I don't know

I'm not sure how to write this post. It may go through many iterations and lose these first lines. It's not often I have an experience leaves me with confused emotions that can't quite sort through right away. But that is me, now. I got (figuratively) socked in the solar plexus last weekend, and I'm still sucking air.

The weekend itself was very good. My high school class met for our 40-year reunion. It was a bit of a shock to my system to stroll by the homecoming game and realize that my own children are all far too old to have been playing in that game. But, chagrin at the passage of time aside, it was very good to connect with the people who share memories with me that no one else holds. "Roz at 15" is nothing I particularly want to put up on display, but it is part of me, and the connection with my cohort, and particularly some old friends, was a good thing. 

The dismay comes from encountering a friend's experience of those 40 years and realizing the brush I myself had with calamity.

My experience

Chris wasn't a particularly close friend; I didn't travel in the sphere of cheerleaders and Homecoming Court candidates. But she was bubbly, likable, and kind. We might chat if we had a class together, but that was about it. In the fall of our senior year, she and a number of other girls from my high school began to get involved in a religious group whose focus was keeping kids off drugs and getting to know Jesus. Though reared a Catholic, I hadn't paid much attention to my faith since I was confirmed and was of the opinion that the evidence for the truth of Christianity was pretty thin. But when one of the girls, someone who wouldn't normally go out of her way to talk to me, invited me to go to one of the meetings, I agreed.

I found an extremely warm and dynamic group of the most non-loser type of teens I'd ever met. They were enthusiastic, prone to shaking hands with vigor, and they talked about Jesus as if he was personally the most exciting thing that had ever happened to them. To say I was intrigued is an  understatement.

We sat cross-legged on the linoleum tile floor of a small church of a denomination I'd never heard of. At the front of the room were four guys who looked to be in their 20s, scruffy enough to be credible to teens in 1969. One of them was a good guitarist—people sang songs I have no memory of now.  You'd think I could remember what actually went on at the meetings, but I don't. There was talk about scripture and what it meant (occasionally including a super-spiritualized interpretation of a single verse out of context), talk about how God really will speak to us today, etc. I liked it a lot. The part of me who was seeking for God, love, connection and meaning responded. I began to lean into believing.

I still struggled with a rational basis for belief. I asked questions about specific scriptures—I remember that people took the time to answer me, but I don't remember feeling completely satisfied. Do I really remember the process in my faith and my emotions? No I don't. I can only guess from what I remember of my actions.

There was one meeting when we came to what normally was the end of the activities. A lot of people got up and left, but some of us stuck around, probably because the guys in front were still sitting on the table. One of them said that, since they hadn't actually announced the end of the meeting, the Lord must have meant those other people to leave and us to stay because he had something big in store that was intended for those who remained. I guess we prayed for a while, then one of the leaders began to utter a message in tongues. I don't remember whether I was freaked out by that, but then he or another guy began to speak what he said was an interpretation of what had been said. He addressed individual messages to people in the room. It went on for about 20 minutes. Here and there, a girl began to cry audibly. I was struck by it, but likely my primary emotion was that I felt left out because I wasn't mentioned—I don't know.

More and more, as I hung around with friends from the group, the more dedicated ones would talk about listening to tapes of talks or getting rebaptized. They were thrilled. I was hesitant. I began to back away and eventually stopped going.

The article

About ten years after I graduated, a series of disturbing articles appeared in my hometown newspaper. That group hadn't dissolved; in fact, it had deepened its impact on its members. Many had moved to New Mexico and broken contact with their families. The leader was elusive, members wouldn't talk to the press. There were scattered reports of suicides of people who had left or been expelled from the group. Distraught parents were quoted. On the front page were the smiling senior pictures of seven area women who were among those who had dropped from sight. One of them was Chris.

I was heartsick. I hadn't known her well, but I had been fond of her. Even so, it surprised me to realize how distressed the news made me. Apparently, (I don't recall this), I wrote Chris a letter addressed to the ski resort they'd turned into their enclave. Of course I never got a reply. I prayed for Chris consistently, if not particularly frequently, for the next 30 years. I continue to this day.

Now
I spoke with Chris at the reunion. She left the group (which has apparently since dissolved) in 1998. She goes by another name. They all changed their names several times, coinciding with moving to new locations, and it was too much trouble to go back to her birth name. She remembers with gratitude the letter I wrote her, apologizing that she hadn't been allowed to respond. She is married, apparently happily, and says that she's experienced a huge amount of healing from her experience in what turned into a serious and destructive cult. She has an alive and vibrant faith and is active with her husband in their church.

After I returned home, I pulled out my trust toolbox and looked for more information. I found the series of newspaper articles of which I'd only seen the first one. I found information on web sites concerning indie bands with which that good guitarist had played. I found accounts written by former members. I spent a whole day in front of my computer, absorbing the enormity of the travesty that had been foisted upon men and women who were beloved children of God.

One of the accounts was written by a young man who had been ejected from the group in the mid-1970s. His reports of the rapid deterioration of spiritual sanity and psychological health during the few years he was involved make me dread learning more about what happened in the 20-odd subsequent years that Chris remained and rose to leadership. How can anyone not remain deeply scarred by the deep betrayal of self that would have been necessary? Yet -- God's mercy and power transcends all things. I realize that I don't understand. I'm concerned. I'm not in charge or even directly involved. I trust God.

Me
Until last weekend, when I spoke with Chris and then started learning more, it was all just a vague memory. Now, it feels like present trauma, as if a sniper's bullet had picked off the person standing behind me in line at the bank. In high school, I wanted what Chris wanted -- and more. I wanted to have friends, to be included by people who were more attractive and successful than I, to experience love and acceptance, to know God, to be part of something significant. Chris became trapped -- or trapped herself. I went free, relatively speaking, to an encounter with God and a freshening of faith a mere year or two later.

It could have been me. It wasn't me. I feel a kinship with anyone who was in the World Trade Center on September 10, 2001.

I'm grateful. I'm sad. I'm confused. I'm overjoyed that God delivered Chris and allowed me to be in touch with her again. I'm glad to have another friend Ann whose experience was like mine, so I can talk about it with her. I'm profoundly grateful that my husband cares deeply and is a good listener.

I guess my next steps are to sit with this, allow God to speak to me, and do what I know will help me process it. One of them is writing about it here. Thanks for listening.

On mercy and wrath

I recently wrote a post entitled "What Does God Do When We Fail," pointing to God's ability to carry through with his plans regardless of our sins and failures. I didn't intend to downplay the seriousness of sin -- my premise is that those who are hid with Christ in God obey him in regular repentance and commitment to obey him -- but instead to remind us that without God we can do nothing, including derailing the sovereign purposes of God Almighty.

The thrust of that essay was the effect of our sin on the overarching purposes of God. But what about us as individuals?

A reflective friend says:

I would also add a word about His wrath and discipline. I recall the many that were slain on the day of the Golden Calf. And David and Bathsheba's first child was taken from them and the sword did not depart from David's house during his lifetime. The consequences of sin can be overwhelmingly crushing for our God is a consuming fire to be sure. But for those who are His children, His wrath has been diverted onto Christ - for us there is no longer any judgment but only the fatherly discipline of His love. And God's discipline, though dreadful to go through, is such a humbling, cleansing, healing and transforming work of His love and mercy to those who bow before Him. I give Him praise for this too!

My friend raises an interesting point about discipline. Forgiveness does not erase the temporal effects of sin and so does not rescue us from experiencing suffering resulting from our sinful acts. But the game has changed between the Old Testament and the New. The death of Jesus turned a corner, not in God's love for us or hatred for sin, but in the new availability of genuine reconciliation between the sinner and God.

I, frankly, am grateful for God's wrath. I look around at the awful realities of our world -- innocent people raped, slain and starved; hopelessness; lies and deception; verbal and physical cruelty; -- and I am glad that the Fountain of Mercy himself looks at such things with anger and hatred. But I would not be grateful for it if I were stuck with the unscrubbable stain of my sin marking me out as a worthy object for that anger. But for the gift of Jesus, that would be true. But the death of the Son of God has changed the game, and I will never stop thanking him.

God's mercy toward us extends to doing whatever it takes to free us from the things that block his outpouring of grace and our growing love relationship with Him. If my habitual sin is blocking the freedom of the Holy Spirit in my life, then I want him to bring it to my attention so I can hand it over to him to squash. Knowing, however, my own disinclination to launch uncomfortable change until it gets too painful not to do so, I shouldn't be surprised that the process of God getting my attention can be an arduous one.

God himself says in Ezekiel, "As I live, says the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live."(13:11) We needed a way out. The Good News is that Jesus took care of it. The better news is that God didn't stop there. Not satisfied with getting us out of the criminal dock, he wants to anoint us with fragrant oils, give us beautiful clothes and take us to the altar and marry us. The process of being a Christian isn't the process of becoming acceptable. It's the process of becoming more and more who we were made to be -- God's Delight.

Beautiful from a distance

Commenter Kansas Bob made reference to St. John of the Cross (I love all the Carmelite saints!) and his Dark Night of the Soul.

Often, people misuse that term for the difficulty Christians face, the struggles they go through, to reach knowledge, or faith, or rest in Christ. Actually, it's what seems like spiritual coma or death through which the soul passes through on the "purgative way," while it is detached from all comfort and light in prayer, from satisfaction, spiritual pride and avarice, to find union with Jesus Christ on earth and in Heaven.

I flipped open my laptop to write an appeal about my own spiritual coldness and dryness and found Roz' post and KBob's link - thank you, brother and sister. But mine is not the purification of Juan de la Cruz' dark night. It's plain old ordinary fallenness: clinging on to habitual sinfulness, laziness in devotion. I can't weaken Christ's love for me, but I can sure get the heck out of the way of His Grace by turning away towards decidedly lesser goods, abandoning the greatest Good. I can also fool myself that because I'm pretty dependable about giving time and money and attention to the church, that I can pick up enough Face Time Points to cruise along until I get around to embracing humility and single-footing it on the Narrow Way.

St. John, like all saints, never goes out of date or relevance. He says something wonderful in the link in Chapter II (no way to point to it directly):

5. Some of these beginners, too, make little of their faults, and at other times become over-sad when they see themselves fall into them, thinking themselves to have been saints already; and thus they become angry and impatient with themselves, which is another imperfection. Often they beseech God, with great yearnings, that He will take from them their imperfections and faults, but they do this that they may find themselves at peace, and may not be troubled by them, rather than for God's sake; not realizing that, if He should take their imperfections from them, they would probably become prouder and more presumptuous still. They dislike praising others and love to be praised themselves; sometimes they seek out such praise. Herein they are like the foolish virgins, who, when their lamps could not be lit, sought oil from others. (emphasis mine)

Well, howdy Therese! I want God to take away my sinfulness so I can be pleased with myself and my holiness! Bow down before the Idol Comfort! I don't want to push sinfulness away from myself, solely with the help of His Grace, to follow more closely God's Will. St. Paul says it clearly, too, in 2Cor12:7 and following:

Because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, for this reason, to keep me from exalting myself, there was given me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me -- to keep me from exalting myself. Concerning this I implored the Lord three times that it might leave me.

We don't know what it was that tormented him - I see some commenters refer to sinfulness and others to poor eyesight ("see with what large letters I write to you!").

The lesson I've learned today, again, again, is that (1) Only His Grace is necessary for any good, for any turning towards the Lord, (2) I'm no better than anyone else, gol dang it, (3) I'm a sinner, (4) Tomorrow's another day, to rise again and carry my cross.

What do you do to kick yourself in the spiritual heinie when you've become lukewarm?

You love to deal with sin, right? Good.

Sermons about sin are few and far between in these happy-go-lucky times. Solid information about how to address sin in a way that actually brings about changes is even rarer. But I was lucky. Our parish had a mission offered by Renewal Ministries which offered us a number of evenings of meaty fare for our spiritual appetites.

Here is an excerpt from my notes: eight principles for dealing with venial sin, from a conference given by Ralph Martin.

1. Sin never helps
   . . . although sometimes it seems as if it would. The source of all unhappiness and wounds in life is sin. Period. Sin is never the solution to the problem we think we're facing. Doing the right thing brings joy. It brings freedom to the soul.
   
   
2. You can't achieve happiness without turning from serious sin.
   Conversion and ongoing repentance is always a crisis of revelation. We're not always aware of the truth about ourselves. Sin is partnered with falsehood. Repentance brings light and truth and keeps us from having to run from ourselves.
   
   
3. Big sins are bad. Small sins are less bad, but they're still bad.
   Deliberately chosen offenses harm our relationship with God. They damage us. Inadvertent sins (like blurting out something wrong before you catch yourself) need to be addressed, but more important is the act consciously entered into that you know is wrong - even if it's not a serious sin in itself. Hatred is not too strong to direct toward sin - it's good to get your emotions involved to support your determination.
   
   
4. We need to deal with our affection for sin.
   We wistfully yearn for some of our sins, much as the Hebrews in the desert maintained an affection for Egypt. We can close the doors of our hearts, letting go of the affection and asking God for the grace to release it. Toward this end, it can help to meditate on the basic truths of the faith, such as the lengths to which God went to address the effects of sin.
   
   
5. Temptation is not sin.
   If you're tempted your whole life toward the same sin, there is nothing wrong with you! Some of the most renowned saints struggled to the end of their lives with temptations that perhaps many of us have been spared. The key is how we stay connected with the Lord in the middle of temptation. The best time to say "no" is the instant you become aware of the temptation -- don't make life harder than it needs to be. Identify temptation for what it is. Don't go easy on it. There's no need to bend down and engage the serpent in diplomatic conversation.
   
   
6. Avoid the situations that often accompany temptation.
   In other words, avoid the near occasion of sin. Stay away from the circumstances and situations that are associated with that sin.
   
   
7. Talk to somebody.
   Go to confession, get a spiritual director, talk to someone with spiritual maturity and stability who you trust. Talk to someone. Do it. Now.
   
   
8. Humility
   Don't be impatient with your sin out of pride rather than contrition. Don't expect yourself to have the ability to change through your own efforts. Have confidence in God. Trust him to do in you what he wants to do.
   

Ralph accompanied the talk with many anecdotes of the saints. He told of Therese of the Child Jesus who, throughout her life, had trouble with falling asleep while she was in prayer. She didn't get discouraged about it or obsess about her failing, but instead expressed confidence that God loved her even while she slept just as a parent loves his sleeping child. We can trust God, not the power of our prayer nor the fervor of our repentance.

And toward the end of St. Therese's life, she was rebuked by a sister after she spoke impatiently. Her response was to be glad to learn of "another fault to bring to the mercy of Christ." May we all have the same spirit.