What I and most other believers understand by the word I’m not saying to you (sin) has got very little to do with yummy transgression. For us, it refers to something much more like the human tendency, the human propensity, to (mess) up. Or let’s add one more word: The human propensity to (mess) things up, because what we’re talking about here is not just our tendency to lurch and stumble and (mess) up by accident, our passive role as agents of entropy. It’s our active inclination to break stuff — “stuff” here including moods, promises, relationships we care about and our own wellbeing and other people’s, as well as material objects whose high gloss positively seems to invite a big fat scratch.
Catholicism is a community of sinners seeking grace, taking strength in each other’s company – a sort of Alcoholics Anonymous for screw-ups. As such, I’ve never known an environment more compassionate and comfortably eccentric.
Things go wrong, hope is lost and it feels like Jack Daniels is the only man who understands me. But something wonderful always draws me back. A few weeks ago, I visited my favourite priest in his rectory. I saw the light glowing under his kitchen door, tasted the smell of Marlboro Reds on my tongue and heard a babble of mad voices discussing what’s wrong and what’s right about this Argentine Pope. I opened the door and walked in to love, knowing that I was returning home to my tribe. The tribe of screw-ups.
I have discovered that one of the reasons (and it is only one) that some conservative Presbyterians find more fellowship in AA than in church is because everybody in AA is a mess-up, and you can talk freely about about your being a mess-up, while in church you have to keep up appearances. The cliche-ridden, ultimately Christ-denying fellowship of AA is no substitute for genuine Christian fellowship, but it is for many better than no fellowship or fellowship based on pretense when it comes to the truth about who you are.
Here is a question: why does Flannery O’Connor, a Roman Catholic laywoman, speak to me in a way few, if any, Reformed preachers do? Similar questions have come to me as I have read the spiritual-themed poetry of John Donne and John Berryman, as I finished a few weeks ago the last book of short stories written by Episcopalian John Updike, and last spring as I read Roman Catholic, Brennan Manning’s memoir, All Is Grace. Or, for that matter, the songs of Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard.
Bill Smith is a Teaching Elder in the Presbyterian Church of America. He is a writer and contributor to a number of Reformed journals and resides in Jackson, MS. This article first appeared at his blog, The Christian Curmudgeon, and is used with his permission.
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