Journey Toward Nonviolence 4: Sitting in Our Sin
Wednesday, December 30, 2009 at 2:29AM | in Journey Toward Nonviolence, Sin This post is part of a larger series. To learn more, click here.
I’ll be honest.
I can’t say I’ve spent much time in my life owning up to the things I have done wrong.
Yes, there are things I wasn’t proud to have done (many things!). But somehow I always found a way to quickly explain away my having done them.
Usually I did this by believing myself to be the victim. If another person brought some wrong against me, then I believed anything I did — either to retaliate or to participate in the wrongdoing, too — exempted me from judgment.
This worked even in situations where no direct action was done against me preceding the things I did that were wrong. I could always find a reason — however remote from the actual incident — for the things I did, and it usually had to do with something someone else had done somewhere along the line to make me desperate, helpless, or angry enough to do what I did.
I had a culpability problem.
What’s more, I believed God saw things my way in this, too. He could see the root causes motivating all I did. He could see my sins as mere attempts to survive in an environment. In my mind, God understood, took pity on me, and gladly let me off the hook. (You can see one reason why, then, I’d have a tough time understanding my need for grace.)
I believed all these things — sometimes consciously, but mostly unconsciously — for almost the whole of my life.
Then earlier this year I had an opportunity to begin facing my sin for what it really was (and is). It all began with Gandhi. As part of a two-day silent retreat I took for a school requirement, I cracked open Gandhi’s mammoth-size autobiography
I was not even 10 pages into the book when I came to a section describing his early marriage. Nestled inside these few pages of description, he made a passing comment about an incident that had happened between him and his father that he said he would describe in greater detail later in the book. He used the word “shame” in connection with this incident, and he said he still felt the flooding of this shame each time he recalled the incident to mind.
Such strong language for a small, passing comment caught my attention.
Then, about 20 pages later, he related the specifics of this incident. It concerned a way he had behaved on the night of his father’s death. He was not proud at all of what he’d done. He called it his “double shame” and said it was “a blot [he had] never been able to efface or forget.”
Gandhi’s genuine, enduring remorse for his sins astounded me. Here was a man, arguably one of the most holy men ever to have walked this earth, who genuinely grieved the ways his humanity had ever brought harm to another or dishonored another person in some way.
I found myself touched in a very deep place by this story, too, because of the similarity this incident carried to an incident I faced in my own life on the night of my grandfather’s death. (I wrote about this incident here.)
Then slowly, as I sat with this memory surrounding the night of my grandfather’s death, another memory of something I’d done even earlier in my life began to surface.
I was eight or nine years old, and I’d done something really cruel to someone I loved. I’d inflicted a rare breed of physical pain on this person, and in the split-second that followed my having done it, I remember reeling in a bit of shock that I could possibly have done such a thing. But after that initial moment of shock, I resolutely shook the remorse away and reared up in self-righteous justification: this person had wronged me, so they deserved what I had done to them.
I felt the shame associated with both of these hard memories and began to wonder what, if anything, united them. I turned in my journal to an essay I’d previously written, called “The Root of Injustice: Am I My Brother’s Keeper?”, and wondered if this same spirit of naked selfishness I’d questioned in the essay was at work in me in these two poignant and painful memories I’d just recalled to mind.
I was pretty sure the answer was yes.
Then more and more memories rose to the surface.
I started scrawling them in a list in my journal. A long, specific list. A dreadfully incomplete list. A list that could have filled an entire journal if I’d gone on long enough to let it.
A bit later, somewhat spent, I turned to a clean page and wrote the following:
I have only just begun, but this feels like a purging process and also an exercise in truth. Gandhi would approve, I’m sure.
I will probably continue adding to this list — continue “sitting with my sin” — for the next period of time. It feels important to do so. Perhaps when I am finished I will sit with each instance and try to ascertain what motive lay at their roots. Perhaps there are common threads. Perhaps they all share the same thread. Perhaps I will learn much about human nature and original sin by examining my own catalog of sin.
— 4 April 2009, My Year With Gandhi Journal
I’ve come to believe the road to nonviolence must be marked by an honest reckoning with our own sin. This is what helps us see that we, too, have contributed to the sin, chaos, and devastation of this world. I remember being profoundly arrested by this truth after I spent time listing my own catalog of sins. I began to see how much I, too, have been part of the problem.
What about you: How has the acknowledgment or unacknowledgment of sin played a role in your own story?
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Reader Comments (5)
Oh, sister. This post hits me. I've been considering sin quite a bit lately.
In recalling the earliest years of my spiritual formation as a child, and even into my adolescence, it seems sin was treated more or less casually. Yes, sin would separate you from God, but as Christians, Christ's death had reconciled us to God so in the end, it really wasn't a big deal. That was the overarching principle I had internalized.
I would experience, like you, shock or grief over realizing my iniquities, and my mode of dealing with it was simply waiting for the guilt to ebb over time. New things would bring subdued memories to the surface, and I would wait for the guilt for my sin to fade yet again.
One of my many reasons for being drawn toward the Catholic church is that I find that it is teaching me to view my sin rightly: it can have the power to separate me from others, from Christ, and in a sense, even myself. Sin is a serious matter; I remember this every time I see Christ on the cross. And while the happy truth is that His blood reconciles me to God, it is not something I can treat cheaply, which I have been all to wont to do in the past.
The idea of confession both thrills and terrifies me. I am compelled to examine my conscience, my behavior, and the attitudes and movements of my heart each day. The terror comes from saying these things out loud: words will tumble out of my mouth and I will acknowledge outside of the privacy of my own heart or my own silent prayer what I have done. But the thrill comes from knowing I will hear that my sins are forgiven and that I can go in peace.
And I completely resonate with your statement that this is essential when moving toward an attitude and practice of non-violence toward others and ourselves. We have to face the realities within ourselves, the consequences of our actions on our relationships, before we can experience the sweet peace that comes with forgiveness, reconciliation, and finally, peace.
It is still so hard for me to sit and to acknowledge and to know these things; the see the ripple effect of consequences, to see the rifts of separation that result. But oh, for sweet mercy and undeserved grace: Christ's blood will reconcile us.
Christianne- This post is exactly the sort of thing I have spoke about (concerning your ministry). This is such a powerful reflection and it is impacting like just waking up and having a bucket of cold water thrown in your face.........let me clarify that so you will understand I did not mean that with any negative connotation. You said these things with such humility. THAT is a gift! It is so much more penetrating than any hell fire and brimstone message that anyone could preach to get an "altar call response." There are times I read these posts and think to myself......that is so powerful. It is like hitting a home run bases loaded. Okay, you get my point on that.
I think I could write a book on this blog post. The things you were talking about in the beginning about excusing yourself because "it was their fault." A couple of years ago I remember God nailing me on that mentality and here is what He said, (Tammy paraphrase) "I know, so-n-so did that and they were 90% wrong in what they did to you, but that does not excuse your 10% response." Ouch! That was a toe stomper, but I never forgot it. Someone else could have upbraided me in that tone and I would have spewed out venom at them.........but, somehow God can get away with it.
This post down to the last word caused me to think. I appreciated the fact that you were honest there that you did not always see anything that you did as wrong. You know as the church, we sometimes consider it such a radical testimony when a really "BAD" sinner gets saved. They tell of their former thieving, drug dealing, fornicating ways and we oooo and ahhh. But, we don't understand that a real miracle (real grace) is when God is able to convince a very moral person that they need to be saved.
We fail to recognize the depths of that miracle because just like the moral person we see them to be too good to NEED salvation. We almost see it as, "what did you get saved from, you were already saved." Wow! I just cracked open my Bible and man I can't go on here I am going to write a blog about this.........there is just too much to say here. Plus, I have not even touched on how this blog effected me personally in a self reflecting manner.
I am going to copy and paste some of this comment into a blog post so I am plagiarizing myself. :)
Love you-
Thanks for the inspiration.
Thank you so much for this! I've struggled with both sides of this coin--not feeling the weight of my own sin, but also drowning in it. I think that's equally destructive, though in completely different ways.
I remember going through a time when I was 6 or 7 when I obsessed about my sin. I constantly (and I mean that very literally) prayed, "God, I'm sorry, please forgive me." It amazes me thatI could see the contradictions that existed in my motives when I was so young--sure, it was good of me to help my brother, but even then I knew that I did it for recognition or not to get in trouble more than because I chose to love him that way.
In the end, my obsession scared me . . . I remember trying to talk to my family about it but I don't think they understood how it was taking over my life. I don't know how or why I got out of that . . . except that God is gracious and knew my little heart would burst if he didn't do something, I think.
After that, I moved through times more like that to times where I didn't see my sin much at all--talk about extremes! And I still do, to some extent . . . I think I do a better job now of accepting God's forgiveness and forgiving myself, which allows me to see more of my sin without being overwhelmed.
I, too, resonate with your thoughts tying this to nonviolence. I feel like having struggled with my own sin helps me see that others probably don't have pure motivations for what they do, either. No one is purely evil, and so I can have compassion on them.
Also, Kirsten's thoughts on confession. I haven't experienced it the Catholic way, but the one Anglican confession I did changed my life. God is good.
Wow. All of you girls humble me so much with your stories. It blessed me to read them. I felt amazed that you would share so freely and widely here. Thank you for this.
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@Kirsten: Thanks so much for all you shared. I think your growing-up story of treating sin casually because Jesus already forgave it all really hits on one of the losses Protestantism has sustained. We gloss over the reality of our shadow sides, and this is deeply unfortunate because it means we don't get in touch with how our darkness warps our soul, our relationship with Christ, and our relationships with others.
What you're sharing about confession reminds of the daily prayer of examen exercise Kirk and I have practiced quite a bit this year. I'm sure you're already familiar with it. It's an opportunity at the end of each day to sit quietly in the presence of God and review the day: in what ways was God present to me? in what ways was I present to him? in what places was he present but I missed an opportunity to notice him? what are the graces of the day? where are the pieces of my heart that need to repent?
It's heartbreaking at first to notice how little we notice God when we begin this daily exercise. But it really gets us in touch with his grace: even though we miss him repeatedly, he stays present and ever-loving toward us, freely extending his grace. This increases our gratitude. The practice also grows our capacity for awareness throughout the day.
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@Tammy: I'm glad this post made you think in so many different directions. I'm looking forward to reading the post that came out of it on your blog!
I really appreciate what you said about the miracle of a very moral person becoming convinced they need to be saved. You're right: that is quite a miracle, isn't it? The stories I find fascinating are the stories of how God moved a person to that point. Or moved inside a person's life at all, whether toward salvation or any other kind of growth. The kaleidoscope of each unique story and how people move from one place to another in their lives is a marvel to me.
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@Sarah: Friend, your story of obsession with sin fascinated me. I felt simultaneously amazed at the acute perception you carried at such a young age for spiritual realities and sad for the burden you carried with this. It must have made it doubly hard to have carried the burden pretty much on your own.
You're right that this is a coin that can turn either way: too much focus on sin or not enough focus on it. It's a fine line. I'm hoping my next post in this series will help balance some of this out for us.
just read your 'superhero power' at chookooloonks - it was just to lovely. simply wanted to share that with you. :) buon anno! warmly, s