To describe things in dad-speak: “It had not been a great evening.”
De-escalation had happened, which is why he was remanded to his doorless room. Consequences were coming soon. The delicate work that comes between those steps was about to begin.
The secret second step of forgiveness.
The room’s only light came from a strip of soft, blue LEDs along the edge of his bed. He lay curled up in a ball with his back to me.
The blue glow should have been calming. Honestly, he looked like he’d fallen into a tanning bed, or the biggest bug zapper known to man. I kept the observation to myself but praised God for the little gift of lightening my mood.
We had a quiet conversation; punctuated with pauses and tears. Fifteen or so minutes later, I traversed the bare door frame again; relieved that the stage was set for forgiveness.
Did you know there’s a critical step between realizing you messed up and accepting responsibility for it? I didn’t. When I made mistakes I’d either excuse myself if I could or I’d struggle to shed the shame once I took responsibility. Both betray the belief that our defects define us.
If it’s true that we are our mistakes, then they impact our goodness, our worthiness, and our lovableness. If this belief has a home in our hearts, we’ll resist responsibility to avoid admitting that we aren’t worthy of being loved, the consequences of our actions will feel like punishment, and the forgiveness we receive will feel hollow.
Jesus insists on a radically different view. We would do well to remember it and remind others of it when we have the chance. The enemy strives tirelessly to make us forget.
“But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” (Rom 5:8).
God doesn’t love us because we’re smart, strong, and saintly. He loves us because he made us. We are his beloved sons and daughters, even when we fail.
This seeming “happy talk” has profound implications for us and those we love. “The word of God is sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow” (Heb 4:12) and, in this case, between us and our failure. That God’s love is based on his free choice–not our good behavior–definitively defines us; our defects do not! Yes, we are responsible, but not unlovable. We are simultaneously guilty and good.
Everything we need to know is taught in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. We realize we’ve made mistakes, but instead of despairing at our destruction, we speak our sins aloud with the sure hope that God never stopped loving us and simply wants us to come back to him.
Which of us would dare to stop loving ourselves when God won’t? Which parent would withhold from their child the constant, unconditional love that they freely receive from above?
As my son and I talked in that blue, doorless room, we focused on only one thing: his lovableness. I insisted I loved him even if I didn’t like him very much at that moment. I insisted his mom, siblings, and Jesus still loved him. He was not ruined. He was not lost. He had not gone too far. We wanted him to come back. We talked about our love being rooted in God giving him to us. We talked about his siblings and how they couldn’t do anything to earn, keep, or lose his love and that we felt the same way about him.
He was still going to be grounded. But when he sought and received forgiveness from his family, he was able to accept it.
The next time you come face-to-face with your human weakness, remember that your worthiness of love and dignity has not changed. God reigns from his throne. He loves you. You are not your mistakes.
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