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| Damien Rice |
I don't want
change you,
I don't want
to change your mind
I just came
across a manger
Out among
the danger
Somewhere in
a stranger's eye
- Damien
Rice, “I Don’t Want to Change You”
As often happens with
me, I encountered Rice’s “I Don’t Want to Change You” and became a WEE BIT
obsessed recently. For some reason the song made me think about sin. That may
also have to do with a conversation I had this morning with my buddy Ronnie. We
were meeting for our Friday coffee at Panera and going through a Henri Nouwen
book on Spiritual Formation. Somehow the conversation turned to sin. We were
probably talking about transparency and the importance of sharing not just our
sin, but also our achievements. But as we got to talking I was speaking about
my view of sin. I don’t think it is so much strange as it is pretty well
thought out. So, imagine a box
within a box, something like this:
SIN FOR
SOME PEOPLE
|
So, it is kind of easy
to explain. Inside the small box is this group of things that is basically
always sin for all people. Inside the larger box are things that are sometimes
sins. What I mean by that is that either depending on the situation it may be sin
for a person or not; or it may be sin for one person, but not for another. An
example of the first is something like negotiation with someone holding
hostages. Normally it’s not okay to lie, but to save lives a person may need to
say some things that are untrue. In the second category I usually use the same
example: if you’re an alcoholic, it’s a sin to pick up a drink. If you’re not,
and you are going to simply have a glass of wine with your meal and are not
hiding anything, it’s probably not a sin. In other words, there are things that
are specifically a sin for me that are not a sin for you, because of what is
going on in my life.
Now, I realize that to
some people this is not kosher. Some of you may think that I am off my rocker
and that this is dangerous thought. But let’s put this in perspective;
theologically you are already choosing to ignore certain Scriptures: you eat
bacon cheeseburgers, you wear cotton-polyester blended sweaters, you let women
lead Bible studies that men attend, you allow women to wear make-up, you don’t
throw sinners out of your congregation. But we are comfortable with this,
because they have been systematized. Because we all do those things, it’s all
of a sudden a different scenario. Since we collectively ignore those things it
must be fine, but don’t start introducing new nuances.
 |
| Richard Rohr |
But me being who I am,
of course I’m going to buck up against that notion. Rules are rules for a
reason, but sometimes rules prohibit true versions of truth, justice, love and
mercy. But I digress. This was not where I was originally headed, but, hey,
it’s free of charge theology for you to ponder.
Where I was headed was
this – there is a grace in sin that we don’t often comprehend.
Oh geez. Now I’ve
offended some more people and have put myself back on the fringe. But hear me
out. First, there are others who agree with me, and second, I’m not saying what
you think I am saying.
Richard Rohr says it
like this: "When we fail we are merely joining the great parade of humanity that
has walked ahead of us and will follow after us." He cites one of the saints that
talks about the gloriousness of sin. This references not so much that
the action of sin is great, or that there is great pleasure in sinning. What it
refers to is that there is this amazing impartation in the midst of sin that
drives us back to God.
That is what I like
about this Damien Rice lyric: "I just came across a manger/Out among the danger/Somewhere
in a stranger's eye." I’ve been there. I’ve found love in the most of mysterious
places. I’ve found the grace of God strongly in the midst of such overt failure
and self-imposed exile that I cannot deny that my sin is what drew me into His
arms. There comes a time and place in many lives where all of the things that
work simply fail. We cannot make things work; things fall apart; you hate life;
you don’t know how you can even rise again to face another day. This is
humanity. This is reality. This is the pain that it is to be frail, to be
human.
But when we
reach bottom we find this hand extended down to us, and that hand is battered,
bloody and holy (holey?). Only then, at the end of all our life has become, do
we allow the true grace and mercy of God, the truth that we have proclaimed
across the mountain tops to burrow into the depths of our souls. We do not find
God in the midst of the mountains—we merely find glimpses of Him. But then, at
the end of our reckless desires and insatiable desire He reaches down to us.
This is not
to deny genuine experiences of God in the best of times, but to say the
ultimate goal is not perfection. We can achieve perfection very much without
God. We can check off our lists and demonstrate our faithfulness. We can
proclaim that certain activities have sanctified us beyond anything we could
have dreamed. However, ultimately if this is our reliance it will
fail.
What will
not fail is the infiltration of God into the midst of our real life: the messy,
the dirty, the destitute, the hidden and dark places. And as the rays of His
sunlight consume those places we find that the drity and the dank become sweet
smelling and the very places that bring us true joy. Once we realize the true
mess we are, and once we realize that we cannot wield the broom and mop; once
we hand those things over and sit in the corner as God does His work, we become
who we were always meant to be.
Do not
despise your weakness, your dirt, your curmudgeonly spirit, but allow it to be
the very grace that you need.
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