The Wretched Sinner That I Am

June 20, 2008

Now there’s a post title that gives you warm goose bumps from head to toe but really, after the comments following yesterday’s post I thought a little perspective was in order before I start buying into the saintly version of me I was starting to string together with your kind words. And besides, at some point D is going to look at your comments, look at me, look at your comments, look at me, and then crumble to the floor weakened by uncontrolled fits of laughter and so I need to nip this in the bud before I lose all credibility in my home.

The reason I say this is because on more than one occasion over the years D has watched me storm through the house, ranting and raving, furious over something I read in a forum, on a blog, in an email. She’s sat and listened while I’ve read out loud the inanely hateful ramblings of some nameless online knucklehead, pausing only long enough to interject a few equally caustic snide comebacks of my own. It’s not pretty, but that’s the real story. I’ve typed scathing emails and comments that have never been sent. I’ve rebuked people in a rage who haven’t been in the room. I’ve called people names under my breath in the solitude of my car. I’ve carried things in my heart a day too long against individuals and organizations who’ve spiritually bullied and vilified the life of another human being. And when it’s all done in the name of the Lord, don’t even get me started.

I have my stories and you have yours and I think there’d be something seriously wrong with us if we didn’t get red-faced angry over some of the things that have been said to us or about us in our lives. And whether we’re gay or straight, when we see another brother or sister (by that I mean any human being) being wounded by words of intolerance; when their character is assaulted and their faith demeaned, we should feel something boiling up within us. I have no problem envisioning a hopping mad Ghandi or a seething Martin Luther King Jr. I’m perfectly happy serving a Savior who has a temper tantrum in the temple court yard when financial gain sours true worship and the oppressed are kept at arm’s length from enjoying God’s presence. If calling it righteous indignation makes it all sound more holy then let’s go with that but by any name, anger over injustice and malice sends the message from our head to our toes that “something isn’t right here, something has to change,” and I’ve got to believe that when confronted by discrimination, inequality, poverty, oppression and violence, that message contributed in some part to the course of action taken by those like Ghandi, MLK Jr., Dorothy Day, and Bishop Oscar Romero.

Anger can also eat us alive, wear down our spirit, harden our hearts. We can hold onto it, turn it inward on ourselves or unleash it on people who had no part in it. The greatest tragedy of all is when we allow our anger to return like for like. We become like them. You hurt me. I hurt you. You cut deep. I’ll cut deeper. And the whole thing starts looking like the fight scene between Batman and the Penguin. Bap! Klonk! Whack! Thud! There are times when everything in me wants to Biff! Zap! Bam! Smack! and with fingers poised over the keyboards I prepare for battle with all the snide sarcasm I can muster, and then, for some reason that has little to do with my own intention, I find myself drawn to my happy place.

Whenever D or I get frustrated with a situation and start to become overwhelmed, the stable grounded one (usually D) will turn to the unhinged one who’s just about to step over the edge (usually me) and jokingly say, “Go to your happy place.” And so while stuck in a traffic jam I go in my mind to my happy place. I go to Disneyland, or the wide open ocean, or a bakery filled with just out of the oven overly-iced free cupcakes. And when I find myself becoming overwhelmed with anger, despair, or frustration over words of injustice and intolerance, my happy place is grace. I go to Galatians. I turn to Romans. I read a little Martin Luther or slap on my headphones and listen to another stumbling, bumbling sermon on grace by Jay Bakker.

When I take a minute to consider what Christ has done; that Jesus not only took on my sin, but became my sin; that never will God require a single sacrifice of me be worthy of his love because Jesus gave himself once and for all as a living and final sacrifice; that I’m made righteous by the righteousness of Christ and have been freed from the weight of the law to now live fully in God’s grace. . .when I allow the truth of grace to invade me, my heart becomes soft and pliable again. Not of my own doing but because of grace and grace alone.

Unfathomable, inconceivable, incomprehensible grace.

And along with falling into the grace God extended to me in undeserved mercy and kindness, comes the recognition that this same grace has been equally given to the one who I want nothing more than to slap upside the head. Grace is a spoiler. It robs me of needing to have the final word; of paying back judgment with judgment; of saying with bigger words but no more maturity, “Well, same to you and more of it!” Grace sands down the rough edges of anger and pours cool water on the fire.

Once we allow grace to wash over us, then it, rather than our anger can control us. Now our words and actions are no longer motivated by getting revenge over wrongs done to us but we’re compelled instead to extend the grace that was given to us. The way I extend grace to the one who condemns and judges is to remain silent to their assault and instead to pour what grace I’ve been given toward those who’ve been wounded as a consequence of intolerance and bigotry. I think grace calls all of us to a different course of action. For some, the call is to pick up the banner and march ahead into the fray through non-violent resistance and advocacy work or to climb to the highest hill and declare the message of equality, tolerance and love in a voice that drowns out all the rest. For others of us, grace calls to us to crawl onto the battlefield and search out the wounded and the lost and quietly whisper in each ear, “God is with you. Justice is on it’s way.”

Whether we respond with words and deeds, or silence and stillness, if grace rather than rage guides us then we have to trust we’re doing the best that can be done. At least for that moment.

The grace of God is always within our reach, and

But by the grace of God I am (we are) what I am (we are), and his grace to me (us) was not without effect. I Corinthians 15:10

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Posted in Christian Living, Love and Grace