Apology vs. Explanation

I feel the need to preface this, because confession/penance/forgiveness/apologies/reconciliation (need I go on) are ever-changing, fluid topics of research and conversation for me.  As I pause to write this very non-academic post, I am concurrently working on the prospectus for my dissertation, which will also delve into this topic, because it just will not let me go.  But I’m not coming at this from the perspective of an aspiring expert today.  No, I’m coming at it from the perspective of a fairly exhausted mama of tweens, teens, and young adults, the morning after the National Quiz, with a new puppy sleeping near my feet, even though he won’t let me sleep any longer, on this Saturday morning.  If you’re looking for some of my best theological writing, please (I reiterate, please) go look somewhere else.   

But also… as I began to put this piece together in my mind, it occurred to me that judgments could easily be made about my positions.  Things like, “This doesn’t sound like the Lisa I knew in 1987 or, “L, I don’t think that’s what you would have said in 2015,” or, “Mom, this doesn’t square with who you were last year.”  Well, thank goodness!  One of the beautiful things about being human is we have the ability to change and adapt and grow.  Here’s to hoping that change is for the better.

Something I have been thinking about a lot, lately (in the past week but also over the past several years) is the way we are so often “sorry.” 

I’m sorry I ate the last cookie.

I’m sorry I can’t come in to work today.

I’m sorry your feelings were hurt when you didn’t understand what I said.

I’m sorry you feel that way, at all.

I’m sorry I feel this way.

I’m sorry I stepped on your toe.

I’m sorry I yelled at you.

I’m sorry for what I said when I yelled at you.

I’m sorry I ever met you.

I’m sorry your mom died.

I’m sorry I can’t help.

I’m sorry I’m taking up so much space.

The list goes on… and on… and on… and it is already nuanced before we say another single word.  And yet, we often say the next word anyway, to clarify… to explain… to soften the blow… because we can’t shut up… for whatever reason.

I’m sorry I ate the last cookie, BUT you had more than me yesterday.

I’m sorry I can’t come in to work today, BUT I’m sick.

I’m sorry your feelings were hurt when you didn’t understand what I said, BUT it’s not my fault.

I’m sorry you feel that way, at all, BUT I’m not willing to help you process your thoughts.

I’m sorry I feel this way, BUT I can’t help it.

I’m sorry I stepped on your toe, BUT you were in my direct path.

I’m sorry I yelled at you, BUT you wouldn’t listen any other way.

I’m sorry for what I said when I yelled at you, BUT it was true.

I’m sorry I ever met you, BUT let’s just part ways now.

I’m sorry your mom died, BUT at least her suffering is over.

I’m sorry I can’t help, BUT it’s just a bad time right now.

I’m sorry I’m taking up so much space, BUT my ideas are really important.

As relational beings, we have this unsatiable desire to explain our behavior, and there are certainly times when an explanation is appropriate and certainly times when an explanation is more appropriate than an apology… especially if we are not actually sorry.  Not all the statements above are conducive to this kind of restructuring, but some are:

I ate the last cookie, because I thought it was fair, since you had more than me yesterday.

(I am not actually sorry I ate the last cookie, so this is a more honest admission of what happened.)

I am sick, so I will not be coming in to work today.

(If you love your job, this may be regrettable, but you are still probably not sorry.  Perhaps you are sad or frustrated.  Being sick and subsequently taking care of your health is not something for which to apologize.  #EndTheRatRace)

I stepped on your toe!  Are you OK?  Would you like me to get an ice pack for you?

(I acknowledge that I caused pain, even if it was an accident, and would like to make it right if I can.)

The things that do not require an explanation (or apology) often fall into one of two categories. 

Things I said, did, or felt that did not cause harm to others but for which I am being held accountable unfairly:

My feelings are legitimate.

My voice at the table matters.

 

Things I didn’t do (and in which I am in no way complicit): 

Enduring the death of a loved one is so hard.  Please let me know what I can do for you (or even better, I’m sending dinner over on Tuesday, or I’ll be there to do your dishes this weekend, or I’m here to listen).  As a caveat, I realize it is the norm in the English language, in the United States, to say “I’m sorry” when someone dies.  I certainly do this myself, all the time.  I think the word “sorry” in this case actually means something completely different, and it is appropriate.  It means, “I mourn with you,” but I recognize a lot of people would find it very odd if we actually said, “I mourn with you.”  You have to take the temperature of the room and do the best you can to find the most comforting words when dealing with grief, and that is a completely different conversation for another day, I suppose.

But what about the things for which we should actually be sorry?  I think this is the trickiest part of all, and I think the best thing to do is to keep it simple and focused on our own culpability and legitimate sorrow.  When we know precisely what we have done wrong, that looks like:

I’m sorry I hurt you when I did not communicate clearly. 

(puts responsibility on the person who did the hurting, not the one who was hurt)

I’m sorry for the hurtful words I said.

(also, I’m sorry for the hurtful thing I did… and if you know what that thing was, name it)

Sometimes, we don’t know exactly what we did:

I’m sorry for the ways in which I have hurt you.

(If you desire an ongoing relationship, you might also follow this with something like, “I would love to sit down on your terms in order to listen to your narrative and to find a better way to communicate/relate moving forward, if that is something you would like.”)

There is also something (maybe a lot of “somethings”) very important to be said about reconciliation, and it begins with acknowledging that sometimes it cannot happen (maybe you’re legitimately sorry for something that happened years ago but the other party is no longer alive or you cannot find them) or will not happen (the other party has moved on or is not willing to engage in the hard work of reconciliation either because they have been hurt too deeply or they have their own guilt/shame over being partly responsible and are not as sorry as you are) or should not happen (particularly if it could put either party in danger).  But I sincerely believe that if two (or more) parties are willing to reconcile, it can be done, and I also believe it is possible for this to happen over the whole spectrum of relationships, from one-on-one personal connections all the way down the line to tangible systemic change (which is another one of those subjects that deserves a post, conversation, book, or entire library of its own).

I also believe that all of this starts with honesty.  As I already mentioned, apologies (like pretty much all language) are nuanced the moment the words begin to form on our lips.  Be clear about yours.  Be real about whether you are issuing an apology or an explanation and be honest and specific about what you are sorry for.  There is a huge distinction between being sorry for what you have done, being sorry for the consequences (including the hurt of others), and being sorry you got caught.  These are three very different things, and it is OK… even ethical… to verbalize which kind of sorry you are. 

I recently saw a statement which (paraphrased) said something to the effect of, “unless there is a change in actions, there is no apology.”  I think this is partially true.  If you are sorry for something you have said or done, the natural progression of things would indicate that you would no longer do or say those things.  But there are times when we make choices that have hurtful consequences regardless of what we choose.  We may be legitimately sorry for the harm caused to others knowing full well that we would make the same decision again, given the opportunity for a do-over.  We can be honest about that.  I think we have to be honest about that.  There are other times when we can be part of making changes that create a more loving, equitable world, even if we were not directly culpable for the offense at the onset.  I don’t know if we can be sorry about the consequences of other people’s actions, but I do know we can work to find remedies in order to stop the perpetuation of those consequences!  Whew!  I know, I know, it’s hard enough to take responsibility for the stuff we’ve actually done, but as long as we’re thinking along these lines, we might as well go all the way!  And that third one… if you’re really just sorry you got caught… maybe you should stop being sorry.  Maybe you did exactly what you intended to do.  And maybe that’s even OK.  Undoubtedly, it’s better to own it than to fake it

L.       

I Checked My Cynicism at the Door, Last Night

Matthew 11:28-30, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (NIV).

This post is overdue.

There have been some moments, over the past few years, when I haven't recognized myself. 

If I'm honest, they haven't all been bad.  Change and growth are really important, and sometimes these things are so transformative that we come out significantly different than we began.  The good changes have included things like standing up for what's right, even in the midst of controversy, and recognizing that God has given me a unique voice that should, indeed, be heard in order to bring glory to God.  The time for silence in the face of oppression is over.  At least in my life, that ship has sailed, and I never want to call it back to port.

However...

We must be kind.

Sometimes I am afraid that it is too easy to embrace the oxymoronic...

Here's an example...

Sometimes I get so passionate about passivism that I start sounding violent.  Um.  Nice.

I started thinking about Martin Luther King Jr.'s quote:

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

Violence cannot drive out violence.  Exclusion cannot drive out exclusion.  Lies cannot drive out lies.  Deprivation cannot drive out depravity.  Power cannot drive out power.  These are not Kingdom values, friends.

Matthew 11:25, "Jesus said, 'I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children'" (NIV).

II Corinthians 12:9, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness" (NIV).

I Corinthians 1:27, "God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful" (NLT).

Please, let me be the first to admit that I have sometimes struggled for power. 

I repent. 

I am done.

Last night we were privileged to hold our first speaking engagement for Via Illuminate, and here's the thing.  A small group of people from a traditional, local congregation stepped up in multiple, tangible ways to show that they do, indeed, care about the least of these.  I haven't seen enough of that lately, but I saw it last night.  And let me tell you this.  The thing that touched my heart most deeply was the senior pastor who prayed for forgiveness for the times when we (the Church) have not seen the least of these as desirable or sought to meet their needs.  Friends.  There are still good people in the world.

Sometimes I feel as if it's difficult to just survive to the breakthrough moments, but they're there.  They're coming.  Keep surviving.

And again.  Be kind.

There is so much disagreement in the world.  There is so much disagreement in the church.  If you want to fight, it's not difficult to find a platform for that.  But I wonder how many of us really want to fight.  Maybe, instead, we might like to share our stories with one another and then determine how we can best work together, in our great and wonderful diversity, to bring redemption to the world... since that's what we all actually want, anyway...

May we listen to the narratives surrounding us that compete for our attention.  May we listen to understand, not to counter.  May we recognize the value of all people and seek to show love in ways that are the most inclusive.  May we remember that we do not have it all together and we have not arrived. 

Being weary is dreadful.  May we, instead, be gentle... and humble... and may we carry one another's burdens.  May we be holy.  May we love like Jesus.

 
L.

I Was Wrong, and So Were You

I recently (OK, this morning) wrote a short paper reviewing the book, Telling God's Story: Narrative Preaching for Christian Formation, by John W. Wright.  It was a good book.  Now as I sit here, this afternoon, there are a couple of quotes that keep running through my mind.  The first one is directly from the text:

"Repentance bears no shame for Christians" (Wright, 2007, 164).

I'm going to come back to that one.

The second one is this:

We have abdicated our responsibility, as the church.

I wish I could tell you when social action became important to me.  I can't.  I suppose this is because there wasn't a moment when a switch turned on.  It was more of a slow, painful progression that came in fits and starts. 

To be honest, this transformation left me wondering why my values had been turned upside-down.  It also left me with a completely different set of people in my life whose ideals mirrored my own.  It was not comfortable.  It was disorienting.  And I hated it.  But I came out on the other side, slapped with a new set of labels just so everyone was clear about who should fire the next shots, knowing that I liked who I had become more than who I was.

And yet, there are problems with this side, too.  This declaration might be why everyone keeps firing...

I know this won't be relevant for all of my readers, because some of you do not self-identify as Christians, but I want to be a little rough on my Christian friends for a moment.  Bear with me.  We're all missing the mark.

To those of you who don't care that much about the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the refugees, the drug addicts, the prostitutes, the single mom who can't pay her bills even though she works two jobs, and the dad who just went through the check-out lane ahead of you with seven WIC vouchers and a pack of cigarettes; you need to care.  It's that simple.  These are people.  They matter.  They have stories, and their stories have the capacity to fit into the biblical narrative just as seamlessly as yours and mine.  They are us.  We are them.  Get over yourselves and get your heads out of the sand.  You can't really separate yourselves from them.  You're not even supposed to.  They are not less human than you are, less valuable.  Your personal piety falls short, because Jesus ate with people like this.  When you turn your back on them, you're not like Jesus.

To those of you who care a great deal about the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the refugees, the drug addicts, the prostitutes, the single mom who can't pay her bills even though she works two jobs, and the dad who just went through the check-out lane ahead of you with seven WIC vouchers and a pack of cigarettes; I hope they know it.  Because talk is cheap.  These are people.  They matter.  They have stories, and their stories have the capacity to fit into the biblical narrative just as seamlessly as yours and mine.  They are us.  We are them.  Get over yourselves and get your heads out of the sand.  This may be the worst of all, these words that we say backed by... what?  Righteous indignation?  Saying that you care does not make you a champion of the weak.  Their stories are not for your exploitation.  Your self-promotion falls short, because Jesus was a servant.  When you don't move to action, you're not like Jesus.

And all of us... those who care and those who don't give a (oh, wait, family friendly site here)...  We're all falling pitifully short, because we're not coming together in community... you know... like the church...  Even those of us who are doing something are often haphazardly throwing a McDs gift card out the window to the homeless guy on the street corner or sending pigs and chickens to a third world country or, more likely, hanging our heads and wringing our hands and writing one more angry blog post.  And don't get me wrong, doing something is so much better than doing nothing, but I think there must be some better way.

Not too long ago, someone mentioned that this call to social action is my own... that not everyone is called to such a thing... Someone else told me in no uncertain terms that she appreciated my call to help the poor but that there are also people who are called to help the wealthy (this was in connection with a job interview, you can just imagine how well that one ended).  And I got to thinking about these words... and others... spoken into my life... and they don't ring true.  This calling is not unique.  God doesn't separate people into neat little groups and ask us to stay in our boxes with the people who are just like us.  No, if we're going to be the church, we all belong to each other.

Well, that's uncomfortable, isn't it? 

Just as a side note, that also means that I have to love all those people around whom I'm not too secure, as well.  If you want a funny life anecdote at this point (and, believe me, I am well aware this post needs one), I glanced up at our family's prayer wall, earlier this week, and saw that one of my children is praying for Donald Trump.  The only thing I could think was, "My children are so much better than I am..."  So, I really mean everybody.

I saw this quote the other day, and it resonated more deeply than I wanted it to:

Yes.  This.  All of us.  In community.  Being the church.  Being the people of God.  Living into the narrative of Scripture.  Redemptive.  Loving.  Christ-like.

Look, some of us need more help than others, that's for sure.  But maybe if we all give everything we are, there's enough to make a life of it...

L.

PS  I forgot to come back to that first quote, so let me be the first to repent.  I am not better than anybody else.  I am not more important.  Forgive me for the many times I have not taken notice of your narrative as it has intersected with mine.  I hope it intersects again and we become a part of something bigger, together...

What's This All About?

Forgiveness...

I've recently heard or read several statements on forgiveness that have given me pause.  It seems that the popular opinion, at least for today, is that forgiveness is more about finding peace than anything else.  I think I can roll with that... mostly.  This is probably easiest (not to be confused with "easy") when the person (people, organization, community, etc.) who caused the hurt is legitimately sorry.  Undoubtedly, the best thing that can happen is restoration.  I love that!  I love it, because I think it is enormously important in the redemptive work in which we join God. 

"If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone" (Romans 12:18, NIV).

I would venture to say that it is more possible than we would imagine and depends greatly on us! 

I definitely think this even works when we find ourselves in situations in which we have somehow been wronged and the offending party couldn't care less.  We forgive.  We forget.  Over time, things start to hurt less.  Life starts to hurt less.  At some point, in the vast majority of situations, we come to a moment when it's "over".  Most things don't hurt forever (although there are some - I am not minimizing those, at all), so one day we might wake up and find that it doesn't hurt at all.  We have peace.  Time moves on.  I love that, too.

But sometimes it's neither clear cut nor cleanly cut off.

The notion, "forgive and forget," is so much easier when there is either a sincere apology (confession, repentance) or when the offending person (people, organization, community, etc.) is no longer a part of our regular lives.  There really is something to, "out of sight, out of mind".  I'm not saying it doesn't still take ages, sometimes, to get to that point where you legitimately don't struggle with anger or tears or just being generally incapable of not replaying events over and over again in your mind.  But... when there are not constant reminders, healing does come.

I read these words, today:

"But when I stumbled, they gathered in glee; assailants gathered against me without my knowledge.  They slandered me without ceasing.  Like the ungodly they maliciously mocked..." (Psalm 35:15-16, NIV).

At the expense of sounding overdramatic, I have occasionally felt like this!  Not often, mind you, thank goodness!  I think it is situations like this, though, that cause us to fall back, doing everything in our power to avoid the reminders.  Quite frankly, I do not want to see, hear, smell, or taste anything that might trigger a memory that makes me feel like that all over again!  There are honestly things I avoid because of the sensory reactions they might cause, even if they are completely unrelated to whatever is happening in the real, present time.  True story.  But it's always worst when the pain is fresh.

So, I had this moment several weeks ago when I knew that actual healing was taking place in my life.  It was a little humorous, really.  As it turns out, even if you set your privacy settings relatively high on social media sites, there are some things that will always be public.  At some point I changed my FB cover photo, and someone I really like a lot, but whom I also associate with a community that caused some significant pain in my life, made a nice comment.  I immediately responded with a one-liner that included the words, "miss you".  I hit "enter".  And then I sat there for a few moments, stunned.  For many months, I had not been able to engage anyone from this era of life, even in something incredibly insignificant.  And yet, here I was, honestly responding... positively... without hesitation.  It might sound ridiculous, but it was a much bigger change in me than it appears on the outside.  Right then and there, I had an, "it's over" moment.  That hurt is done.

When I hurt most deeply, I tend to go silent about it.

When I hurt, but it's not absolutely killing me anymore, I tend to type.

And then, when I reach the endgame, I file it away as one of those things I'll probably just talk about, again, if it would be helpful to someone else.

"And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:7, NIV).

Well, goodness...  That feels good.

L.

Sorry, Not Sorry

In recent days, I have heard a lot of people utter the phrase, "Sorry, not sorry."  I know it's just a quirky catchphrase that is popular in our culture right now.  I know it's one of those things that people say, hoping to elicit a laugh.  I like the phrase about as much as I like the "thumbs up" stickers on Facebook.  If you know me, you know that's not very much...

I also recently had a conversation about sincere apologies that started like this, "I don't think we should be saying, 'I'm sorry, but'...'"  If you have to add the conjunction, how sorry are you?

I bring this up, because I think we often equate repentance with apology, and heaven knows the correct response to an apology must always be, "It's OK," or, "I forgive you," lest we should be judged unmercifully as we judge others.  But lately, I'm not so sure that saying "sorry" is enough, and lately I'm not even sure that being "sorry" is enough.  What does the Church of the Nazarene have to say about repentance?  Let's take a look at Article 8: 

  

VIII. Repentance

8. We believe that repentance, which is a sincere and thorough change of the mind in regard to sin, involving a sense of personal guilt and a voluntary turning away from sin, is demanded of all who have by act or purpose become sinners against God. The Spirit of God gives to all who will repent the gracious help of penitence of heart and hope of mercy, that they may believe unto pardon and spiritual life.

(2 Chronicles 7:14; Psalms 32:5-6; 51:1-17; Isaiah 55:6-7; Jeremiah 3:12-14; Ezekiel 18:30-32; 33:14-16; Mark 1:14-15; Luke 3:1-14; 13:1-5; 18:9-14; Acts 2:38; 3:19; 5:31; 17:30-31; 26:16-18; Romans 2:4; 2 Corinthians 7:8-11; 1 Thessalonians 1:9; 2 Peter 3:9)

I think we'd better take this phrase by phrase.

We define repentance as a sincere and thorough change of the mind in regard to sin...

There is something I like about this.  There is something I really like about this.  If I'm honest, I don't think we spend nearly enough time, in the church, talking about the mind, but the mind matters.  What we think matters.  Our thoughts inform our actions, our being.  I think we might do well to throw Romans 12:1-2 into the mix of verses that support our theological definition of repentance here.  And, in fact, I think these verses would also help us to flesh out the definition a little more, making it not only about a turning from sin but a turning toward transformation, because, again, our articles are couched in negative language, but I think there are positive connotations if we dig deep enough for them. 

So I like that we consider the changing of the mind to hold great importance, but there are two things on which we might expound.  First, this should not be a fickle changing of the mind.  We might change our minds about whether to have pizza or tacos for dinner.  We might change our minds about whether to vacation in the summer or the winter.  We might change our minds about which socks to wear (OK, probably not me, flip flops and all), or which nail polish color to choose, or whether a tie or bow-tie is best for any given occasion.  And then, we might change our minds again.  But what I really like about these verses in Romans is that they talk about a renewing of the mind.  This is redemptive work.  When we change our minds about sin, hopefully there is no going back.  That's not to say we will never sin again, but we really should stop loving it.  Permanently.  The second thing, though, is that repentance changes other areas of our lives, as well.  It's not enough to change your mind about sin.  One day you love it, and one day you hate it, but then what?  We must also allow for the transformation of our physical, emotional, and spiritual beings.  You see, sin has a way of encompassing all of these, and to turn from it, we must pay careful attention to ourselves as whole people.  Compartmentalization will not do here.  We might, instead, discuss the original Greek, metanoia, which means, put simply, a change of mind that also involves a change of heart, direction, and trajectory.  Repentance is holistic and requires movement in a different direction.

... involving a sense of personal guilt...         

They lost me here.  The word, "guilt," is actually used very sparingly in the New Testament.  And when we think of guilt, it is often connected with consequences or punishment.  So, personal guilt would almost have to come from some intentional act, and I do think it's essential for us to turn from those types of things.  Yet, I think we limit repentance when we make it about guilt only.  What if it was about responsibility?  What if it was about becoming the people we were created to be, more and more each day, even if we hadn't done anything blatantly sinful in the given number of hours since we last repented?  What if it could be corporate in nature?  What if we were constantly repentant, recognizing that transformation is a continual process that requires more than a crisis moment here or there?

... and a voluntary turning away from sin...     

Yes.  And a voluntary turning toward transformation and holiness.  We choose this.  Except...

...is demanded of all...

Wait.  How can this be both voluntary and demanded?  And, is God demanding?  Something about a demanding God tends toward a coercive God or maybe even a panicked God who cannot get what God wants without forcing it upon us.  I'm not entirely sure this lines up with God's nature of love and authority, and I definitely don't think it lines up with the God of prevenient grace, whom we explored in another post.  I have trouble reconciling the God who demands with the God who goes before and draws us near.  And as another thought, how well do people respond to demands?  I feel as if God might have a better way.

...who have by act or purpose become sinners against God.

We've covered the "act", but what is this "purpose"?  Can someone really, by purpose, become a sinner against God without engaging in sinful acts?  On the flipside, can someone really, by purpose, be transformed without turning from sinful acts?  Perhaps this is redundant, but I have to say that it seems so much more serious to me that anyone would self-identify his or her purpose to be that of a sinner.  Even the people I know who do not love God with all their hearts, souls, minds, and strength... yet... don't usually go this far.  In fact, they often think they're pretty good people, and let's be real, they often are.  I think this purposing to become a sinner against God is a stretch for most and a representation of a very small number of people.  I'd rather see the article focus more on what turning from sin looks like.

The Spirit of God gives to all who will repent the gracious help of penitence of heart and hope of mercy...    

This I love.  Here is where the Holy Spirit steps in, and though I might disagree on exactly how or when this grace and hope are imbued, there is no doubt that a penitent heart, followed by a confessional and repentant life, can only be found in the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

... that they may believe unto pardon and spiritual life.

Again, I don't necessarily want to get into a chicken and egg discussion, but surely belief brings pardon brings life brings pardon brings belief.  These things are not necessarily linear, but they are all important.

And that's the article, but if I may, let's get back to this discussion about the practicality of apologies.  I have actually stopped using the, "It's OK," language as much as possible, because sometimes, even when others are sincerely sorry, there is nothing OK about whatever preceded the apology.  "I forgive you," works better for me, because it means that I do legitimately recognize the remorse and I no longer want you to suffer because of what you did to me, even if I'm decidedly not OK.  That's sufficient for when other people offer apologies to me.  But what about when I am the one who needs to apologize?  I think there is no way to do this with a sincere heart if I am not also willing to change my behavior.  Let's not let ourselves off the hook too easily.  Sorry, not sorry, opens the door for sin to be ongoing.  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, we have the ability to completely reorient our lives and choose a better way.

L.