Yesterday, I sat with some painful memories. I remembered actions that hurt people I loved. Looking back, I can see how immature I was in my relationships. I didn’t understand love the way I do today.
That recognition does not erase the harm. It helps me see where healing and change were needed—and where they still are.
I am not the same person I was in 1981. I am not even the same person I was on January 1 of this year. I am still learning. God is still working in me.
That is what I brought to today’s Daily Office readings.
In Psalm 38, I hear someone overwhelmed by sorrow, guilt, physical distress, and loneliness. Yet he still turns toward God. He brings his wounded life into prayer and asks God to remain near.
I understand that prayer.
What I struggle with is the understanding of sin primarily as a crime requiring punishment. Too often, that understanding has left people believing they are worthless, rotten, or beyond hope. I have come to understand sin through the ways we fall short of love—the harm we cause as people who have not yet grown into the fullness of who God calls us to become.
Our immaturity has real consequences. We wound one another. We damage relationships and the creation we share. We need honesty, responsibility, and the willingness to make amends.
We also need grace that helps us grow.
Patrick Cheng’s From Sin to Amazing Grace has helped me consider this more deeply. I find myself drawn toward the Eastern Christian emphasis on healing and becoming like Christ. The language of theosis speaks to me as a journey of participating in God’s life and growing in love.
I recognize that journey in the renewing of the mind.
Sometimes my emotions have overwhelmed my judgment. Sometimes I have reasoned my way into defending something I should have questioned. Sometimes my religious understanding has run ahead of my ability to love the person standing before me.
I need God to bring heart, soul, mind, and strength into harmony. I need to learn how to live as a whole person.
Psalm 119 gives me words for that desire. The writer asks God for understanding, strength, guidance, and renewed life. There is room in that prayer for someone who has fallen short and still wants to learn.
Sirach brings the learning into daily life: practice humility, tell the truth, give generously, keep praying, and treat a distressed person with care. It also contains language about punishment that I continue to wrestle with. Reading faithfully includes being honest about those struggles.
Still, I hear a practical question: What is changing in the way I treat people?
In Luke, the disciples return delighted by what they have accomplished. Jesus directs their joy toward their belonging to God. Then he speaks of revelation received by little ones and of eyes and ears blessed to see and hear.
I need that teachable spirit. Years in church, theological education, and familiarity with worship do not mean I have finished growing. Prayer and worship can open me to God’s transforming presence. I must remain willing to let that transformation reach my relationships, habits, and choices.
Revelation is harder for me. Its visions of devastation disturb me. But before the trumpets sound, there is silence, and the prayers of God’s people rise before God. The suffering that follows reaches across the earth, the waters, and the heavens.
It widens my prayer. I belong to a creation whose wounds also matter. My growth in love must include concern for the world beyond my own doorstep.
This is where the Jesus Prayer helps me take the next step:
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.
Teach me to see with compassion.
Teach me to listen with wisdom.
Teach me to speak with love.
Teach me to discern what is true and loving.
Over time, I can begin to notice a difference. Sometimes I pause where I once would have reacted. Sometimes I listen where I once would have defended myself. Sometimes I recognize a wound and ask how I can help repair it.
I also need to learn forgiveness—toward those who have harmed me and toward myself. Forgiveness can take time. It can include boundaries. It allows me to acknowledge the past while receiving mercy for the life I am living now.
I may always grieve some things I have done. I hope that sorrow continues to deepen my compassion. And I hope I remain open to the joy of discovering that change is possible.
Today, I can bring God the person I am, with all my unfinished growth, and take another step of faith.
Lord Jesus Christ, thank you for your patient love. Help me acknowledge the harm I have caused, repair what I can, and receive the mercy you offer. Heal what is wounded within me. Teach me to forgive, and keep shaping my life in love. Amen.
—The Curious Pilgrim
Today’s readings: Psalm 38; Psalm 119:25–48; Sirach 7:4–14; Revelation 8:1–13; Luke 10:17–24.
Book mentioned: Patrick S. Cheng, From Sin to Amazing Grace: Discovering the Queer Christ.
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