lily's face do when that happened. If somebody took your glove at practice and wouldn't give it back, what would you want from him. Caleb will say "I'd want the glove," which is a fine answer and a start.

What I do after somebody gets shoved

Mostly the same things in the same order, and I get it wrong about a third of the time. First I separate them, and nobody apologizes in the first ten minutes, me included if I was the one who yelled. Then come the questions, with real pauses. If the answer is "I don't know" I believe it and leave it until after dinner.

Before any words, the child fixes one concrete thing. Restack the blocks, give back the turn, carry her backpack to the car. It doesn't have to be big. It has to be something the hurt child can see.

Then the words, in the child's own mouth and as short as they come. I don't hand over a script. "I'm sorry I took your turn and I know it made you mad" is plenty, and if it comes out sideways and in the wrong order I let it.

The hurt child answers however she wants, and "okay" is fine and so is nothing.

When I owe the apology I go first, which I wrote about in what to say to your child after you've yelled.

It's the cheapest teaching I know, because they watch my face while I say it, and I can't fake a flat one for very long.

There's also the child at the other end of things, the one who is wrecked over a tiny slip and doesn't need to feel one ounce worse. For that kid I'd skip the guilt entirely and go to verse 12. I touched on that in what to say when your child falls apart over a tiny mistake.

Frequently Asked Questions

Should I ever make my child say sorry?

I still ask for it, mostly with the little ones and mostly after everyone has cooled off, and I tell them it's a start and not a finish. What I quit doing is demanding it in the first minute. If they can't get there that day, tomorrow's breakfast is a better place for it than a standoff in the hallway.

What if my child says sorry fast and then does the same thing again?

Then the sorry was a word and the behavior is the real answer. I'd stop talking about the apology and start talking about the thing itself, what happens next time the same turn comes up and who goes first. A child who repeats it that fast usually isn't lying, just early.

What if the child who got hurt won't accept it?

She's allowed to say "not yet" or nothing at all, and I tell the one who apologized that saying it doesn't make anybody owe him an answer. I do ask the hurt child to stay in the room long enough to hear it.

Is Psalm 51 too heavy to read with young kids?

Probably all of it is too heavy, so I'd read verse 10 and verse 12 and stop, because a child doesn't need David's whole story to understand that a person can ask for a clean heart and that it's allowed to take a while. Save Nathan and the ewe lamb for the older ones, who will have opinions about the rich man.

What I still don't like

The three-sentence stem that every school apology handout recommends, "I'm sorry for," "this is wrong because" and "in the future I will." Teachers love it and I did too, and the first two stems helped real children in my classroom. The third asks an eight-year-old to promise a future she can't see, and I've watched the promise turn into one more thing to fake. I also don't like how much of this advice assumes a parent with a calm voice and thirty free minutes, because the couch method still wins at 5:15 more often than I'd defend. And I'm uneasy using David, of all people, as the model for a kid and a trampoline. The psalm is bigger than the fight over the turn, and I keep reaching for it anyway.

with love, Melissa