Forgive me for saying...

...it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks. Acts 9:5

Sometimes I ask myself if I write as an ideal self. Understandably, comparing yourself to an ideal self can give anyone a bad conscience. That goes for me the writer, who´s just as messed up as most other humans, and it goes for the reader, invariably a flesh and blood creature, no matter his or hers state spiritwise. Ideal selves have it so much easier than us real people, who are confronted by real problems, not ideal ones. We live messy lives in a messy world. So for anyone who has read whatever on this blog, and felt a sting of guilt, you´re not alone. I probably felt that same sting writing it. But I did something with that guilt, which is bringing it up to the great Redeemer and say: Lord, I´m sorry, but this I just can´t handle, it is above me, I´m not able and not worthy, but will you forgive me?

Does this make me a better person? Some may feel I got off the hook all to easy, running to mummy´s apron as it were, rather than dealing with it myself. “Be a man and sort out your own stuff!” No, I´m not a better person, but I am redeemed. Saved. What an awfully pretentious thing to say, you think. That´s right, the christian faith has huge pretentions, beyond the wildest dreams and worst acid hallucinations you can think of. And it´s not cheap, it was and will be, for time eternal, paid by blood on the hill of the Skull. And forgiveness is not just a negation of something bad or a comfort, it´s a healing force that enables us to take up our beds and walk, that breaks the bond of evil and clears the path for living in the right with God.

I like putting things bluntly, because paradoxically then the word as a sword gets sharper. The sword, which as we remember, has two edges. As does all writing that´s worth a damn, it does it´s work both on the reader and the writer. What is that work? If I were a moralist, I´d want to get rid of all the ugly blemishes on the skin of me and others. Truth to be told, spiritually even our churches often appear to be leper colonies. So many confuse the word-sword with one of those polishing devices you use to freshen up tarnished floors, or the Hells Angels use to remove their tattoo from deserters from that organisation. When it´s really a sword that pierces to the very soul of those who hear it.

I will not say sorry for any guilt anyone has felt reading what I´ve written. At least not to that person. But I will gladly join you in saying sorry to God, who we burden daily with our failure to love and be true, to him, our fellow man and ourselves.

He´s my man, but I´ve been doing him wrong. “God song” Beth Orton