Showing posts with label sin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sin. Show all posts

Why we cannot bear it (the Kermit Gosnell story)

13 April 2013

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It's a strange thing, no longer living in America. News and life and things happen in your old homeland and you see passing glimpses of it, but never the stories underneath. It's ok, really, this disconnect. I enjoy not having to make some sort of statement or have some sort of response ready when the Supreme Court hears a case or an election is being had or my favourite team loses in a tournament. We've got some distance now, some persective, and it's nice being a casual observer from afar while we try to dig deep where we're at.

This week, though, I'm seeing a trend, running through Twitter and Facebook (which, yes I know, it's my own fault for following such things). A terrible, grotesque, evil story of humanity is being played out. And we want to see it.

I remember when the story first broke two years ago and it's all you wish would never happen anywhere in the civilized world. Of course, we know it happens all the time, behind closed doors and back alleys and far off lands. As long as it's hidden safely away there, we can go on, pretending things are fine and normal and America is the height of personal liberty and individual freedoms. As long as what's literally right in front of us is on the up and up, a good story of success we can attribute to hard work and clean living and the ten commandments, we go on as if the evil isn't lying underneath, waiting to be exposed.

So this story of an abortionist gone completely unchecked and out of control rips wide a chasm. We gasp and cry and turn off the news because we just can't bear it. We pray and plead, God, make it stop. And we turn inward wondering how women can feel so desperate and men can go so mad. Years and years of vileness is finally met with the hope of justice, and he is arrested.

The story, it was reported then in 2011, and we moved on. Because that's what we do. There's always a new story to cry foul about.

He's on trial now, this man. But according to my Facebook and Twitter feeds, no one knows about it, can hear or read about it. It's a black out, they say. Liberal media. Conspiracy. Pro-choice agenda. And you know what, they're probably right. Because really, who wants to hear or read or see such things?Who can bear it?

I can't.

But Twitter and Facebook and social media sites and networking... it's all made up of people, sharing stories. They're reporting it, because they want you to see. My friends, rightly shocked at the thought of it, are reporting the story. They want you to see it, to read about, to hear it. Over and over again, I'm inundated with the same lurid facts, the same despair, the same deep soul pain. They say, the media isn't reporting it so we will. Which is fine, but I will tell you why I think the media isn't reporting it.

Because we just can't bear it. If this story came on the news, I would turn it straight off. I can't imagine my child overhearing, even my mother overhearing. I would want to protect them from the evil within, from the men (and women) who perpetrate this violence on babies. They were once babies, too, and who can bear it? And maybe it is a conspiracy, too threatening to the status quo and Roe v. Wade and all that. I believe it, I cannot deny it exists.

I'm struck, though, by those of us who need to share it, who must pass it on from page to page, emails and tweets and links and videos. Why? Why do we hit share and sensationalize this? They say, look at this shame and sin up close. They say it's not reported because we are fine with it, because it's a slippery slope and we've removed God and this is a mirror to us, to what we've allowed to happen. "The bloody altar of human sacrifice", a friend of mine said. He asks me to consider if I'm responsible for it. 

This is why we want to see. To expose the world and sinners for what we really are.

I will tell you this: I cannot bear the thought of it, of this happening, under our noses and in our neighbourhoods. I cry out to God to make it stop, but I cannot look at it. I won't. This story, it is being told, and justice will be served. God is seeing to it, has exposed it, He will make it right. I trust that.

And maybe I am a party to this, responsible for this existing in the world. I cannot acquit myself to it. Because I'm a sinner, a daughter of Eve, living imperfectly and selfishly and confusing love and lust and riches and contentment and robbing God of what is His and clinging to my rights, of what I think is mine. I'm a liar and a thief, misusing His gifts and forfeiting His grace. I do it all the time.

A sinner of sinners.

"Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst."

Jesus... He did not hold a mirror to my face, saying, "Look what you've done, what you're responsible for." 

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

And at the end, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

I am weary and heavy laden. I will not see it, hear it, read it. I cannot bear it. So instead I go to Him, I cry, "Father, forgive me," and find rest.


*Click link with care. I've not read the entire article, but it's the one I see most frequently referred to and shares graphic testimony.

thoughts on the One who loves a sinner anyway

06 April 2012

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Sometimes I think about the woman caught in adultery, and I wonder, how did they know?

Did she stumble out of the house, or the inn, or the brothel half-naked? Were they listening in, ears to the wall? Was there a stolen sheet, or a misplaced note, or a wandering eye? Did he betray her in the end, after the love was all used up?

And then I think about Jesus, who knows it all. Who knew everything another woman ever did. Who looked her straight in the face knowing and seeing that she had lover after lover after lover. He looked in her eyes, and said, "It's me. I'm the One your soul thirsts for. I'm the One you've been looking and waiting for, never finding, until today."

He saw it all, and loved her and wanted her anyway. And when He came upon the woman caught in adultery, presumably He had seen and known it all, too. Knowing she had cheated on her first love, had lied, was unclean. But still it was the accusers He did away with, called out, questioned. For He saw them as they were, too.

"The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone."

He's seen it all. And still wants us anyway. Jesus knows us and still loves us enough to say, "I'm it. I'm all you need...

Now stop it and be with Me."

{ok, so it's a paraphrase, but whatever}

***

I want to love Him better, but the sacrifice and the seeing it all shakes my sinful core. How do you love Him on Good Friday?

Shameful thoughts on home

17 June 2011

Home...

When i first saw this topic, my chest filled with angst. If you know me or have been reading this blog for any short length of time, you know nothing quite disturbs me more than thinking about, wondering about, longing for a home. I don't really want to write about it anymore. I don't really want to think about it anymore. And I've spent more than a few hours praying that God would fill me with content with or without a home and let the idea, the dream, the impossibility of a perfect long-term security leave my heart so that the empty space it reveals can be filled with other things of greater value.

Today, I wait for an email to confirm whether or not my home is in Ireland or if we should just go ahead and plant ourselves here. I'm pretty sure I know where they will point us (back overseas, where we wish to go), but the waiting is driving me crazy and they sure are taking their time and I really really want to be selfish and petty about waiting to go home...

But...

The longing for home does not belong solely to me. I can't get on my high horse and demand a "home" when there are millions of children literally without a roof over their heads, there are babies with no hopes of homes - ever. There are mothers who have no place to take their children for protection or solace or security. There is a world filled with people with this same longing, but without any of the modern conveniences that I so harshly reject because, to me, it isn't enough to call home.

I'm wracked with shame when I truly think about it, when I look around me and in my heart I say with so little care, "Nope, not good enough, sorry." This is my sin, my shame, to have more than enough and to reject it anyway.

Oh, God, replace this sin with You. Take away this pride. Remove these shameful thoughts. Don't waste these precious resources on a heart so dark. Take those babies, those children, those mothers, and give them all I forfeit. I am unworthy. And they are Yours.

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confession: sometimes I edit, and sometimes I write for six minutes, but still I write furiously with gypsy mama. where does your heart say is home? 

Thou Shalt Not Covet (thy friend's house)

26 June 2008

Everyone sins.  Some people have sins that are more obvious, more public, more noticeable.  Other people have sins that are an easily kept secret.  I have a particular one (of many, I'm sure) that I feel I must share with you at this particular moment in time.

I covet.

This is a particular issue in our line of work.  We hear (and preach) a lot about denying self, picking up our cross, forgetting what lies behind and striving towards what's ahead.  That's all well and good, but it's hard to look ahead when my head is always turned, leering and secretly thinking, "If only I/we had that."

When I was pregnant with our son, we considered buying a house.  We looked around, researched, planned... and then the husband said, "I think we need to remain mobile."  (Husband has the gift of prophecy).  Thus, the dream of a house of my own ended.  And then everyone around me started buying houses! Not just any old house, but houses I could've seen myself living in, fixing up, raising a family in and calling home.  We rented, moved around, lived with family members, and now today I sit on someone else's couch in someone else's home that we are renting, 3000 miles away from where the American dream had secretly enmeshed itself in my heart.

Do you see the sin there?  I like to think it's not there and that it's only natural to want something for yourself.  That's not bad in and of itself, right?  But when it becomes painful to even visit those places, where friends and family call home, and wish it was you and begrudge them the joy?  That's a heart issue, and I am struggling with it.

We spent a month in a school that prepared us for living and working in another culture.  The instructors told us - time and time again - that in order to best acclimate to another culture, leave who you were and where you came from behind.  This included personal belongings, things that had become a part of our history and our lives...

Our couch.  Last week I sat on this "other" couch and cried because I missed my stupid couch.  I've been going over pictures of other workers preparing to come here, dwelling on the fact that they "get" to bring everything they own over here, while we left nearly everything behind.  (Don't think this was an entirely spiritual decision on our part; this was due in large part to save money.)  We are waiting on a 6 foot x 6 foot crate with the few things we couldn't leave behind: pictures, toys, files, and our bed.  I covet that 20 foot container they get to bring.  And I covet the money that they have that pays for that container.  By extension, I belittle the money that was given generously and sacrificially by others so that we could bring a little bit of home with us.  There is a sin being committed there... and again, I struggle with it, because I know it.

Why is this even a struggle?  These are just things!  What is at the root of the covet?  A pastor here said that sin is not so much the issue, but the thirst that precedes the sin.  We solve the issue by quenching the thirst.

I keep thinking I'm quenching the thirst.  And then God reveals to me another area where I'm still thirsty and craving something other than Him.  He points out how pitiful I am.  And I'm brought back to the idea of dying to self.  To quench the thirst is to die to self, and to live for Jesus.  

 
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