And after all this/Won't you give me a smile?
I'm not sure if the following is anything particularly profound, or even novel, from a spiritual standpoint. Honestly, for all I know, this could be Intro to Theology 101 at Bible college. Which I never attended.
It's kind of interesting to me, though. I mean, how I learned that it is, in fact, quite possible to trap yourself in Hell by actively trying to be a good Christian.
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Then Peter came up and said to him: “Lord, how many times is my brother to sin against me and am I to forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus said to him: “I say to you, not, Up to seven times, but, Up to seventy-seven times.”
--Matthew 18:21, 22
Which is by Godly default perfectly reasonable, loving advice, designed to rescue us from ourselves. The best of people, with the best of intentions, do screw up. The people they screw up in turn have to be protected from, first of all, constantly being horribly shocked at this, and then from allowing it to damage their own humanity.
Then, one day this summer, I read a Watchtower magazine article on marital betrayal, and it contained the example of a Witness sister who stayed with her physically abusive husband for years... because he apologised for the beatings, every time. She thought it would be un-Christian not to forgive him! Also, un-loving, to betray him to the elders or anyone else.
Granted, the article wasn't condoning this, far from it. (In the Witness context, unchecked violent outbursts are grounds for expulsion from the congregation). Still terrified the ever-loving hell out of me. Quite frankly, it provoked a mini-crisis of faith. Because what I was reading was a perfectly logical Scriptural justification for patiently enduring years of physical abuse. And I knew beyond a doubt that there would be at least some of my fellow Witnesses who would miss the point entirely and admire this sister's resignation, and her spiritual fortitude.
I needed to deal with this before I went any further -- and right quick, because abruptly we were were just a couple weeks away from Shoesis' wedding as per the entry below, and the decision whether or not to attend.
The years haven't been filled by inexcusable line-crossing; at least, not most of the time, and not calculated. Mostly just the myriad insensitivities and small bullyings that are scattered in the wake of extreme self-absorption. Then, the ever-ready apologies, as if printed on a spiritual 'Get Out of Jail Free' card: "Gotta forgive me! Can't hold a grudge, it's un-Christian! Nobody's perfect, y'know!!"
You can't let her get to you, your trusted others have told you all your life. She's right, this is the way she is, just laugh it off. You have to be the better person.
So... you are. For years. After all, you aren't being abused, like that poor sister -- except that once you're looking at it from that POV, you are forced to realise that this is not thanks to anything you have done about it. Somewhere along the way, repentance after the fact has become more acceptable than consideration before. You are enacting a sort of emotional Death by a Thousand Cuts, and you are so dedicated to making it work that you are still genuinely surprised when that final grain of salt is poured into the wound.
The inevitable conclusion is that by not forgiving this person you would have done them, yourself, the entire situation incalculably more good. And unless you rise up now and behave exactly contrary to everything you understand as 'being the better person', in God's eyes as well as man's, you are definitively betraying yourself.
So... I rose up accordingly. Drew a line in the sand and held it there, against all comers. Held it for Shoemom, who had suffered the same things only much more so, because informed by maternal guilt and hope, and likewise found the idea of demanding self-respect that much more of a revelation, then a liberation, then pure exhilaration. I got exhilarated myself just watching her go at it, really.
Which is where things got really exciting, because suddenly not only was I the family rebel but the family cult leader, seducing the weak and soft-hearted away from the path of convention. (The really funny part is, as I've said, in the midst of all this I just happen to be having the undisputed triumph of my writing career. Unfortunately, there wasn't any money involved, so it was kind of useless as a triumphant rebuttal. Worked wonders as a spine-stiffener, though.)
I'm not sure what the moral of this story is, just yet; when you can't lie to yourself, management of the conscience becomes a fearsome responsibility. At what point, exactly, does self-love become selfishness? If you have good and moral reason to demand better treatment -- because, after all, to do otherwise would be to condone the wrong -- is it totally negated because you are also frankly rather pleased to have the chance so to demand?
On the one hand I can't see what else I could have done; on the other, there is the nagging conviction that God of course must know what I could have done, and didn't. Should I have relied more on Him to sort it all out? Or was this His way of sorting it, after all?
Perhaps it's mostly just the Story of How I Was Forced to Think Seriously About What I Believe and How It Impacts My Real Life, which is kind of embarrassing after twenty years' Kingdom Hall attendance, but there it is. Hey, what doesn't make you an atheist, makes you stronger, right? Ha ha? OK, sorry, it's been a long couple months.
It's kind of interesting to me, though. I mean, how I learned that it is, in fact, quite possible to trap yourself in Hell by actively trying to be a good Christian.
*********************************
Then Peter came up and said to him: “Lord, how many times is my brother to sin against me and am I to forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus said to him: “I say to you, not, Up to seven times, but, Up to seventy-seven times.”
--Matthew 18:21, 22
Which is by Godly default perfectly reasonable, loving advice, designed to rescue us from ourselves. The best of people, with the best of intentions, do screw up. The people they screw up in turn have to be protected from, first of all, constantly being horribly shocked at this, and then from allowing it to damage their own humanity.
Then, one day this summer, I read a Watchtower magazine article on marital betrayal, and it contained the example of a Witness sister who stayed with her physically abusive husband for years... because he apologised for the beatings, every time. She thought it would be un-Christian not to forgive him! Also, un-loving, to betray him to the elders or anyone else.
Granted, the article wasn't condoning this, far from it. (In the Witness context, unchecked violent outbursts are grounds for expulsion from the congregation). Still terrified the ever-loving hell out of me. Quite frankly, it provoked a mini-crisis of faith. Because what I was reading was a perfectly logical Scriptural justification for patiently enduring years of physical abuse. And I knew beyond a doubt that there would be at least some of my fellow Witnesses who would miss the point entirely and admire this sister's resignation, and her spiritual fortitude.
I needed to deal with this before I went any further -- and right quick, because abruptly we were were just a couple weeks away from Shoesis' wedding as per the entry below, and the decision whether or not to attend.
The years haven't been filled by inexcusable line-crossing; at least, not most of the time, and not calculated. Mostly just the myriad insensitivities and small bullyings that are scattered in the wake of extreme self-absorption. Then, the ever-ready apologies, as if printed on a spiritual 'Get Out of Jail Free' card: "Gotta forgive me! Can't hold a grudge, it's un-Christian! Nobody's perfect, y'know!!"
You can't let her get to you, your trusted others have told you all your life. She's right, this is the way she is, just laugh it off. You have to be the better person.
So... you are. For years. After all, you aren't being abused, like that poor sister -- except that once you're looking at it from that POV, you are forced to realise that this is not thanks to anything you have done about it. Somewhere along the way, repentance after the fact has become more acceptable than consideration before. You are enacting a sort of emotional Death by a Thousand Cuts, and you are so dedicated to making it work that you are still genuinely surprised when that final grain of salt is poured into the wound.
The inevitable conclusion is that by not forgiving this person you would have done them, yourself, the entire situation incalculably more good. And unless you rise up now and behave exactly contrary to everything you understand as 'being the better person', in God's eyes as well as man's, you are definitively betraying yourself.
So... I rose up accordingly. Drew a line in the sand and held it there, against all comers. Held it for Shoemom, who had suffered the same things only much more so, because informed by maternal guilt and hope, and likewise found the idea of demanding self-respect that much more of a revelation, then a liberation, then pure exhilaration. I got exhilarated myself just watching her go at it, really.
Which is where things got really exciting, because suddenly not only was I the family rebel but the family cult leader, seducing the weak and soft-hearted away from the path of convention. (The really funny part is, as I've said, in the midst of all this I just happen to be having the undisputed triumph of my writing career. Unfortunately, there wasn't any money involved, so it was kind of useless as a triumphant rebuttal. Worked wonders as a spine-stiffener, though.)
I'm not sure what the moral of this story is, just yet; when you can't lie to yourself, management of the conscience becomes a fearsome responsibility. At what point, exactly, does self-love become selfishness? If you have good and moral reason to demand better treatment -- because, after all, to do otherwise would be to condone the wrong -- is it totally negated because you are also frankly rather pleased to have the chance so to demand?
On the one hand I can't see what else I could have done; on the other, there is the nagging conviction that God of course must know what I could have done, and didn't. Should I have relied more on Him to sort it all out? Or was this His way of sorting it, after all?
Perhaps it's mostly just the Story of How I Was Forced to Think Seriously About What I Believe and How It Impacts My Real Life, which is kind of embarrassing after twenty years' Kingdom Hall attendance, but there it is. Hey, what doesn't make you an atheist, makes you stronger, right? Ha ha? OK, sorry, it's been a long couple months.