Convicted conscience

Would you like to walk in darkness or in light?  If you answered light, you are on to something… but did you know that it takes courage to walk in the light?

I remember a time when saying “I’m sorry” was not part of my vocabulary.  Apologizing was (and still is) uncomfortable.  It means admitting I am wrong, and my pride makes it difficult for me to admit such a thing.  Believing I am right and in control are far more comfortable for me.

I also recall times when I did the wrong thing simply because it was more convenient than doing the right thing.  Not returning the cart to the grocery store, or designated stations, or leaving fallen trash on the street simply because I didn’t feel like chasing it in the wind.

Sadly, I have allowed myself to tell lies to get off the hook of admitting an embarrassing truth (like the fake tan example I described in my “Beyond the Surface” post).  “It’s just a white lie”, I would think. “It’s not going to hurt anyone.  It’s barely even lying.”  What I didn’t realize is we cannot put a scale on integrity.  Like a drop of mud in clear water, you either have purity (truth, integrity), or you don’t.  All lies are dark.

Looking back on my less joy-filled days, I think of Elizabeth.  Elizabeth was a cheerful, outgoing, and spontaneous person.  She laughed a lot and loved to be around people.  In fact, if anyone made you feel like you were accepted (and funny), it was Elizabeth.  Easy to talk to and carefree, she made friends easily.  And I was one of them.  I loved Elizabeth and her sweet personality.

Over time, however, I became skeptical of my friend.  Elizabeth was like a gypsy, floating in the wind.  Perpetually late, I and other friends often had to wait for her.  She also lacked other responsibility.  Her apartment was in shambles and she was almost always late for work… if she was working.  As long as Elizabeth was around people and having fun, she was happy.  But Elizabeth hated to be alone and feared missing out on anything that was happening.  When she had nothing else to do, she would call to chit chat… and chit chat… and chit chat.

Although I am an extrovert, I began to feel burdened by Elizabeth’s continuous need for socializing.  I also became bothered by her constant lateness.  I was astonished at how anyone could get through life with her lack of responsibility.  Instead of having a loving conversation with Elizabeth about the way I was feeling, I distanced myself and, not long after, Elizabeth moved outside the city.  A few months after moving, Elizabeth sent me a friendly e-mail, simply to say hello and catch-up.  Since I was leery of re-igniting the friendship, I responded in a judgmental manner by offering unsolicited advice.  I never heard from Elizabeth again.

Sometime later, as I grew in my faith and closeness to God, I remembered Elizabeth, and I was greatly convicted.  I realized, without being fully conscious of it, I considered myself better than her.  Buttoned up and organized, I worked hard at my job, was dedicated to ‘church’ activities, and maintained an orderly home.  But now, I could more clearly see that I lacked the fervor and love Elizabeth had for people, a far better quality than organization.  More specifically, I lacked love for and understanding of Elizabeth, the kind of love God calls me to as a Christian.  And because of this, I lacked real joy.

Realizing I had been guilty of wrongly judging Elizabeth, I resolved to make amends.  I knew I needed to apologize.  But as soon as I thought of doing this, I tightened up inside.  I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable.  I felt every part of my human side tell me, after all this time, it’s just not necessary.  Maybe I could simply confess to God… but my spiritual Jesus following side told me otherwise.

Knowing that my faith and walk with God were far more important than my pride, I forced myself to send Elizabeth an e-mail.  In it, I directly admitted my guilt of judging her.  I explained how I had been growing and was sorry for my behavior.  I asked for her forgiveness.  I told her she had no obligation to respond, I only wanted her to know I was sorry.  Elizabeth never responded.

For months following that apology, I knew sending Elizabeth an e-mail was the wrong way to apologize.  It lacked respect and courage.  Yet, I could not bring myself to call her.  And perhaps that’s why Elizabeth never responded.  If I didn’t have the courage to apologize to her directly, why did I bother to apologize at all?  Friends, I have the same question.  Why did I choose the easier way out?

Because it was easier.

Not only that, but we humans have a way of blocking our memory of things that are unpleasant to think about, especially if it protects our conscience.  I have done such a thing.  For the past six weeks, I have been struggling to write this blog post.  But a few days ago, my memory was unblocked… I remembered Elizabeth.  I remembered I hadn’t been completely obedient to my conscience.  I hadn’t been completely obedient to God.  And, once again, I knew what I needed to do.

Just before hitting the call button on my phone, my anxiety spiked.  Making that call to Elizabeth was difficult, because my “I want life to be easy and comfortable” human side just didn’t want to do it.  But I pressed on knowing obedience to God and doing the right thing were far more important than comfort.  After saying a brief prayer, I tapped the call button.  To my surprise, the call itself was relatively easy.  Elizabeth was kind but, also, unsure why I was apologizing.  What?

While I was relieved at Elizabeth’s response, I also realized her response was not the most relevant point of my story.  The point is, whether Elizabeth remembered it or not, I was indeed judgmental and ungodly in my behavior.  I was convicted in my conscience and an apology was necessary to remain at peace with myself and in right relationship with God.  When we sin against others, we sin against God.  We distance ourselves from His goodness.  Regardless of what anyone else believed or understood, God knew I had sinned.

Reflecting on my past and present behavior is often humbling and healing at the same time.  While it reminds me of mistakes I’ve made, and sometimes continue making, it also reveals how far I have come and where I still need to grow.  Without this reflection, I would remain dead in my sins, lacking true growth and healing.  I would be walking in the dark, hiding my flaws from others, pretending to have it all together. I would be a fool, ignoring the convictions of my conscience… the promptings of the Holy Spirit.  Doing what makes ‘me’ most comfortable and happy.