Be Still and Know

If there was ever a time I deeply wanted to hear "no" in response to my question, it was one Sunday in early 2001. I was in college at the time, and I was in the middle of one of a string of unhealthy relationships. I was, once again, experiencing the desperation and dismay that only comes from reflecting on who I ought to be in Christ and who I actually am wrapped up in myself. I was going to confession every two weeks at the instructions of my confessor priest, and I was rather distraught by how many sins I could manage to commit in the short 14 days that would elapse before I would formally make my confession to Christ in the presence of this kindly priest.

It's not that I was an incredibly bad person. In fact, I am quite sure I never had to confess anything out of the common way for someone in my age and situation. But much of the reason I was at confession so often was because, this priest, in his wisdom, knew that I needed more frequent reminders of grace, forgiveness and love. It wasn't that I was so sinful as much as that I was so weak. He could see that I needed to unburden my soul of the weights I carried and watch them become nailed to the cross. I needed to hear the words, after a reminder of God's love and compassion, "Have no further anxiety; go in peace."

Have no further anxiety. Go in peace.

I think if you look up the word "anxiety" in the dictionary, you may find my picture as an illustration. I haven't the heart to look. It would probably only contribute to my anxiety. As for peace, I know not of what you speak. I cannot sit or stand without fidgeting, and the tell-tale jiggling of my leg and twitching of my fingers provide a pretty accurate glimpse of what my mind is doing not quite so visibly. I don't know how to be still. I don't know how to be peaceful. I don't know how to release the anxiety I feel about all of the aspects of my life -- including my sinful condition.

The faith I have embraced is not one of guilt. It isn't at all. In fact, Orthodoxy's emphasis is on the divine in mankind, not the damage. Ours is not a theology of depravity and damnation, but of a loving and compassionate Savior.

No, the guilt is mine. I carry it with me, fused to my soul like an extra limb: one that drags itself behind to slow progress whenever I, fragmented and conflicted, choose to move towards God. That limb is a convenient place to rest when I decide the struggle against it is too much.

That Sunday six years ago, I sat and asked my priest, in deadly seriousness, if the saints had something in them that I didn't. I've read the stories -- all of the amazing men and women who have become vessels of uncreated light and grace -- from the dawn of mankind to today. Surely they have something, some deep longing that is greater than the pull of temptation, some divine spark that grows into a flame, some preternatural force of will. My priest looked at me and answered, also deadly serious: "No."

I think he went on to explain, but I was too distracted by all the parts of "no" I understood to really listen to the rest. The impact of his words was clear. For we believe in a will that is free -- free to choose the right and good, and free sit idly by, a willing slave to sin. "No" means that I am not off the hook. "No" means that I am made to become holy as Christ is holy, and that if I am not, I have nobody but myself to blame, because I am free to run home to my Father, like the prodigal son who squandered his living. Home to my Father who will dress me in the finest clothing and kill the fatted calf.

I like my guilt. I must. It has been my friend and companion these 30-odd years. It provides me with a ready excuse: You want to be like who? Hahahaha. Good one. At least you still have your sense of humor. I've told you before, and I will tell you again, there is no way God has any use for a "Christian" like you. If you like, I can catalog for you all of the things you have done in the last week... no, I only need the last day to prove my point. Why bother repenting when you know you will do it again? And you will -- you will fail. Even now, while you have been listening to me, you've added to the list of failings.

On it drags. On it drones and drowns out the other voices, including the ones I most need to hear:

"I, even I, am the one who wipes out your transgressions for My own sake, And I will not remember your sins."

"Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more."

Hence the frequent reminder: Have no further anxiety. Go in peace.

"NO, there is nothing about you that is fundamentally different from those who love me to their martyrs' deaths. There is NO sin so great I cannot forgive it. There is NO offense I am unwilling to forget. It is you who cling to it, I can set you free."