The first seriously stupid thing I can remember doing was as a first grader: I stepped behind two horses who were feeding on the barn lot. I frightened them. They kicked and ran. One of their kicks left me lying with my head split open.
If you know me personally, you may think that explains a lot of things. But there’s more to the story.
Daddy and my older brother Lee Roy were milking the cows. We had put out some bundled maize for the plow horses, and they were eating. I decided I would take a stalk of the grain and offer it to one of the horses, not realizing I was coming up right behind them.
I wound up in the Sweetwater, Texas, hospital for two weeks, in bed at home another two weeks, and then had to learn to walk all over again.
A few years later, when my voice was beginning to change, I was attending a singing school. Toward the end of the week the instructor decided to record some of the singing, so we could hear how we all sounded. He called on me to hold the mike, perhaps so I wouldn’t be tempted to sing. But sing I did. So when he played the disk back, guess whose voice was heard above everyone else!
With the passing of years, I did many other simply dumb things. And I've done things more seriously hurtful to other people, though rarely with malice aforethought. But I certainly have done nothing more physically hurtful to myself than that misstep on the farm.
I think I’m pretty good at not holding grudges against other people. But I confess, I’m not great at forgiving myself or forgetting dumb things, bad things from the past. Sometimes when I wake in the middle of the night, I am brought face to face with something I did years ago that caused trouble or confusion. I’m probably the only person on God’s earth who still remembers most of those incidents, but they loom large as I try to return to sleep. I often think, "What might I have done differently that would have caused less difficulty?"
In the Fourth Gospel, religious leaders bring a woman to Jesus. They say they caught her in the very act of adultery, and they ask what should be done with her. This looks like a setup. Where is the man? It takes two to commit adultery. But they didn’t haul him to Jesus for judgment.
This is a question with no right answer: Their religious law says they should stone her to death, but the Roman government of the time does not allow them to put people to death. So if Jesus says, “Kill her,” this will put Him in trouble with the Romans. If He says, “Let her go,” He will cross religious law.
At first, Jesus says nothing. He simply gets on His haunches and writes in the dirt. He may be following the example of judges of that time who write out their decisions and then read them aloud. When pressed to say something, His words are the judge’s verdict: “Let the one of you who is sinless throw the first stone at her.”
One by one, the men leave the scene. Perhaps one of them had led the sting operation, going to the woman as a customer.
Whatever the details, all the accusers leave. When Jesus sees they all are gone, He asks, “Where are your accusers?”
She says, “There’s nobody here to charge me.”
Jesus says, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”
The woman may have difficulty forgiving herself. We don’t have the rest of the story. But we know Jesus forgave her, and we can hope she is able to forgive herself and start a new life.
God says, in the prophecy of Isaiah, "I, I am He who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins” (43:25).
In a story -- perhaps a fable -- a woman tells her young pastor that she regularly talks to God and God answers her.
Though he is skeptical, the preacher does not openly challenge the woman. Instead, he says, “Next time you talk with the Lord, ask Him about a serious sin I committed when I was in college.”
Though he doesn’t specify his sin, the parishioner says, “Of course, I’ll talk with God about this.”
Next time they meet, the pastor asks, “Did you talk with God about my sin?’
“Yes, I did,” she assures.
The preacher asks, “And what did God say?”
The woman replies, “He said He didn’t remember.”
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