Who knows why, perhaps I lured him with pockets of Laffy Taffy. The point is, I knew he did.
Girls, you know that thing where a boy likes you, but you only like him as a friend, but your girlfriend likes him a lot, and you decide they'd make a great couple and you'll convince him how great she is, and he will transfer his liking to her and everyone will be happy, and no one's feelings will get hurt, and Channing Tatum will appear at your church one Sunday and the four of you can double date?
Yes, that thing.
I want to talk about the time I was a little bitch. Because someday you may be one, and I don't want you to do what I did, and decide it proves you are headed straight to hell.
I grew up in a Methodist church where the message was all love and service. It was pretty liberal, I guess. I didn't know that at the time. I just knew it was a fun place with nice people and a good youth group. I don't remember hearing about hell or original sin or salvation. If those were mentioned, they couldn't have been the focus. I was a good worrier at a young age, so I think I'd remember sermons on a lake of fire.
In my 20s, I started attending a church with very conservative theology. Like the first church, it was a nice place with fun people. However, it was the kind of place where, after your first visit, you went home and started searching for your Bible. People brought them to church. Not only that, they read them. They even wrote in them, even between Sundays.
The boy and my girlfriend went to this church. They were fun and hilarious. I think Channing Tatum would've really enjoyed our dates with them. He didn't get the chance though, because, well...
Girls, you know that thing where you don't like a boy until your friend likes him, and as you are talking her up to him, you start to notice that maybe he IS pretty cool? And maybe you flirt just a little because you remember the attention was sort of fun when he liked you, and maybe this time you will want to date him, and why should she get him when you knew him first? So, maybe you don't lobby for her quite as hard as you promised, because, let's be honest, Channing Tatum is never coming to this church.
And guess what! Your plan works. You reel that boy in again.
And guess what else! You don't want him.
Again.
Now that you've got him, you see you were right the first time; you two should only be friends. AND you've been sneaky behind your girlfriend's back.
And you realize that yes [sigh], sometimes you are a little bitch.
The night I realized this, I was crying on the floor of my apartment regretting my behavior, and kneeling over my bible. I opened it randomly and it fell open to Romans 7:
"We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?!"
Y'all.
That is some heavy (and repetitively confusing) verbiage. Coupled with the teaching I'd heard at that church that I was born dead in my sins, it was completely damning for me.
Reading through my tears, that very night, I became convinced that I was a filthy sinner. It was the moment to which I'd refer for the following 20 years, as the moment I was "really" saved. All those "Do's and Not Do's" threaded through me insidiously, weaving an undeniable unworthiness in every fiber of my being. From then on, every bad or imperfect thought or action was more affirmation of my wretchedness. That night, it felt like an Ah-Ha Moment of Clarity and Salvation. It was the final piece that brought together the teaching of original sin I'd been hearing. It was the night I felt I understood the gospel and the "good news." But looking back, I wonder, what was so good about it?
People will say that I'm leaving out the good part or missing the point of the passage - that yes, you're filthy, but you're redeemed in Christ. I'd argue that for some people, the redemption message doesn't undo the damage done by the confusion and destruction wrought in the first message. And if it's that easy to get a message confused, isn't it possible that a lot of us are getting it wrong?
I saw myself as Totally Depraved. That is tenet number one of the "Tulip of Calvinistic theology." So I was nailing it as a new Calvinist. But inside myself, I could only see evil. I knew the other tenets too, but this was the one that affected me most.
Some of the results of this were:
1) An unwavering desperate devotion to the theology and church, because I could no longer trust myself;
2) An inability to make decisions with confidence, because of the evil that was pervasive throughout me and could be tricking my judgment;
3) A hate for self that I believed was godly; and
4) A belief that God loved me BUT only the Jesus in me, so the love didn't really have anything to do with me. I was just the shell and vessel holding some Jesus.
For two decades, my (then) husband and I followed that theology. We brought our children into it. That night I spent crying over Romans 7, I was 26 years old. I'm 49 now, and have extracted myself from the doctrine to question it. From 26-49 is a slice from adulthood. Just think of small children being immersed in that message. I wonder what it is like your brain is still developing, and at the core of your tiny heart and mind is the foundational truth that you were born utterly incapable of good, and an "enemy of god."
By the time I'd realized my "depravity," I had already prayed to be "saved," so I had a reaction of panic, followed by, "Whew - I'm safe at least." Children don't have that. And possibly don't have the capacity to understand it. We are so careful about exposing them to anything inappropriate for their ages, yet those Resurrection Eggs detailing Jesus dying on a cross BECAUSE of their (the child's) own sin is laid onto their small backs like a heavy boulder at the ripe old age of three in our preschool. I take responsibility for exposing mine to that. Personally, I thought it was wrong at the time. I wasn't sure I believed in Hell. Yet, to say such things aloud would appear that I was somehow not believing the "whole counsel of God," or did not love my children enough to tell them the Truth.
When my son was a week old and crying tirelessly, a very conservative Christian woman said in a knowing voice, "Ah, that little selfish spirit. He's showing his original sin." At the time, her words felt mostly untimely and insensitive. Years later, they seemed hateful. More recently, it has been hard to remember the words without wanting to throttle her. These days, the anger has ebbed. I wish I'd told her, "Maybe crying is a baby's one way to communicate his needs, and he's doing it. God is pretty loving and amazing to give him that tool, huh? God must love babies and people very much."
Here's what scares me: I don't want to be the person pointing to parts of doctrine or the church saying, "Watch out there! And for that part! And also that other bit seems shaky!" We often hear we shouldn't mention problems, if we can't offer solutions. And I cannot.
I cannot offer a complete, neat, tidy package of new theology to trade out for what I clung to for 20 years. It's not like I can tell my kids, "Hang on; that raincoat I gave you has holes in it. Here's a new one," and we all go about our business without a hiccup. As humans, we want neat answers and whole philosophies to embrace. We want modus operandi, preferably with a text book. But if the answers aren't neat and tidy, I'm willing to live with discomfort.
I think one danger of teaching our children, or ANYONE, they are born purely sinful is that it is hard to redeem this message with a "putting on Jesus makes it better" approach. I worked with several youth groups, and every kid wonders if their prayer to Jesus for salvation really "worked the first time." So they ask him over and over. Something in that system is broken.
Another danger is that all sins are considered equal for the most part (Yes, I know the two sins that are exceptions, Bible Nerds. I am a Bible Nerd too, and that's not the point I'm making here). I always felt I was no better than a serial killer, and that, but for the grace of God, I could have turned out exactly the same way. And when you share that sentiment at church, you are considered self-aware and godly. No, I don't think I'm better than anyone else, but that mindset can get really confusing.
If you're "just a sinner" and another person is "just a sinner," things get complicated. When someone does something really bad to you, it's just one more sin. There isn't always discussion of whether it was illegal or abusive or dangerous. When two people are in an intimate relationship, familial tie, or friendship, sometimes an action is reduced to just a "sin." Therefore, there is confession, repentance and forgiveness required. And you are taught, "yes, it may take time, but move on; let God redeem it." Sometimes that works. However, there is a BROAD RANGE of actions and "sins" to deal with. It's not enough action always.
If you are constantly taught to be aware of your own sin, you get pretty adept at seeing it in your every action. You see sin laced through all you do. This makes it hard to feel confident enough to call someone out on their sin. And y'all, some sins need a more complicated label. Otherwise, if everyone is a sinner, no one is really a sinner - if that makes sense. It's like you think, "Bad behavior is sort of horrible, but also everyone is sinful and horrible. Oh well, thank God for God." I developed a great sense of how I was blowing it in life, so I lost an ability to see or feel justified calling out people doing dangerous things, because who am I to say they are wrong when I've got a wrong laced through all my actions?
Conversely, a 26 year old girl's moment of bitchiness can be inflated to the lynch pin in her theology of her wretched sinfulness. I could have heard, "I know you feel bad. Yes, you messed up. But you can apologize and learn from this." Instead, I stored it away as just one more act out of the filthiness of her heart. And by the way, I'm sure I only handled that with God in confession, and never with those two people. And it was considered enough at the time. If it was evidence I was a sinner heading to hell, wasn't it bad enough to address with the people affected, and not just between God and me? See how stuff gets so spiritual it gets so other-worldly that it isn't handled well in THIS world? We get so spiritual that we lose our common sense and normal integrity.
I have a lot of words, don't I? Or, as my tattoo says, "wrdsdsr" (It's a blurry little thing). Maybe I write a lot like Paul wrote in Romans 7, around my fanny to get to my elbow.
Maybe we don't need to have a new raincoat to offer. Parts of the raincoat are lovely. Maybe it IS enough for now, to stand and point to the holes in the current raincoat, and warn each other of the holes. The holes can be where the hope leaks out. But maybe the holes can be where the hope leaks in as well.
💙
Girls, you know that thing where a boy likes you, but you only like him as a friend, but your girlfriend likes him a lot, and you decide they'd make a great couple and you'll convince him how great she is, and he will transfer his liking to her and everyone will be happy, and no one's feelings will get hurt, and Channing Tatum will appear at your church one Sunday and the four of you can double date?
Yes, that thing.
I want to talk about the time I was a little bitch. Because someday you may be one, and I don't want you to do what I did, and decide it proves you are headed straight to hell.
I grew up in a Methodist church where the message was all love and service. It was pretty liberal, I guess. I didn't know that at the time. I just knew it was a fun place with nice people and a good youth group. I don't remember hearing about hell or original sin or salvation. If those were mentioned, they couldn't have been the focus. I was a good worrier at a young age, so I think I'd remember sermons on a lake of fire.
In my 20s, I started attending a church with very conservative theology. Like the first church, it was a nice place with fun people. However, it was the kind of place where, after your first visit, you went home and started searching for your Bible. People brought them to church. Not only that, they read them. They even wrote in them, even between Sundays.
The boy and my girlfriend went to this church. They were fun and hilarious. I think Channing Tatum would've really enjoyed our dates with them. He didn't get the chance though, because, well...
Girls, you know that thing where you don't like a boy until your friend likes him, and as you are talking her up to him, you start to notice that maybe he IS pretty cool? And maybe you flirt just a little because you remember the attention was sort of fun when he liked you, and maybe this time you will want to date him, and why should she get him when you knew him first? So, maybe you don't lobby for her quite as hard as you promised, because, let's be honest, Channing Tatum is never coming to this church.
And guess what! Your plan works. You reel that boy in again.
And guess what else! You don't want him.
Again.
Now that you've got him, you see you were right the first time; you two should only be friends. AND you've been sneaky behind your girlfriend's back.
And you realize that yes [sigh], sometimes you are a little bitch.
The night I realized this, I was crying on the floor of my apartment regretting my behavior, and kneeling over my bible. I opened it randomly and it fell open to Romans 7:
"We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?!"
Y'all.
That is some heavy (and repetitively confusing) verbiage. Coupled with the teaching I'd heard at that church that I was born dead in my sins, it was completely damning for me.
Reading through my tears, that very night, I became convinced that I was a filthy sinner. It was the moment to which I'd refer for the following 20 years, as the moment I was "really" saved. All those "Do's and Not Do's" threaded through me insidiously, weaving an undeniable unworthiness in every fiber of my being. From then on, every bad or imperfect thought or action was more affirmation of my wretchedness. That night, it felt like an Ah-Ha Moment of Clarity and Salvation. It was the final piece that brought together the teaching of original sin I'd been hearing. It was the night I felt I understood the gospel and the "good news." But looking back, I wonder, what was so good about it?
People will say that I'm leaving out the good part or missing the point of the passage - that yes, you're filthy, but you're redeemed in Christ. I'd argue that for some people, the redemption message doesn't undo the damage done by the confusion and destruction wrought in the first message. And if it's that easy to get a message confused, isn't it possible that a lot of us are getting it wrong?
I saw myself as Totally Depraved. That is tenet number one of the "Tulip of Calvinistic theology." So I was nailing it as a new Calvinist. But inside myself, I could only see evil. I knew the other tenets too, but this was the one that affected me most.
Some of the results of this were:
1) An unwavering desperate devotion to the theology and church, because I could no longer trust myself;
2) An inability to make decisions with confidence, because of the evil that was pervasive throughout me and could be tricking my judgment;
3) A hate for self that I believed was godly; and
4) A belief that God loved me BUT only the Jesus in me, so the love didn't really have anything to do with me. I was just the shell and vessel holding some Jesus.
For two decades, my (then) husband and I followed that theology. We brought our children into it. That night I spent crying over Romans 7, I was 26 years old. I'm 49 now, and have extracted myself from the doctrine to question it. From 26-49 is a slice from adulthood. Just think of small children being immersed in that message. I wonder what it is like your brain is still developing, and at the core of your tiny heart and mind is the foundational truth that you were born utterly incapable of good, and an "enemy of god."
By the time I'd realized my "depravity," I had already prayed to be "saved," so I had a reaction of panic, followed by, "Whew - I'm safe at least." Children don't have that. And possibly don't have the capacity to understand it. We are so careful about exposing them to anything inappropriate for their ages, yet those Resurrection Eggs detailing Jesus dying on a cross BECAUSE of their (the child's) own sin is laid onto their small backs like a heavy boulder at the ripe old age of three in our preschool. I take responsibility for exposing mine to that. Personally, I thought it was wrong at the time. I wasn't sure I believed in Hell. Yet, to say such things aloud would appear that I was somehow not believing the "whole counsel of God," or did not love my children enough to tell them the Truth.
When my son was a week old and crying tirelessly, a very conservative Christian woman said in a knowing voice, "Ah, that little selfish spirit. He's showing his original sin." At the time, her words felt mostly untimely and insensitive. Years later, they seemed hateful. More recently, it has been hard to remember the words without wanting to throttle her. These days, the anger has ebbed. I wish I'd told her, "Maybe crying is a baby's one way to communicate his needs, and he's doing it. God is pretty loving and amazing to give him that tool, huh? God must love babies and people very much."
Here's what scares me: I don't want to be the person pointing to parts of doctrine or the church saying, "Watch out there! And for that part! And also that other bit seems shaky!" We often hear we shouldn't mention problems, if we can't offer solutions. And I cannot.
I cannot offer a complete, neat, tidy package of new theology to trade out for what I clung to for 20 years. It's not like I can tell my kids, "Hang on; that raincoat I gave you has holes in it. Here's a new one," and we all go about our business without a hiccup. As humans, we want neat answers and whole philosophies to embrace. We want modus operandi, preferably with a text book. But if the answers aren't neat and tidy, I'm willing to live with discomfort.
I think one danger of teaching our children, or ANYONE, they are born purely sinful is that it is hard to redeem this message with a "putting on Jesus makes it better" approach. I worked with several youth groups, and every kid wonders if their prayer to Jesus for salvation really "worked the first time." So they ask him over and over. Something in that system is broken.
Another danger is that all sins are considered equal for the most part (Yes, I know the two sins that are exceptions, Bible Nerds. I am a Bible Nerd too, and that's not the point I'm making here). I always felt I was no better than a serial killer, and that, but for the grace of God, I could have turned out exactly the same way. And when you share that sentiment at church, you are considered self-aware and godly. No, I don't think I'm better than anyone else, but that mindset can get really confusing.
If you're "just a sinner" and another person is "just a sinner," things get complicated. When someone does something really bad to you, it's just one more sin. There isn't always discussion of whether it was illegal or abusive or dangerous. When two people are in an intimate relationship, familial tie, or friendship, sometimes an action is reduced to just a "sin." Therefore, there is confession, repentance and forgiveness required. And you are taught, "yes, it may take time, but move on; let God redeem it." Sometimes that works. However, there is a BROAD RANGE of actions and "sins" to deal with. It's not enough action always.
If you are constantly taught to be aware of your own sin, you get pretty adept at seeing it in your every action. You see sin laced through all you do. This makes it hard to feel confident enough to call someone out on their sin. And y'all, some sins need a more complicated label. Otherwise, if everyone is a sinner, no one is really a sinner - if that makes sense. It's like you think, "Bad behavior is sort of horrible, but also everyone is sinful and horrible. Oh well, thank God for God." I developed a great sense of how I was blowing it in life, so I lost an ability to see or feel justified calling out people doing dangerous things, because who am I to say they are wrong when I've got a wrong laced through all my actions?
Conversely, a 26 year old girl's moment of bitchiness can be inflated to the lynch pin in her theology of her wretched sinfulness. I could have heard, "I know you feel bad. Yes, you messed up. But you can apologize and learn from this." Instead, I stored it away as just one more act out of the filthiness of her heart. And by the way, I'm sure I only handled that with God in confession, and never with those two people. And it was considered enough at the time. If it was evidence I was a sinner heading to hell, wasn't it bad enough to address with the people affected, and not just between God and me? See how stuff gets so spiritual it gets so other-worldly that it isn't handled well in THIS world? We get so spiritual that we lose our common sense and normal integrity.
I have a lot of words, don't I? Or, as my tattoo says, "wrdsdsr" (It's a blurry little thing). Maybe I write a lot like Paul wrote in Romans 7, around my fanny to get to my elbow.
Maybe we don't need to have a new raincoat to offer. Parts of the raincoat are lovely. Maybe it IS enough for now, to stand and point to the holes in the current raincoat, and warn each other of the holes. The holes can be where the hope leaks out. But maybe the holes can be where the hope leaks in as well.
💙
