Consistency

His eyes are red. He walks with his head down. How could he be called in, yet again, to a meeting with the pastor? Didn't he already explain? Wasn't his declaration of repentance enough?

He stops just outside the door, hesitating. He can feel his ears burning, they must be as red as his cried-out eyes, and for the same reason-shame. Shame he has felt, over and over. That one mistake never is just that--left in the past, left at the foot of the cross. Instead he is raked over the coals. It had been years-YEARS!-yet it was as if that one failure would haunt him forever. It was trying to mark him. Just when things had finally been going well. Just when it was almost over, the nightmare was almost behind him.

It was back. And now it was worse than ever.

He knew he was more than his past mistakes. He knew that God had forgiven him. He knew he'd tried to carve out a good life for himself, to forget, to forgive himself. He told himself about the times he'd tried to make reparation, and been shut out. He had done his part, hadn't he?

And now, walking into a new and what should have been joyous time of his life, it was back. Demanding justice. Demanding answers. Demanding he uncover his shame and yet again profess his regret. People he once trusted were now untrustworthy of his heart. People he once enjoyed camaraderie with looked the other way, whispering. People were talking about him, he could feel it. His private ugliness was now their dinner table talk.

He heaved a big sigh. What could he say? How could he face this again? What would his pastors say? He took a steadying breath, and opened his pastor's office door. Head up, chin trembling, the music would be faced and relived all over again.

I've been thinking a lot about love, mercy, justice, grace, and responsibility lately. Where does "Expel the immoral brother" and "Embrace him back into the fold" begin and end? What does loving someone well look like? Christ was as much of a grace-giver as he was a rebuker, and He had the harshest words for those who should know better. Where does that fit in to how those of us who have knowledge have a responsibility to heed it? Ignorance is one thing, but doing the wrong thing on purpose, willfully and brazenly and over and over, when is a sinful lifestyle embraced to be unsupported by those walking in holiness?

I know I don't have all the answers.

We know that nothing is impossible for God. Yet we also know He allows us to choose. We know that we are to speak in love and show mercy and grace and forgive, yet we are also to spur one another on in holiness. We say that if we are Christlike, we should show people love and kindness and forgiveness and grace and mercy. This is true. But if we are Christlike, should we not also show them godliness, holiness, clinging to what is good and abhoring what is evil? Should we not also speak out, as He did? Where does one end and one begin? If Christ forgives us, should we not also fully forgive? What does that mean, exactly, to forgive someone?

I don't have all the answers. I wrote a bit about it in my post about love.

What about Mr. Sinner above? We have all sinned and fallen short, right? How can we keep bringing up someone's past if they have resolved it in themselves or in between them and God? How is it possibly loving to uncover someone's past mistake and rub it in their face? For what, a sense of closure, a measure of 'justice'? What about the Church? What is the Church's responsibility? Does a pastor really have a right to call someone on the carpet, especially about an old, repented-of sin? Is it fair? What damage it must be doing to him, to have to rake up all those unresolved and painful things.

"We understand," they had said. Relief washed over him as his pace quickened. "We'll handle it," they said. Once again, the pettiness would be pushed aside, away from him. Would this be the final time they'd try it? He sure hoped so. "We know that you are forgiven, and we also forgive you. Don't worry about what you've done, just place yourself in God's hands and become who He means for you to be." Maybe now, with the support of his pastors, his accusers would fall silent. Maybe now he could move forward with his life. Maybe now the whispers would cease, and his friends would embrace him as they'd known him again.

No hoops to jump through, just grace. No accounting for his actions, just mercy. No worries for what he would face, just love. It seemed too good to be true. He thanked the Lord and thanked, in his heart, his pastors in whom he'd placed his trust. They had barely mentioned his sin, they just wanted to hear his side of the story. He was able to tell it without fear, and without judgment. Now, he felt free.

The story above is true. This next story is also true.

It had been years, now. She was no longer a teenager. Just a baby, on the cusp of womanhood, when her innocence was stolen from her. The man who raped her took more than her virginity; he took her sense of self. Of well-being. Of safety. Her newly 16-year-old body had known the most horrifying, insidious evil before it ever knew love.

Sometimes there were nightmares.

Mostly, she tried to forget. To put it behind her. Never did she go to the police, and refused to speak of it with the very small few that knew. Sometimes it was hard; once she saw his family, and nearly had a panic attack. Mostly it was easy. She was far away from him, from that circle of people.

Now that was about to change. Now he was back. Now he was knocking on the door of her family and demanding to be let in. What hope in this? What could she do? She didn't know, either what she wanted or what she should do. She wanted to be alone, to think, to process.

A knock on the door...a pastor's face. An olive branch from someone dear to her who was involved.

But the olive branch was no more than a new kind of bondage. "We want reconciliation" they smiled through their teeth. "We're going to let him in," they told her, feigning understanding. She felt trapped. What could she do but agree to their terms? She didn't want to do the wrong thing, and couldn't make a decision about what the right thing was. Too confused. Too much pain. They left from their ambush, and perhaps there was a sense of violation all over again.

The church, meant to be Christ's presence on earth, hadn't brought healing and reconciliation to her, but had sided instead with her rapist. Wanted to smooth it over so he could be part of her family as soon as possible. Her family, recoiling in horror, was thusly painted as wanting vengeance and not justice. Told they weren't very Christian in how they "handled" things. Mocked as crazy for wanting to wait on letting him in, wait to see if his supposed repentance was true.

His actions certainly showed he had not and would not repent. He told them he'd tried to make it right, but in fact, never had. He refused to submit himself to the authorities for justice, he couldn't come up with a way to make it right. He'd never even directly apologized to her. He'd told people he went for counseling, for help, but it was all a lie. He painted himself as the chagrined schoolboy eager to be free of his burden, but the only true part was that he was eager to be free of his responsibilities in the situation.

And now it was too late.

In one story, the church seems to triumph in its merciful display of love and grace. In the next story, the church utterly fails a vulnerable, broken, violated young woman in the name of love. They used the words 'grace' and 'mercy' as a cover-up for sin. They bullied a family broken by unresolved, unrepented for, unacknowledged sin. When it finally was acknowledged, no more than a breath of "whoopsie" given before they forced their agenda, which was to protect him and his interests at the cost of true justice, freedom and mercy. Where was the mercy for the girl? Where was the grace for the family? Why could one church seem to get it and one church fail?

They are the same church. And the two stories are actually one and the same.

Makes you think, doesn't it? It makes *me* hurt.

I believe we, as a church, need to examine ourselves when we extend grace and mercy and make sure that we are doing the right thing, in a way that doesn't cause harm. I'm not saying withhold mercy and grace, I'm just saying it might look different depending on the situation. Maybe we should worry less about our personal attachments and worry more about our personal convictions. After all, when Jesus is our moral compass, it doesn't matter who the sinner is, true love and true justice and true morality compels us to hold them accountable. It absolutely is the most loving thing to do. It doesn't matter who the victim is, true love and true justice and true morality compels us to embrace them and enable them to receive justice and closure and grace.

Anything less is the machinations of the enemy.

Anything that prevents us from experiencing healing, whether it be someone excusing your actions or someone excusing your rapist, is not Love, and is not of God. Let's strive to be consistent in the actual principles of love, instead of lackadaisical in our administrations. Are you a stumbling block to someone's growth? Is your church? What can we do to change it?