We had a problem in our house last year. It first showed up in December soon after my eldest daughter got home from working in an orphanage in India. She confessed as soon as we got her into the safety of the family van that she had brought something besides gifts home with her. We thought it might be embarrassing if other people knew about it, so we decided to keep it under our hats, so to speak.
The very next day we visited our sad-faced parmacist, a mild-mannered Chinese man who shook his head dolefully and murmured, "very common in the tropics," - which is what he says about everything, and gave us a small bottle of foul-smelling liquid which was supposed to be all we needed. And for a while we forgot about the problem. Until one day we realized with horror that it had spread and was now affecting other members of our household as well.
We tried everything we could think of ; we read advice columns on the internet, researched the topic, tried this remedy and that - though we never spoke with anyone personally about it.
We spent lots of money and lots of time trying to solve this problem, but we never told anyone outside the family. It was just too embarrassing. Nothing like this had ever happened in our household before, and while we heard it was fairly common among the population, we still did not want to seem like the kind of people who needed help dealing with this issue.
Although at first the problem was fairly small and seemed manageable, over time it grew, till sometimes it distracted us from everything else. Somedays I spent hours dealing with it; some days we had to rearrange our schedules because the next treatment was due and if we postponed it a day we might be back to day one. Through it all, however, we went to great lengths to keep it a secret, which was not always easy to do since some of our behaviors must have aroused suspicion.
During the months we were dealing with it we went to church camp, participated in a missions trip, had friends stay with us for lengthy visits, and generally carried on our lives, but we did our best to make sure no one ever knew what we were dealing with. We kept it strictly under wraps. Outwardly we looked, we hoped, like nothing was wrong. We didn't want people to start avoiding us or examining us a little too closely. And we knew they would.
Keeping secrets can wear on you, however. At one point my 10 year old asked plaintively, "Can we talk about this when it's over?" "Sure, honey," I replied. "We can laugh about it when it's not a problem any more. It may even be a good story to tell. But not yet."
So, I guess I can talk about it now, though I still can't quite bring myself to use the "L" word, if you know what I mean. Because I do care what you think about me. And I do have the tiniest worry in the back of my mind that it could happen again. That I'm not invulnerable. Or perfect. And I do still live in the tropics.
So instead of talking about my problems I'd rather talk about something uplifting, like what I read in the Bible this morning. Like James 5:16 that says, "Confess your sins to one another and pray for each other that you may be healed."
You go first.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Bottom's lament
I had to laugh at myself last week - well, it was more like a grimace than a laugh. We were strolling up our street reminiscing about our recent week in Thailand and the conversation turned to Judy, the lovely, funny, slightly irreverent missionary we met in Bangkok. She and her husband run The Well, a shelter for bargirls interested in leaving prostitution. My 17 year old daughter was saying how much she loved Judy, how absolutely wonderful she thought she was. I felt a slight pang, because Judy is a completely different personality than I am; we're like night and day. In case you are not sure which is which, I can tell you that no one in my immediate family is wearing sunglasses.
True to form, I sighed and confided to my husband that I'd always wished I were lighter, happier, more fun than I am. More like the woman my daughter currently admires. He laughed knowingly and said in his own lighthearted way, "You'd like to be all things to all people, wouldn't you?" He's right; I would.
I think I must be rather like Bottom in the rehearsal scene in A Midsummer Night's Dream, wanting to play every part in the play. He is a ludicrous character, of course, with his constant interruptions and his earnest attempts to be the best at every part. He can't be content to watch someone else shine. He wants to do it all; he wants to be it all. And even at this late date in my life, I still often want to play a different part than the one I've been assigned. Or best of all, every part when the spotlight is shining on it. You'd think I'd know better by now.
We have an inside joke in our family - one of hundreds - from the days when we had two little "foster" girls living with us. They were both starved for attention and jealous of missing any that might be going around. If anyone ever said to S, "You look really pretty in that dress," J would sigh emphatically in resignation and say dolefully, "I guess I don't look pretty today." Or maybe it would be, "Thank you for helping me with the dishes, S." J would quickly interject, "I guess you don't think I helped you today." And so on. It became a favorite mode of response among our children. I hear an echo of little J at least once a week.
When I try to look honestly at my feelings I think I still react like J sometimes, though I am careful not to be so obvious about it. I feel uncomfortable when someone else is praised - someone who is not at all like me. I worry that I am somehow less worthy, that perhaps I should have become an entirely different sort of person than the one I am - that maybe my role in the play (Did I choose it or was it assigned to me? I can't remember) is a lesser one, and I won't earn the applause that someone else will enjoy. Maybe there is still some way to change parts.
But of course this is no dress rehearsal, but the real play, and I'm well into what must be third or fourth act by now, playing this introspective, somewhat moody character who is prone to frown when everyone else is laughing, who gravitates to sad movies, serious books and hopelessly idealistic causes. It's too late too late to change roles at this point; furthermore, it's impossible. I've been typecast.
As always, the wisdom that I need to hear is waiting in the Scriptures. The Apostle Paul sagely warns against the danger of comparing ourselves with each other, of wondering if another has been assigned a better role. He reminds us that to our own Master only will we stand or fall. We are playing to an audience all our lives, to be sure, but it is an audience of One, the same one who wrote the script, assigned the parts and is even now directing the action. Thousands of years ago David acknowledged that "in Your book were all written, the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them. . . You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in your bottle; Are they not in your book?" God wrote this part just for me, tears and all. I would be a fool to wish to play a different role.
Using a completely different metaphor, Paul wrote of the "multi-colored grace of God," conjuring in my mind an image of a prism through which the pure light of God's grace is broken into many hues, looking different as it is displayed in each life, through each personality. The rainbow colors that dance upon the wall or the floor are all lovely, equally beautiful, all reflecting the sunshine that pours through the glass. A pure beam of sunlight entering a room is lovely, but it is never so fascinating or enchanting as the sparks of color created by a crystal in the window. God demonstrates His grace in every hue as it works throughout our unique lives, our indispensable appearances in the play He is directing.
Will I never be jealous of the limelight again, never wish to be loved for my sunny disposition, to be yellow or orange instead of blue? Of course I will. That's one of the challenges I face in my role. Will I remember the stage manager's directions and throw my whole heart into the one part I've been assigned no matter what anyone else is doing? I hope so, but that remains to be seen.
"LORD, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. I will praise the LORD, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. I have set the LORD always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken."Psalm 16:5-8
True to form, I sighed and confided to my husband that I'd always wished I were lighter, happier, more fun than I am. More like the woman my daughter currently admires. He laughed knowingly and said in his own lighthearted way, "You'd like to be all things to all people, wouldn't you?" He's right; I would.
I think I must be rather like Bottom in the rehearsal scene in A Midsummer Night's Dream, wanting to play every part in the play. He is a ludicrous character, of course, with his constant interruptions and his earnest attempts to be the best at every part. He can't be content to watch someone else shine. He wants to do it all; he wants to be it all. And even at this late date in my life, I still often want to play a different part than the one I've been assigned. Or best of all, every part when the spotlight is shining on it. You'd think I'd know better by now.
We have an inside joke in our family - one of hundreds - from the days when we had two little "foster" girls living with us. They were both starved for attention and jealous of missing any that might be going around. If anyone ever said to S, "You look really pretty in that dress," J would sigh emphatically in resignation and say dolefully, "I guess I don't look pretty today." Or maybe it would be, "Thank you for helping me with the dishes, S." J would quickly interject, "I guess you don't think I helped you today." And so on. It became a favorite mode of response among our children. I hear an echo of little J at least once a week.
When I try to look honestly at my feelings I think I still react like J sometimes, though I am careful not to be so obvious about it. I feel uncomfortable when someone else is praised - someone who is not at all like me. I worry that I am somehow less worthy, that perhaps I should have become an entirely different sort of person than the one I am - that maybe my role in the play (Did I choose it or was it assigned to me? I can't remember) is a lesser one, and I won't earn the applause that someone else will enjoy. Maybe there is still some way to change parts.
But of course this is no dress rehearsal, but the real play, and I'm well into what must be third or fourth act by now, playing this introspective, somewhat moody character who is prone to frown when everyone else is laughing, who gravitates to sad movies, serious books and hopelessly idealistic causes. It's too late too late to change roles at this point; furthermore, it's impossible. I've been typecast.
As always, the wisdom that I need to hear is waiting in the Scriptures. The Apostle Paul sagely warns against the danger of comparing ourselves with each other, of wondering if another has been assigned a better role. He reminds us that to our own Master only will we stand or fall. We are playing to an audience all our lives, to be sure, but it is an audience of One, the same one who wrote the script, assigned the parts and is even now directing the action. Thousands of years ago David acknowledged that "in Your book were all written, the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them. . . You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in your bottle; Are they not in your book?" God wrote this part just for me, tears and all. I would be a fool to wish to play a different role.
Using a completely different metaphor, Paul wrote of the "multi-colored grace of God," conjuring in my mind an image of a prism through which the pure light of God's grace is broken into many hues, looking different as it is displayed in each life, through each personality. The rainbow colors that dance upon the wall or the floor are all lovely, equally beautiful, all reflecting the sunshine that pours through the glass. A pure beam of sunlight entering a room is lovely, but it is never so fascinating or enchanting as the sparks of color created by a crystal in the window. God demonstrates His grace in every hue as it works throughout our unique lives, our indispensable appearances in the play He is directing.
Will I never be jealous of the limelight again, never wish to be loved for my sunny disposition, to be yellow or orange instead of blue? Of course I will. That's one of the challenges I face in my role. Will I remember the stage manager's directions and throw my whole heart into the one part I've been assigned no matter what anyone else is doing? I hope so, but that remains to be seen.
"LORD, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. I will praise the LORD, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. I have set the LORD always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken."Psalm 16:5-8
Friday, April 04, 2008
rules to live by
My husband is in the US this week. He called from his cell phone the other night/morning as he was driving back to his hotel. As he was talking with our ten year old he abruptly said, "Uh oh. . . Oh no. . . . Just a minute.. . . . Whoa" or something like that. She could hear car horns blowing in the background and Dad's voice disappeared for a moment. Thankfully he was back in a few seconds, to explain that he had inadvertently turned into the wrong lane on a divided highway, used as he was to driving on the other side of the road here in Malaysia, and distracted as he was by talking on the phone. He got a lot of angry horn-blowing and dirty looks, but the incident ended without accident. He decided to call back when he got to the hotel.
We had a good laugh over the situation, which seemed almost inevitable after 18 months driving on the "wrong" side of the road (I get my turn in a few months), but then my thirteen year old made the funniest observation of all. She said, "You know, if he had done that in Malaysia nobody would have cared." And she's right. Other drivers might have been annoyed at the inconvenience, but people regularly drive on the wrong side of the road here if they just need to do it to get somewhere quickly. . . and other drivers, for the most part, understand. Hey, we all need to drive on the wrong side at one time or another, right? Just do it quickly and get it over with.
When we first moved here we did not understand the rules of the road - I don't mean the laws, I mean how things really work. And I found driving very frustrating - infuriating, even. But now I don't use nearly as many bad words behind the wheel, and I sometimes even enjoy the give and take that is part of Malaysian road etiquette. I just got back from driving the 5 km or so to my daughter's ballet studio and was smiling to myself about how much I've learned about life on the road.
And I was thinking about Jesus. One of the things you've got to love about Jesus is that He could use anything to teach a lesson - an unfruitful fig tree, a bird's nest, a wildflower, a reluctant wedding guest. If He were here among us today He might use the internet, a Starbucks cappucino, a "Made in China" label or anything else part of everyday life. Like traffic - He might use Malaysian traffic.
Here in Kuala Lumpur you need to drive boldly. If you hang back you'll never get anywhere. Driving here is like a perpetual game of chicken; you can never let on that you might slam on the brakes for cars entering from side streets or you will be stopped at every cross street. If you see a potential opening in the stream of cars you have to make it an actual opening, or it will close up and you'll be waiting another five minutes. If someone is doubleparked in your lane, and there are oncoming cars in the other lane more than three car-lengths away, you need to move quickly and grab that lane before they get too close. Seize the lane (how do you say that in Latin??). It's not your fault that your lane is blocked, so you can assume you have as much right to that other lane as the oncoming traffic does. You need to take to heart the encouragement of Proverbs 28, "the righteous are as bold as a lion."
And sometimes you just need to make a move, trusting that a space will open up as you believe for it. You have to drive by faith and not by sight - not really as scary as it sounds! There's an odd dynamic that happens here: although it seems like it's every man for himself I have never really needed to get into a lane and not been able to in time for my exit. What looks like a bumper to bumper jam is surprisingly flexible, and the waters do part when you really need them to. Driving here is a faith building experience, in more ways than one.
A cardinal rule on the road here seems to be that it's OK for you to bend the rules, but you have to give other drivers the same permission. We're not under the law but under grace, therefore we need to remember to forgive others their transgressions as we hope to be forgiven ours. Jalan Sahala - one way street - is really just a suggestion, and sometimes really impossible to slavishly observe. Remembering that, you should not fly off the handle if you encounter someone traveling against the mandated flow of traffic when you happen to be in the right. As long as you can both squeeze by, what's the problem? Remember that you will be judged by the same standard you use to judge others, so just let it pass.
Driving in Malaysia is also a daily reminder that you cannot control or count on the future. You must hold your expectations lightly when you venture onto the highway. That's part of sharing the road with a million other drivers. Say like your Muslim neighbors, "If God wills" whenever you set out on the highway. Leave plenty of time, because you are clearly not the only one who needs to use the road, and don't lose your cool if you still get caught in a jam and are late to your destination. You can ALWAYS blame traffic, ALWAYS. No one will think any less of you, and you'll be happier and more relaxed if you just expect to be delayed. Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into this or that town. . .' You do not know about tomorrow. . . You ought to say instead, “If the Lord is willing, then we will live and do this or that.
Another precept of the road that has broader life application is never forget to use your side mirrors, i.e. watch out for those who are smaller and more vulnerable than you. The roads here are filled with motor scooters who travel by their own rules. They switch lanes with abandon, weave in and out of traffic, zip through traffic jams like nobody's business. By driving scooters instead of cars, their drivers are actually reducing the congestion on the roads - and they get all kinds of incentives to do just that from bypassing tollbooths to special parking places - but you can take them out in an unguarded instant if you are not constantly on the lookout. Although he'd never driven in Kuala Lumpur the Apostle Paul described exactly this kind of caution as each fixing his attention, not simply on his own interests, but on those of others also.
And give each other grace. There does not appear to be much, if any, road rage in Malaysia. Things I'd expect to be cursed at for in the US - like changing lanes at the last minute because I made a mistake or parking in such a way that someone else cannot move his car - are no cause for comment or rude gestures here. Occasionally someone will tap their horn for you to hurry up or get out of the way, but I've never heard anyone lay on the horn in anger, scream out the window or use obscene sign language. It's pretty amazing. Doubleparking is epidemic here, and you can expect to occasionally come back to your legitimately parked car to find someone else parked behind you. Don't panic. The driver is probably sitting in the open air restaurant nearby drinking tea tarik with his buddies. If he does not see you immediately you just touch your horn lightly and he'll come running over to move his car, and take your parking space. People here make allowances for things like that.
A final spiritual lesson one could glean from the road here is to just keep moving on, any way you can. If your lane is blocked, make another. If the intersection appears clear, don't waste time with a complete stop. If the car ahead of you slows down to make a turn just slip right past him. Don't let anything hinder your progress. Remember the unspoken maxim, "The queue must be passed." Accept no obstacle, bow to no roadblock. Forgetting those things which lie behind, press on. I think that's pretty good advice.
We had a good laugh over the situation, which seemed almost inevitable after 18 months driving on the "wrong" side of the road (I get my turn in a few months), but then my thirteen year old made the funniest observation of all. She said, "You know, if he had done that in Malaysia nobody would have cared." And she's right. Other drivers might have been annoyed at the inconvenience, but people regularly drive on the wrong side of the road here if they just need to do it to get somewhere quickly. . . and other drivers, for the most part, understand. Hey, we all need to drive on the wrong side at one time or another, right? Just do it quickly and get it over with.
When we first moved here we did not understand the rules of the road - I don't mean the laws, I mean how things really work. And I found driving very frustrating - infuriating, even. But now I don't use nearly as many bad words behind the wheel, and I sometimes even enjoy the give and take that is part of Malaysian road etiquette. I just got back from driving the 5 km or so to my daughter's ballet studio and was smiling to myself about how much I've learned about life on the road.
And I was thinking about Jesus. One of the things you've got to love about Jesus is that He could use anything to teach a lesson - an unfruitful fig tree, a bird's nest, a wildflower, a reluctant wedding guest. If He were here among us today He might use the internet, a Starbucks cappucino, a "Made in China" label or anything else part of everyday life. Like traffic - He might use Malaysian traffic.
Here in Kuala Lumpur you need to drive boldly. If you hang back you'll never get anywhere. Driving here is like a perpetual game of chicken; you can never let on that you might slam on the brakes for cars entering from side streets or you will be stopped at every cross street. If you see a potential opening in the stream of cars you have to make it an actual opening, or it will close up and you'll be waiting another five minutes. If someone is doubleparked in your lane, and there are oncoming cars in the other lane more than three car-lengths away, you need to move quickly and grab that lane before they get too close. Seize the lane (how do you say that in Latin??). It's not your fault that your lane is blocked, so you can assume you have as much right to that other lane as the oncoming traffic does. You need to take to heart the encouragement of Proverbs 28, "the righteous are as bold as a lion."
And sometimes you just need to make a move, trusting that a space will open up as you believe for it. You have to drive by faith and not by sight - not really as scary as it sounds! There's an odd dynamic that happens here: although it seems like it's every man for himself I have never really needed to get into a lane and not been able to in time for my exit. What looks like a bumper to bumper jam is surprisingly flexible, and the waters do part when you really need them to. Driving here is a faith building experience, in more ways than one.
A cardinal rule on the road here seems to be that it's OK for you to bend the rules, but you have to give other drivers the same permission. We're not under the law but under grace, therefore we need to remember to forgive others their transgressions as we hope to be forgiven ours. Jalan Sahala - one way street - is really just a suggestion, and sometimes really impossible to slavishly observe. Remembering that, you should not fly off the handle if you encounter someone traveling against the mandated flow of traffic when you happen to be in the right. As long as you can both squeeze by, what's the problem? Remember that you will be judged by the same standard you use to judge others, so just let it pass.
Driving in Malaysia is also a daily reminder that you cannot control or count on the future. You must hold your expectations lightly when you venture onto the highway. That's part of sharing the road with a million other drivers. Say like your Muslim neighbors, "If God wills" whenever you set out on the highway. Leave plenty of time, because you are clearly not the only one who needs to use the road, and don't lose your cool if you still get caught in a jam and are late to your destination. You can ALWAYS blame traffic, ALWAYS. No one will think any less of you, and you'll be happier and more relaxed if you just expect to be delayed. Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into this or that town. . .' You do not know about tomorrow. . . You ought to say instead, “If the Lord is willing, then we will live and do this or that.
Another precept of the road that has broader life application is never forget to use your side mirrors, i.e. watch out for those who are smaller and more vulnerable than you. The roads here are filled with motor scooters who travel by their own rules. They switch lanes with abandon, weave in and out of traffic, zip through traffic jams like nobody's business. By driving scooters instead of cars, their drivers are actually reducing the congestion on the roads - and they get all kinds of incentives to do just that from bypassing tollbooths to special parking places - but you can take them out in an unguarded instant if you are not constantly on the lookout. Although he'd never driven in Kuala Lumpur the Apostle Paul described exactly this kind of caution as each fixing his attention, not simply on his own interests, but on those of others also.
And give each other grace. There does not appear to be much, if any, road rage in Malaysia. Things I'd expect to be cursed at for in the US - like changing lanes at the last minute because I made a mistake or parking in such a way that someone else cannot move his car - are no cause for comment or rude gestures here. Occasionally someone will tap their horn for you to hurry up or get out of the way, but I've never heard anyone lay on the horn in anger, scream out the window or use obscene sign language. It's pretty amazing. Doubleparking is epidemic here, and you can expect to occasionally come back to your legitimately parked car to find someone else parked behind you. Don't panic. The driver is probably sitting in the open air restaurant nearby drinking tea tarik with his buddies. If he does not see you immediately you just touch your horn lightly and he'll come running over to move his car, and take your parking space. People here make allowances for things like that.
A final spiritual lesson one could glean from the road here is to just keep moving on, any way you can. If your lane is blocked, make another. If the intersection appears clear, don't waste time with a complete stop. If the car ahead of you slows down to make a turn just slip right past him. Don't let anything hinder your progress. Remember the unspoken maxim, "The queue must be passed." Accept no obstacle, bow to no roadblock. Forgetting those things which lie behind, press on. I think that's pretty good advice.
the holy task of pardon
I just finished reading Alan Paton's novel, Too Late the Phalarope. It was one of the saddest and truest books I have ever read and I feel like sending a copy to everyone I know. It is a tragedy in the classical sense - a story of a good man, " master of all things save one," whose fatal flaw destroys him and his family in the end.
His temptation and fall is a sexual relationship which is both illegal and immoral, so the consequences are civil and societal as well as personal and private. Although the particular act he committed would not be illegal for the same reasons today,(he was a white South African male who had an adulterous relationship with a black woman in the 1940's), we do have laws that circumscribe similar encounters. A powerful man who takes advantage of a woman who occupies a subservient role might still run afoul of the law in 2008 in the US. A boss, a teacher, a superior officer, a doctor, a judge or a law enforcement official could all be prosecuted for abusing their positions of influence or authority with a vulnerable female. Our society has little tolerance or understanding for men who offend in that way.
Paton, however, creates such sympathy for his flawed hero that we are drawn to see him through a very different lens. We watch him wrestle with his demons and find ourselves praying he will not give in. We observe how many times he resolves to tell someone of his terrible temptation, hoping to defuse some of its power over him. We almost cry when he goes home without ever voicing the darkness in his soul. We read his thoughts, written months later in a prison cell, and wonder with him why his prayers seemed to go unanswered, why an angel never came to him and showed him the consequences his children would face if he did not turn from his destructive ways. In short, we sympathize with Lt. Vlaanderen. We see him through the eyes of a narrator who loves him, and we come to love him as well.
We fear for him, we want to save him, and, failing that, we want him to be restored. We feel the second tragedy of his father's inability to forgive when he closes the door of his house to his own son forever, when he decrees his eldest son's name must never be spoken again. We grieve when Lt. V is treated with loathing and disgust by the same young men who once idolized him, who seeming ly know nothing of the anguished struggles he knew as he wrestled within himself before he plunged into darkness and committed the one act that would forever mark his future. We do not understand what drives him to destruction - he does not understand it himself - but we recognize his fall as a tragedy, and we feel no impluse to gloat or to hate.
Of course Lt. Vlaanderen is a fictional character, not an actual person, although he has many counterparts in the real world. But the truth that Paton speaks in the form of a story is a Truth in the real world - "for God is both Lover and Judge of men, and it is His commandment that we join Him in loving, but to judge we are forbidden." And in a later chapter, ". . . an offender must be punished, I don't argue about that. But to punish and not to restore, that is the greatest of all offenses."
That is a truth all but forgotten in our culture - perhaps in most cultures. We clamor for punishment, but we have little interest in restoration. Our society has developed institutions to punish, but none to restore. Restoration seldom happens, and most likely will not happen unless it is accomplished by the church to whom God has entrusted the ministry of reconciliation. As someone whose family has been badly shaken by the fall of a great but flawed man, I desperately wish the church would remember that mercy triumphs over justice, that grace trumps law, and that restoration is a nobler work than punishment.
Paton's narrator concludes speaking wistfully of "the holy task of pardon," which the church must undertake "that the body of the Lord might not be wounded twice, and virtue come of our offences." I could not have said it so well myself.
His temptation and fall is a sexual relationship which is both illegal and immoral, so the consequences are civil and societal as well as personal and private. Although the particular act he committed would not be illegal for the same reasons today,(he was a white South African male who had an adulterous relationship with a black woman in the 1940's), we do have laws that circumscribe similar encounters. A powerful man who takes advantage of a woman who occupies a subservient role might still run afoul of the law in 2008 in the US. A boss, a teacher, a superior officer, a doctor, a judge or a law enforcement official could all be prosecuted for abusing their positions of influence or authority with a vulnerable female. Our society has little tolerance or understanding for men who offend in that way.
Paton, however, creates such sympathy for his flawed hero that we are drawn to see him through a very different lens. We watch him wrestle with his demons and find ourselves praying he will not give in. We observe how many times he resolves to tell someone of his terrible temptation, hoping to defuse some of its power over him. We almost cry when he goes home without ever voicing the darkness in his soul. We read his thoughts, written months later in a prison cell, and wonder with him why his prayers seemed to go unanswered, why an angel never came to him and showed him the consequences his children would face if he did not turn from his destructive ways. In short, we sympathize with Lt. Vlaanderen. We see him through the eyes of a narrator who loves him, and we come to love him as well.
We fear for him, we want to save him, and, failing that, we want him to be restored. We feel the second tragedy of his father's inability to forgive when he closes the door of his house to his own son forever, when he decrees his eldest son's name must never be spoken again. We grieve when Lt. V is treated with loathing and disgust by the same young men who once idolized him, who seeming ly know nothing of the anguished struggles he knew as he wrestled within himself before he plunged into darkness and committed the one act that would forever mark his future. We do not understand what drives him to destruction - he does not understand it himself - but we recognize his fall as a tragedy, and we feel no impluse to gloat or to hate.
Of course Lt. Vlaanderen is a fictional character, not an actual person, although he has many counterparts in the real world. But the truth that Paton speaks in the form of a story is a Truth in the real world - "for God is both Lover and Judge of men, and it is His commandment that we join Him in loving, but to judge we are forbidden." And in a later chapter, ". . . an offender must be punished, I don't argue about that. But to punish and not to restore, that is the greatest of all offenses."
That is a truth all but forgotten in our culture - perhaps in most cultures. We clamor for punishment, but we have little interest in restoration. Our society has developed institutions to punish, but none to restore. Restoration seldom happens, and most likely will not happen unless it is accomplished by the church to whom God has entrusted the ministry of reconciliation. As someone whose family has been badly shaken by the fall of a great but flawed man, I desperately wish the church would remember that mercy triumphs over justice, that grace trumps law, and that restoration is a nobler work than punishment.
Paton's narrator concludes speaking wistfully of "the holy task of pardon," which the church must undertake "that the body of the Lord might not be wounded twice, and virtue come of our offences." I could not have said it so well myself.
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