A Messy Room and Hope for the Children

Yesterday I entered the dregs, the chaos, the indescribable--yes, yesterday I decided that instead of telling William to clean up his room (which I have realized requires an understanding he doesn't have of what "clean" means) I decided to clean alongside him.  Let's just say I kept saying, "Good Lord deliver me." to which he would respond, "Why do you keep saying that?"  Create your own picture of what I found.

As we finished cleaning--HOURS later--I thought, "I hope he marries well." And then a funny post started developing in my mind; a post describing the person and the attributes that person will need to live with my second and beloved nerdy, athletic son who at almost 16 I still have to remind to take a shower, put on deoderant, and brush his teeth.  That person is going to have to be patient, have a great sense of humor, and understand his sensitive, loving, kind, justice filled heart.  And that person is going to have to either love to clean, love to live in chaos, or have enough money to hire William a personal assistant.  So I was laughing as I thought about who this person might be.  Then my mind jumped (William's physical life might be chaotic, but my mind is--chaotic and connecting things that don't seem to have any connection, and I expect people to keep up, SO KEEP UP!)--back to the jump.  I started thinking about William's Godmother  undeniably one of the most faithful people I know--our Aunt Christy.  I thought, "Thank goodness she's his Godmother because I know she not only prays for him daily but also for whomever becomes his life partner."  Stay with me we're jumping again...

Right after her first born, my Godson, was born we were talking about the incredible responsibility we had in rearing our children.  I was pregnant with Sarah Katherine and so didn't really yet know how immense your love can be for someone and how you can feel so ill prepared and yet so protective, and so determined. Christy told me that every night she stands over Andrew's crib and prays for him and for whomever he  would some day marry.  I pledged to follow her lead (I'm pretty sure I haven't been as consistent as she has been...trusting God will understand); I'm pretty sure our husbands thought we were slightly hormonal and a bit off, but hey they married us; they should have known.

So, I was writing in my mind the funny post I could write about William and his future life partner which led me to Christy which led me to tears.  (Our husbands know we're a bit off; now you do too.)

I began to cry because I started to think about all the children who don't have people praying for them much less praying for people who will eventually enter their lives.  My mind then jumped again to remind me that not all people pray, and that doesn't make them bad people and it isn't just not having people pray for you that is sad.  I try to be inclusive and recognize and respect everyone's faith that may or may not be the same as mine and to respect there are some very good people who define themselves as agnostic or atheist, while they may not be standing over their children's cribs praying, they are planning and preparing their children for their future.   Back to the children.

I went deeper into my thoughts and began to cry for the children who don't have anyone who thinks about their future, for the children who don't have anyone who believes they will have a future, for the children who don't have anyone to help them clean their rooms, for the children who don't have rooms, for the children who don't have homes, for the children who don't have anyone.  I know someone who worked in New Orleans for Teach for America.  Naively he asked his class of sixth graders, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  The room was silent.  Finally one little boy raised his hand and said, "Mr.__________, we don't even know that we will grow up."  And that young man did not.

We live in a rich country; we "fight" for our rights; and yet we have children who grow up or don't grow up without hope.  And it makes me feel helpless and powerless.  Those children may be helpless and powerless,  but I'm not.  Earlier in the day I was reading Deuteronomy preparing for EfM and it repeatedly called the Israelites to care for the widows and the orphans.  In the New Testament Jesus calls the people to care for the widows and orphans.  I believe there are orphans who physically have no parents and I believe there are children who are orphans because they have no emotional parents; there are orphans who have no hope.  And I believe we are called to care for them.  My faith tells me there is always hope and that I am to live in such a way that brings that hope to others.  I am called to bring that hope to the children.

How do we live into hope?  How do we bring hope to the children and to the world?  How do I?

It all started with a messy room.....

Recognizing Privilege--Now What?

A couple of weeks ago while in Raleigh I was privileged to tag along as my good friend traveled to meet with "a grower."  Patti is the Development Coordinator of the Episcopal Farm Worker Ministry.  That's her title, but talk to her for 2 minutes and you will hear the title only begins to describe what she does.  You will hear her passion for this ministry as you watch her become more and more animated--sometimes smiling broadly at the good works that are happening and sometimes you will see tears pool in her eyes as she describes the abhorrent living conditions provided to some of the workers. You will hear how she loves what she does, the people she works for and with, and most poignantly you will hear her fury at the injustices she witnesses.  I challenge anyone to listen to her and not want to get involved in whatever way they can.

To be honest, it's a complicated ministry; it's a complicated situation.  The official mission of the ministry as written on the Diocese of East Carolina's website is:

The Episcopal Farmworker Ministry responds to the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of migrant and seasonal farmworkers and their families, and actively supports opportunities for them to become self-directive. We seek to minister to farmworkers in three principal ways:

• through direct services,
• through development and support of programs that work towards the empowerment of farmworkers and through encouraging leadership development, and
• through advocacy and education that aim toward systematic change at the local and state levels.

But it's complex.  There are farm workers here legally and some not; there are growers who work very hard to provide the best conditions and there are growers who don't.  Into this world I got to enter.

Patti was traveling to visit a grower whom she had yet to meet but who had heard her quote a daily wage and the amount of work each migrant farmer had to do to earn it.  This grower disagreed with the number, and Patti wanted to talk to him.  While she desperately wants the problematic aspects of the system to be exposed, she also wants to be accurate and fair.  And so we went and met with this grower for several hours.  We toured his farm, the living quarters for the workers, and we had lunch.  He is a good man and Patti said, "A good grower."  He has workers who return year after year to work for him--I don't know much, but I suspect if he wasn't kind and fair they would find other places to work.  Patti and the grower had deep meaningful conversations and we left with the two of them wanting to continue the discussion.  Both want to work to better the conditions of the workers; I suspect this man will become involved with the ministry on a larger level.  

But, you knew there would be a but didn't you?  There is one statement he gave that has haunted me.  We were talking about how it is difficult to get "local" people to work on the farms.  It's a general statement, but his experience has been that locals show up occasionally, don't work as hard and cause problems (read fight with) the migrant workers.  The grower said that working with the migrant worker was a "win-win."  They need the work and the growers need the workers.  "Win-win" has echoed through my mind for these past two weeks--echoed through my mind is not quite right--thundered through my mind is more accurate and thundered in a void (not my mind the truthfulness of the statement).   I don't want to say it is completely hollow, completely false, but when I hear the phrase "win-win" I think equal; 50/50--but it's not.

The relationship is not equal; there is a power differential.  The workers are here on a specific work visa (again I don't claim to understand the complexity of this) which allows them to be here for a specific time frame.  They live on the farms where they work; they are dependent on the growers to provide them transportation into town for their groceries and other supplies.  If they quit or are fired, they have nowhere to go and no way to get there.  I cannot help but think that would keep people from speaking up if they felt oppressed.  Please remember, I do think this man is a very good man--a man who very much wants to do right by the workers who work for him, and I also believe he sees their relationship as win-win, and yet the echo in my mind won't stop.

And I think, where else are their relationships where on the surface they appear to be equal and yet just below the surface there is a power differential; there is a difference because one person has a privilege, has power the other doesn't?  What booms in my mind is the question, where do we not recognize those privileges?  Where do we, where do I have power and privilege that I don't own either because I am living my comfortable life to busy to see them or perhaps and more hauntingly because I don't want to see?  For two weeks I have wrestled with this; I have dug into my life and into my ministry and tried to uncover and own the privileges I hold and others hold.  Frankly I have been obsessed...

Last night some of us gathered talking about faith and politics.  How does our faith inform how we vote?  The conversation went in many directions--one of those directions was to our places of privilege.  We talked and talked and talked each admitting to places in our lives where privilege has played a part and then....a very good man who is becoming a very good friend (at least until he asked this question) asked, "So what do we do about it?  What are the next steps?"  I had myself convinced (read broke my arm patting myself on the back) that I was doing important work in recognizing and exposing.  It's a first step, but the stair case is steep.  Now I am restless, incredibly restless and yearning to do something, but what?  

I live in a warm home where this morning I got to take my children drinks to their beds to awaken them so they could leave for a school where they are provided an excellent education.   I have been able to sit in a chair, watching the news and thinking about all of this--writing about this--it does not escape me that in itself is a privilege.  Now what?

Aunt Betty's Home

We spent the weekend in C'ville for Family Weekend.  I love C'ville, the Grounds, the corner everything--but I particularly love Aunt Betty's home.  It has become for me a symbol...it's a story that stretches decades.

Aunt Betty is my Daddy's step sister; she has been his step sister for 45 years, but he's known her much longer than that.  They both grew up in Norton, Virginia--their parents socialized--they were friends.  After Libby's, Aunt Betty's mother, second husband died and my grandparents divorced, they were married.  None of Libby's and my Pop's children lived in Norton anymore so while I knew and loved Libby, my contact with Aunt Betty, her brother and their families was minimal.

When I became an English major at UVA, my Uncle Irby, Aunt Betty's husband, became my advisor. Aunt Betty graciously accepted my panicked calls trying to track Uncle Irby down to sign my registration forms because once again I waited until the last minute. (This was long before online registration.)  I suspect she began to expect that call because each time she responded, "Yes he's here. Come on over and plan to stay for dinner."  I'd be there within minutes and the table was already set for three.  Over the years I spent time at their home particularly when Mother and Daddy were in town.  Both my graduation celebration and my sister's were held on their terrace.  They were always gracious and loving--genuine and open.  But as life happens our visits became more infrequent (okay I'll be honest I saw her 4-5 times over the last 20 years), and yet when I walked through her door early this fall, missing my Uncle Irby who's been gone for 20 years, she reached out her arms to me as though I had been there just the previous week.

Last weekend I went to Raleigh to bury my beloved Uncle Jimmy  As I wrote, life wasn't perfect for Uncle Jimmy or for me, but we loved each other unconditionally; we were family.  During the days I was there I spent hours talking to both my Daddy's sisters, my aunts.  We talked about the good times, and we also talked about the years of pain.  My grandparents marriage was unhappy, very unhappy.  While there were times of joy, there were more years of silence, confusion, and pain.  It took a toil on my Daddy and my aunts.  It affected their lives and their relationships.  Last weekend we talked about those painful years and times; we shed tears; but we also celebrated the healing and the strength that we all have found.  I got home from that time with my aunts and 24 hours later I left for Charlottesville.

The night before we left I was telling my children all about Aunt Betty and the family they might meet this weekend.  I was trying to explain the relationships; "Aunt Betty is Pop's step sister or bonus sister as we like to call our steps.  She's about 10 years older than Pop and her sons are a little bit older than me but they have children just a little bit older than you."  Caroline looked back at me and said, "Oh great--I'm going to go meet someone who is in our family, who is older than Pop.  I'll fall in love with her, and then she'll die in the next 10-15 years and then I'll be sad, really sad. Thanks Mama."  How do you answer that?!?!?!

We arrived in C'ville and just as she did with me early this fall, Aunt Betty reached out and embraced me, Chris, and each of our children as we walked through the door.  She was heading out to a parade; she stopped, turned around and said, "I'm going to cancel going out right now; I'll go later.  I'm just going to tell my friend my family just got here."  And my heart swelled.  Throughout the weekend we spent lots of time with Aunt Betty, her son Bruce and his partner Nancy.  (I'm just going to call them both cousins--because that's how I view them!) We laughed and told stories; we enjoyed being together; we enjoyed being a family.

As we left yesterday I thought of Romans 8:28 which says, "We know that all things work together for good, for those who love God according to his purpose."  Let me be clear, I don't believe for one minute that God makes bad things happen so that good can come.  But I do believe that God is present in the bad--in the pain and the isolation and the hurt, and I believe God can and does bring hope and reconciliation.  My grandparents divorce, my parents divorce, other divorces, other addictions have brought immense pain to our family, but as I left the house hugging my aunt and hearing her say, "Any time, you hear me.  Any time you are welcome, and I'll call and check on Sarah Katherine tomorrow.  Don't worry about her; I know she's not feeling well.  I'll check."
I saw and felt the good that has come--the good that God has brought from the pain of our family.  The good and the blessing that we have found in our extended bonus family.

Last weekend both my cousin and my aunt asked me independently what I like about being a priest. Knowing how religion has hurt them in the past, I stuttered and spent more time saying what I was glad I didn't do--passing down judgment and being exclusive-than I did expressing what I did like about it.  Their question has haunted me.   This weekend the answer was crystal clear. As a priest, I am invited into people's lives in their most vulnerable times.  I am gifted with hearing people's stories, with journeying with them as they struggle to make meaning of their lives, and with offering myself as a bridge between God and themselves as they seek to mend broken relationships, to reconcile the pain of the world with God's unconditional love and grace.  I get to continually proclaim God's goodness and love.  I try to spend my days recognizing and pointing to God's redeeming love. I love so much what I am privileged to do, but the vow I took that I love the most is to "endeavor so to minister the Word of God and the sacraments of the New Covenant, that the reconciling love of Christ may be known and received."  (BCP, 532)  This weekend Aunt Betty was my priest.

This weekend I saw and felt Aunt Betty's home in a sacramental way.  Aunt Betty's home has become for me an outward and visible sign of God's goodness--of "proof" that all things can work together for good"--of God's love and God's hospitality.  It has become for me a sign of hope and reconciliation and grace and most importantly love--lots and lots of love.

As we left Boss said, "She is the best.  She said I can come back any time even without you.  When can I come back?"  And Caroline added, "Yep just like I said, I'll fall in love with her" and she paused, "but it's all worth it."

My Beloved Uncle Jimmy

Jimmy Jones was in my life from the time I was born--he started dating my aunt that year.  (Clearly 1968 was a very good year...)  He officially became my Uncle Jimmy in 1978, and I couldn't have been a happier 10 year old.  I was so proud he was my uncle and Aunt Susie was my aunt.  They were young and hip and cool, (they called each other by their last names--Jones and Kanto) and most importantly, they paid attention to me.  I wanted everyone to know they belonged to me and I to them, so even several years later when they said I could drop the aunt and uncle I didn't.  Those titles connected me; those titles assured me I belonged.

In the fall of 1980 my cousin Drew was born and Aunt Susie and Uncle Jimmy asked me to go to the beach the following summer to be a Mommy's helper.  That summer changed my life.  I was a basically good kid, made straight A's, worked hard at sports, went to church (two churches every Sunday--a whole other story), mostly got along with my siblings, and rarely talked back to my parents (at least not aloud), but I had a hole.  There was an emptiness in me that I tried to bury, and most of the time did.  That summer exposed that hole and then filled it up.

It's hard to explain that summer---they'll say they didn't do anything but they did.  They talked to me

Emerald Isle 1981

like I was an adult; they took an interest in me; they played cards with me, Uncle Jimmy told me stories (some may have even been true),  and then at night I would lie upstairs in the loft with Drew and listen to them talk and laugh, play the guitar and sing.  They trusted me with their son; they told me I was beautiful, and they made me believe they loved me just because I was me and not because they had to.  They made me believe I was worthy and good.  The previous spring I had an eating disorder--I felt ugly, broken, and unworthy.  That summer I learned there were some people who wouldn't accept that and wouldn't let me accept that either.  The next year was still hard, but remembering that summer and those lessons is part of how I survived.  That summer sealed our relationship; that summer I became their Elvira--Uncle Jimmy never called me anything else for the rest of his life.

Story telling

Over the years I spent time at their home sometimes with my family and sometimes just me.  I loved those evenings of Uncle Jimmy playing guitar and he and Aunt Susie singing.  They introduced me to jazz and blue grass.  At night Aunt Susie and I would lay blankets out on the floor while Uncle Jimmy sang, "Make me a pallet on the floor" with us joining in.  No one can sing Joni Mitchell's "The Circle Game" like my Aunt Susie and every child should have it sung to them accompanied by the guitar when their eyes are struggling to stay open but they want to hear it "just one more time."  They introduced me to many voices including John Prine--a love that would continue and be reignited when I met and fell in love with the next man who played the guitar and sang for me and loved John Prine--I got to marry him.  (And Uncle Jimmy sang Elvira to me at the reception...)

Gangan and Uncle Jimmy

Was Uncle Jimmy perfect?  No--he had his demons.  He had his struggles and his own inner pain.  Uncle Jimmy suffered his first stroke in 2005--far too early for a man with so much life to live.  Uncle Jimmy struggled with faith and in his last years declared himself an agnostic.  After I was ordained he would sometimes send me articles about faith and ask what I thought...he continued to believe in me and to believe I had something to offer.  He continued to love me, to trust me, and to be proud of me.

The core of my theology--my die on the hill theology-- is God loves everyone no exceptions and ALL people regardless of age, sex, race, orientation or anything else are valuable, are worthwhile and deserve dignity and respect.  As I prepare to bury my beloved uncle I am reminded of how much he taught me that very theology when I was an awkward 13 year old with a hole in her heart--I am reminded of how much he lived that way and loved that way.  And I know that he has been granted eternal rest.

Give rest, O Christ, to Uncle Jimmy with your saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting.  (BCP, 499)

I love you and miss you Uncle Jimmy,
Love, Elvira

Standing on Holy Ground

It was my first wedding I had ever officiated alone (shhh I don't think Luke and Sarah knew that).  I wasn't nervous--I was surprised I wasn't,,  but I realize I wasn't nervous because I believed deep into my heart and soul that these two people were meant to be married and that I was simply a conduit to help make that happen.  God had already blessed their union; God was very present in their individual lives and in their relationship--God, Sarah and Luke were the principal players; I was simply an extra.

It was an intimate gathering--family only.  We hiked into the woods to a clearing where the service was to be.  A small patch of moss was there and as Sarah and Luke stepped onto it, chills ran down my spine and a warmth took over my body.  There was no question; this was holy ground.

With the family gathered around, Sarah and Luke made their vows to one another and to God.  As I pronounced them husband and wife, the sun broke through the branches and a ray of light shone on the newly married couple.  There was no mistake; God was truly and completely present.  God blessed this marriage.

Sarah and Luke had decided they wanted Eucharist.  Not only did they want to have Eucharist, but they wanted to provide the bread and wine.  Eucharist means thanksgiving, and Sarah and Luke wanted to give the gifts in thanksgiving to God for bringing them together and as a gift of thanksgiving to those who had gathered to witness this day.

We hadn't rehearsed the wedding and suddenly as we were exchanging the peace I realized we had no table to use as an altar.  Oddly I didn't panic.  I walked over to the flower girls and whispered I had a very important job for them to do for their Uncle and new Aunt who they clearly loved very much.  These two beautiful girls held the bread and wine as I recited the Eucharistic Prayer.  Their mother, Luke and Sarah's sister-in-law stepped forward to hold my book for me.  As I invoked the Holy Spirit

Invoking the Holy Spirit

I have never been more certain of the power of the Eucharist and the real presence of Christ in the bread and wine.  The girls and I, not trained lay Eucharistic ministers, but two girls who loved their family, joined me as servants of God and we distributed the bread and wine to all those gathered.  I blessed the marriage and we hiked back out.

 I was transformed that day in many ways.  Chris and
 I have always told the children they had to be married in a church--it was non negotiable if we were going to pay for it.  Hypocritically  I often profess that the church is not a building but the people.  That day the hypocrisy evaporated and that profession became more powerful than it ever had before.  The church was gathered; God was present.  Scripture tells us "For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." (NRSV, Matthew 18:20)  It does not tell us that is only in certain buildings behind certain altars using certain vessels.  Hypocrisy gone--our children can get married where ever they choose; God will be there.

Marriage is a sacrament--an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.  The Book of Common Prayer tells us that, "It signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored among all people."  I have no doubt Sarah and Luke's will continue to be an outward and visible sign for the world.  It will continue to model what the Kingdom of God can and does look like.  Their marriage will transform them and all who they encounter.  It already has.

 I haven't been able to let go of the power of the gathering and I am struck by the idea that we intentionally or not put boundaries and boxes around where God is and where God isn't.  We declare specific places sacred and holy and forget that God created everything and that alone makes all of creation sacred and holy.  What would happen if we treated the world--all of creation including people as if they were sacred and holy?  How would the world be changed?  How would we be changed?  On October 5, 2014 I was changed and for that I give thanks.

Why I Write

When the children were little, I used to tell them stories of when they were even littler.  Then as life went along we had so many things happen to our family that people would often say, "You should write a book, but no one would believe it was real." The children would hear those comments and they joined the chorus of "you should write a book."  So I told them I would someday.  Lesson--do not tell children under the age of 8 that you will do something one day unless you want to be asked EVERY day if today is the day.

Anyway, I started keeping a list of incidents that could perhaps go into a book.  One of the things I love about our family is that we can make even the most serious things humorous.  I was gifted with children who roll with things and make life an adventure of fun even during those times we could drown in despair.  (Like the time Caroline was in the hospital with a dog bite, they wanted to see how high they could raise the bed and then lift the head and fee to see if they could fold her in.  Yes maintenance had to be called.  Or when SK broke her arm and Boss decided to pull the fire alarm at the orthopedist office--yep everyone evacuated into the rain...And just so it doesn't sound like they are always the culprits--the time I forgot to pay the water bill; we went to the beach for 10 days and came home to no water (on a Saturday)  So Chris and I loaded them back into the car and told them we were going on a destination unknown adventure.  We drove to Atlanta, stayed in a hotel with an indoor pool, and explored Fernbank.  And so began the tradition of Doyle's Destination Unknown Adventures.)  And they kept asking about the book....

When blogging began I had a brilliant idea--or so I thought.  I really knew they just wanted to see they're name in print; I knew I would forget all these adventures if I didn't record them better, and thus  Growing Up Doyle was birthed.

When I was called into ministry in August of 1997 (God was very patient with timing) I really felt that my calling was to help people find the Holy in the ordinary.  I have always journal ed and I started writing on the computer which led me to consider adding it to my blog.  The trouble was the subjects overlap but there is a definite difference in tone.  SK began calling me Madre; I decided to write a different kind of blog; and the first entry back in 2008 was written---What's in a Name?  Over the years I have blogged sometimes regularly, sometimes not so much, but it has become part of my life--part of my spiritual and my "ordinary every day" life.

There are times I feel insecure and arrogant.  Posting them on facebook took courage--hard to believe I'm sure.  But I felt like who was I that anyone would care about what I wrote?  Who would criticize what I wrote?  Who would think I thought I was holier than thou?  I resisted, but eventually I did it--that still small voice commanded it.  I'm glad I did.  I have been so gifted from so many people.  People have entered or reentered my life and shared their stories with me--stories of joy, of pain, of broken hearts, and of reconciliation.  Some people I know in "real" life and some I only know in the virtual world, but all have touched me and honored me with allowing me to be one of the keepers of their stories.  I hold them all in prayer and give thanks for the blessings they have bestowed upon me.

And so I continue to write--for me and for anyone whose life may be touched, for anyone who may need a place to know they aren't alone.  I'm still worried I'll be considered arrogant; I'm still insecure about what I have to offer, despite all that, I'll continue to write.

I believe God's image is in everyone, I think....

I believe we are all, every single person, created in the image of God.  I say I believe that; I think I believe that; I want to believe that; and yet there are more times than I'd like to admit that I don't act like I believe that.  And that's just with people in my everyday life....

Last night during our 5 o'clock service I was reflecting on part of the Baptismal Covenant.  "Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?" (BCP, 305)  ALL persons it says-not just those people in whom God's image is easy to see.  Not just in those people where I want to see it.  Further, the question asks us to seek and serve--to make the effort, to work to see Christ in all persons.  I'm not sure I want to do that; I don't know that I want to admit God's image is in all of us.  And I certainly don't want to have to put any effort into finding it in those people who hurt me or those I love or anyone else.  But, if I truly believe God's image is in all of us than that means it is also in people who do evil things and I am called to try to find it--that means God's image is in Jesse Matthews or whoever killed Hannah Elizabeth Graham, and I'm not sure I want to believe that; it's easier to just see evil and to hate.  And yet my faith that I hold so dear is telling me differently; I admit I don't like it.

As I try to wrap my mind around this I recall a conversation I had with a parent in Caroline's class.  Her husband is an attorney and one of their new associates went to high school with Jesse Matthews.  She told my friend that in high school he was good and gentle and kind and she was having a hard time believing he could hurt anyone.  My first thought was, "I guess some people can fool anyone."  But last night preaching on the Baptismal Covenant I had to confront the hypocrisy in front of me.  If I really believe what I profess than just perhaps regardless of what he may have done, God's image is a part of him....

I believe the Baptismal Covenant is what we strive for, what we use to order our lives, to try to again and again live into the image of God that is within us.  But it's not easy and we have to admit that and confess that.  The confession in Enriching Our Worship (p. 56) says,

God of all mercy,
we confess that we have sinned against you,
opposing your will in our lives.
We have denied your goodness in each other,
in ourselves, and in the world you have created.
We repent of the evil that enslaves us,
the evil we have done,
and the evil done on our behalf.
Forgive, restore, and strengthen us
through our Savior Jesus Christ,
that we may abide in your love
and serve only your will. Amen.

This is hard; really really hard.  People do have to be held accountable for their actions; justice does have to be served--I want to leave it there.  I want to hate the actions so much that I can hate the person, disregard the person, cast the person off as pure evil, deny the goodness, even the smallest amount of goodness that can be in someone.  I want it to be easy, but it's not.  I know I need my community of faith and God's help to believe.  I know I cannot do it on my own.  Right now my core convictions, my faith is being challenged--do I really believe what I profess?  Can I really believe it?
I'm trying....