I don’t have much in common with politicians. I have none of Hillary’s ambition, and Palin’s idealism is beyond my reach. I’ve never developed Dubya’s Texas charm, and Schwarzenegger’s biceps are worth three of mine. But when it comes to my occasional sin delusions, I’m an awful lot like Rod Blagojevich.

This week, the political cadaver that is Rod B. pulled himself together one more time to plead with Congress to halt his impending impeachment. He managed to beg from an upright position at the podium and cling to his gutsy refrain: “I have done absolutely nothing wrong.” He looked at the senators leaning forward in their seats and claimed, "It's painful and it's lonely, but I want you to know I never, ever intended to commit a criminal act." From the start of his let’s-make-a-deal senate seat scandal last month, the Illinois governor has been publicly flabbergasted by the outrage against him, and has stuck to the story that he and his conscience crafted.

Roddy’s sunny disposition makes for good press. When his self-proclaimed innocence is juxtaposed beside the man’s own F-bomb quotes and perilous arrogance, it’s hard to feel sorry for the guy. I can’t help but wonder what kind of power pipe he’s been smoking. Public and private sin are exactly the same, except that public sin compels us to compose a different version of the truth a bit sooner than we expected. I look into the governor’s eyes, see the defiance and the veiled panic, and observe the sinner archetype in full display. It’s the same posture that you and I have demonstrated during domestic squabbles and office “gotchas,” during cross-examinations with spouses and bosses, and when pesky church members confront us for stuff we insist we didn’t do.

Here’s the important pattern—the mystery fingerprint—that we shouldn’t overlook. Whenever I hear myself insist I have done nothing wrong, when I take my innocence to its absurd illogical conclusion, that’s exactly when I should realize something’s afoot. It’s natural at first for an accused man to defend himself against his allegations, but later, when the bullets stop flying, the spiritually discerning man might wonder how he contributed to the mess. That’s the point: sinners always contribute in some way to the mess, and the moment I believe I’m a victim of a conspiracy, my conscience and I will make up our own story.

I love how The Message personifies wisdom from Proverbs 8. Whenever my evil twin rises up, may I recall Solomon’s cool literary reminder to shun “pride, arrogance, and crooked talk.” Lady Wisdom, after all, makes a much better twin:

I am Lady Wisdom, and I live next to Sanity; Knowledge and Discretion live just down the street. The Fear-of-God means hating Evil, whose ways I hate with a passion— pride and arrogance and crooked talk. Good counsel and common sense are my characteristics; I am both Insight and the Virtue to live it out. With my help, leaders rule, and lawmakers legislate fairly; with my help, governors govern, along with all in legitimate authority. I love those who love me; those who look for me find me.