I'm not a Sinner. I'm a Person

I’m not a sinner. I’m a person. 

I posted this on Facebook and received some powerful reactions.  My minister pals responded with gentleness and support.  Other friends, though they were kind, equated my statement with total rejection of the Christian doctrine and it confused them to hear this coming from a pastor.   Some cheered me on even as they poured out their stories of having been rejected by their Christian communities.

Is it really so shocking that I insist I am a whole person complete with conflicting attributes? And excuse me if I sound guilty of the sin of pride, but  I’m pretty damned interesting.  I can be brilliant, dumb, generous and petty.  I sing, whisper, yell, and mumble.   I laugh loud, wail inconsolably, burn with rage, and love with passion. I work hard and occasionally I struggle through the minutia to accomplish big things. I’ve also helped people throughout my life. 

All these things count.  I won’t exclude them all and focus only on the bad stuff.

But let’s think this through.  Am I a sinner? I’ve searched myself all my life like a good little Christian to ferret out all my inner evil and I’ve enjoyed about as much of that misery as I can stand.  But if I must, I’ll give myself one final quickie—oops, using that word is probably a sin.  But let’s move on.    

Have I hurt others? Yeah, so okay, those are sins.  Additionally, others have said I have hurt them and they expect me to hang my head and feel bad. I can’t argue because that would probably be a sin, too. On the other hand, I’ve avoided the biggies—murder, robbery, tearing labels off mattresses.  But it’s a sin to brag about the bad things I've avoided.  Also, I’ve done some pretty good things, but thinking about how good I am is a sin, too.

Then there are the sins of omission—the endless list of things I am not doing but should be.  Also, my inner thoughts of the bad things I wish I could be doing—they’re sins too.  And then the feelings—jealousy, fear, anger, sexual desire, grief—I shouldn’t have them so those are also sins. 

Finally, we say that sin is anything less than perfection.  So as I sit here with imperfect posture, my fingers using the backspace key while I type in my flawed thoughts, I’m supposed to agree that there’s never a moment when I’m not sinning. 

Fine. You win. If we exclude every other fact about me, we can call me a miserable, scum sucking, stinking sinner.  And so are you.  And so is everyone. 

It’s probably a sin to say this is crazy.  But it is. 

Quote a Bible verse or two, or a hundred, but it’s doesn’t make it less crazy.  Weave your thoughts into a weird doctrinal narrative and call it “God’s love,” and that makes it more crazy.  Shout it from ten thousand protestant pulpits and the craziness grows. Teach it lovingly to the children in classrooms and we’ve elevated it to wickedness.   

So I want to say sincerely, I’m sorry but I’m not a sinner.  I’m sorry I ever believed that I was.  I’m sorry I told others they were sinners.  I’m sorry I preached it in the pulpit and taught it in the classroom and shared it to families in their living rooms. 

I repent. I take it back. 

Condemn me for it if you must, but I’m not a sinner. And neither are you.  We are persons.  

I Do Again

For the second time I will say, “I do.”  

I’ll say it again, and mean it again,

But without the naïve confidence of youth. 

The first time it was an oath in church

In front of my father, the presiding minister. 

Our families and hundreds of friends

Looked on with pride and sentiment. 

I wore the tux and she the white gown.

We had groomsmen and bridesmaids,

And a trunk full of wedding gifts. 

Tomorrow, at the courthouse,

Just the two of us will stand before

A stranger who will perform the ceremony.

I will say the words again with less drama,

No audience, no music, no solemn oath before God,  

Just a quiet promise offered only to her. 

“I do.”

First Look at the Ocean

I finally got to show them the ocean. 

Photo by David Mercer, 2016

I promised a long time ago I would show it to them.  The older one was in first grade. The younger one hadn’t started preschool yet. I had wanted them to stand next to this mysterious organism to feel its rhythms and consider its unseen depths. 

It took a long time.  School, work, meager finances, and fatigue got in the way. Getting time off, driving hundreds of miles and securing lodging along the way was difficult. It had to be backburnered but I never forgot. It took two decades, two plane tickets, and a journey that included letting go of a career, a marriage, and my religion. But I didn’t forget my promise, even if they didn’t remember my making it. 

I took pictures of them when they first saw it, like when they were kids at Christmas and I wanted to capture their reaction as they opened an especially delightful gift.  I took one from behind as they surveyed the beach and the waves for the first time. 

Photo by Sylvia Kirkendoll, 2016

There’s another of the three of us. The happiest looking person is me. My sons’ facial expressions are minimal as they typically are at big moments.  I don’t know how they felt but that’s okay.  My goal was to get them there. What they do with their moment… well they may need to take some time to unpack all that. 

It Doesn't Have To Be Pretty

It doesn’t have to be pretty.

    as long as you got the job done.

    as long as you’re still standing at the end of the day.  

Merry Christmas. 

I Whisper

I cannot speak too loudly.

I’m too weak and tired, too sick to raise my voice.

I’m ashamed that I still need you so.

Will you leave me if I make you angry?

Would you hurt me if you heard me?

Yet I also whisper because I have nothing more to prove.

Hear me or not. Believe me or not.

I will not beg you to listen anymore.

I am afraid, tired and lonely

But I continue to speak.

I must.

If only in a whisper.

Breaking the Silence

"When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long." (Psalm 32:3).

I’ve never voiced my opinion over the outcome of an election but I will this time. 

I’m disappointed and upset. 

I have spent my entire professional life practicing restraint in regard to politics, except to say that whatever the outcome we are supposed to give support to our elected leaders.  I said it even when the person I voted for didn’t win.  And even though I am bitterly disappointed at the outcome of this presidential election, I still feel that way.

I have decided I will express my support by stating my views clearly, including constructive criticism of our political leaders because this democracy guarantees my right to do so. It’s part of the system.  The President of the United States takes an oath to defend this right.  I expect, even demand, our President-elect to do no less. 

Over my lifetime, I have run the gamut.  In my younger years, I was very conservative both in religion and politics.  But now that I am gray and my eyes have dimmed, I see things differently and I have become quite liberal (if that word means anything anymore) in all areas of our culture.

As a minister, I  focused on moral and spiritual issues and I never criticized the nation’s leaders from the pulpit or in any public forum.  But I have taken leave of my ministerial post. 

On an even more personal level, I have friends who range from uber conservative to extreme liberal, and I have held back because friendships are precious and I don’t want to lose them.  But as respectfully as I can, with the hope they’ll continue to accept me as I accept them, I’m speaking up. 

I do not intend to be hateful, hysterical, or insulting.  But I ain’t holding back anymore. I must speak my truth or I will die. 

Below the Surface

Here’s what has happened in the last six months.  My children grew up and moved away.  I was separated and then divorced. I quit my job. I drove a thousand miles to begin a new life.

Now that you’re caught up, we can move on. 

The pressure is off. I can rest. I have enough to eat and a place to sleep.  I’m surrounded by lush vegetation, beaches, and cultures rich with music, history, and art.  Best of all, I have someone new who loves me. For the first time in years, I have quiet and freedom to think and write my thoughts.  It’s time to release the muse so they can fan the flames of my creativity. 

Except….  I’ve got nothing.

Well, that’s not exactly true.  I’ve got a headache. 

And my ears ring.  My heart pounds. My stomach churns right along with the emotions that have yet to settle.  My friends say it will take some time.  

Whatever.  I intend to start my new life even if I stumble a little at the beginning. 

Perhaps it's ironic that in the midst of this tropical land, my brain feels as empty as the plains of West Texas, where the land is dull, brown and flat.  

Yet having grown up in that barren land, I know that West Texas has more to it than one might realize.  Tough mesquite bushes hold fast, never giving in to the elements.  Huddled in their shade are jack rabbits, deer, armadillos, coyotes, and skunks. Underneath bleached rocks are snakes, centipedes, and scorpions. Dig down a few feet into the soil and you find a diminishing water table.  Dig further down and you could strike oil. Overhead, the sun burns hot and the wind is dry, sometimes kicking up huge whirlwinds that we call dust devils.  Angry storms occasionally lash out with lightening, hail, and tornadoes, but most days you can look up to see the endless blue sky.  At dusk the sun exits with a splash of colors. Then night takes over and the sky fills up with a billion stars and galaxies. 

Maybe it’s not so empty inside of me, either.  When I take a moment to look behind the dull headache, I can see that my stubborn passions remain. There are still memories, music, tears, hunger, love, friendships, hatred, laughter, loneliness, sexuality, and scorn. 

Is there any courage left?  Maybe.

What about spirituality?  We’ll see.