This week we attended a three-night talk by a Jesuit priest named Joe Laramie. On the first evening, Father Laramie asked each of us to place a hand on our heart and to keep it there for thirty beats. We were asked to consider both our physical and emotional state. Am I happy, sad…? And then to tell Jesus about it. “Lord, right now I feel…”
All I could think was, “Lord, I am tired.” I’m tired of trying to adapt to the restructuring in my workplace. I’m tired of trying to please my customers and my co-workers. I’m tired of listening to the lies of our president. I’m tired of the mistreatment of refugees and asylum seekers. I’m tired of the abuse of women and children. I’m tired of seeing my father’s health continue to decline. I’m tired of fighting with doctors and insurance companies. I’m tired of being surrounded by perceived enemies.
And I’m angry. I’m very angry.
So here I am sitting in church, listening to this Jesuit talk to us about giving and receiving forgiveness and I can’t possibly begin to forgive anyone. Least of all myself.
In her book “Hallelujah Anyway”, Anne Lamott wrote, “Mercy, grace, forgiveness and compassion are synonyms, and the approaches we might consider taking when facing a great big mess, especially the great big mess of ourselves – our arrogance, greed, poverty, disease, prejudice.“
During this Lenten season I am once again reminded that mercy is freely given by God and that even in my fatigue and anger I am an unworthy recipient of that grace. I don’t earn mercy by giving up something for Lent. I don’t gain forgiveness by praying extra hard. I am not afforded compassion because I am holy and pious. So therefore I mustn’t expect others to earn my forgiveness by meeting some standard of worthiness.
I guess I should start by forgiving myself for being so obtuse. That seems like a good place to start.
Peace (and mercy),