Silencing the Shame by Giving Voice to It

I'm cheap, which means I seldom go to a movie theater and pay a minimum of $7 for a ticket, $17.95 for popcorn in a paper cup, and a $5 Coke in a cup smaller than what my doctor provides for a urine sample. I had heard good things about a particular movie and I really appreciate Robert Duvall as an actor. So I went extravagant and purchased a ticket, minus the handful of popcorn and the gargle of Coke. It was the best 7 bucks I've spent in quite a while.

Staged in the 1930's, Duvall portrays backwoods hermit Felix Bush--a mean, haggard, eccentric old man who can't live with himself or others because of something in his past. He's the talk of not only the town but neighboring counties. He has many more rumors about him than friends around him. He's a recluse confined in his own self-imposed prison. He decides he wants someone to perform his funeral while he's still alive--for poignant reasons that you will have to discover for yourself.

His sin and the consequent shame drive him to a desperate point where he acknowledges he needs to "get low," i.e. get down to business and deal with the skeletons in his closet. All his life he has done everything regarding his sinfulness but face it.

I know that feeling. Many of us live with, we think and feel, unspeakable sin. Shameful acts done by us; irretrievable words we have inflicted on another. Hideous abuse done to us; demeaning, soul-searing words spewed at us.

We deal with the unspoken sin done by us or to us in many ways.

Some of us run in an effort to avoid it. If I don't think about then it didn't happen, so my mind tries to convince me. And it works. . . at times. But if there is any unoccupied time of any duration you and I know what surfaces.

Others of us engage in distraction. We keep busy. As long as I don't stop, I don't have to think about it. This coping mechanism of distraction looks virtuous. It's the workaholic that rises up the corporate ladder. We accomplish so much; all the doing is an attempt to soothe my being.

Some of us punish ourselves in an attempt to atone for our sin. You deprive yourself of everyday needs and joys to which everyone else seems entitled. Felix Bush lived alone for decades, depriving himself of wife and children as one means of punishing himself. Some of us inflict physical pain on ourselves. Short-term relief, but no long-term release.

A lot of us engage in numbing/soothing means to assuage our pain. Our addictions serve this purpose. The rush of the gambling, the sedation of the alcohol, the intoxication of the porn--whatever the activity may be--they can all serve as attempts at escaping the pain of what I've done or what's been done to me. Sadly, the pain soon returns after the addictive activity or substance loses its impact, and the deadly cycle is set in motion.

Old, old man Felix has lived with the shame of his sin a long, long time. He's facing death and not only needing but wanting forgiveness. He gets low--and not in any way you'd expect.

We need to "get low" if we are to ever live "high" above our shame, our sin.

Telling our sin, our shame--confession--to someone trustworthy sets us on a path of healing. It is healing to confess to someone who still looks us in the eye, someone who doesn't gasp at what we've done, but grieves with us over what we've done. It is a profound step toward healing to speak the unspeakable things done to us--things we've kept silent since childhood-- and have someone grieve for us and take the responsibility for that sin off of ourselves and on the perpetrator. It mediates forgiveness to confess to someone who does not shrink back in horror, but reaches out in compassion. Their response is God's response to and regard for us. God mediates and bestows his forgiveness through his people. This hearing and caring brother assures me God is hearing and caring. That compassionate sister mirrors God's forgiveness as she listens to your story.

I need to get low with God if I am ever to get above and beyond the sins done by me or to me.

The Sin that Hushes Us, The Confession that Heals Us

Years ago I briefly served as a pastor in a small town setting. Wanting to get to know some of the other pastors I called one them and we agreed we'd meet in his study at his church. All I knew about him was he was a Methodist pastor and that he had what I believe was a ""glass eye."I walked in to his office and, being a lover of books, I perused his shelves while striking up conversation. At one point, early in the visit, I saw two copies of the same book, and, without thinking, blurted, "Oh, one for each eye." He looked at me with his one good eye and smiled uncomfortably. I inwardly groaned upon realizing my faux pas and silently begged God to vaporize me in a flash of spontaneous combustion.

We all say and do things we regret, don't we.

I watched a wedding where the groom was obviously very nervous and worried about memorizing his vows and when he was to say what. The minister introduces the service and in formal fashion declares to all in attendance, " These two people come now to be joined in holy matrimony. If any one has a just cause or reason why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." The nervous groom recites, "I do." Oops.

We all say and do things we wish we could retract.

Some of those are light-hearted and the source of laughter at reunion reminiscings. But some we regard as unspeakable and we are determined to take them to our grave. We fear judgment if we were to give voice to that which is so shameful. "What would someone think of me if the secret ever got out?" "I would die if someone knew!" The problem is, it might kill me if I don't tell someone.

That stuff we stuff, whether sin or dysfunction, is toxic. There are two sins that buy our silence--grave indiscretions done by us and horrible things done to us. Either can be lethal if swallowed. It's poison.

This past week I had a number of suspicious-looking spots on my skin biopsied. Having a history of basal cell carcinoma--skin cancer-- I know how cancer can silently extend its tentacles under the surface. If cancer, regardless of its form, is present it must be excised. Denial only postpones the inevitable. There are some "cancers" you can't biopsy--cancer of the soul, cancer of the spirit. You can't biopsy it and send it to a lab. These cancers are no less lethal. These cancers are removed, not by scalpel or chemo, but by speaking them. My silence merely gives them more poswer. And the more power they exert the more fearful I become and entrench myself more deeply in my shameful silence. It's a cruel cycle---but a curse that can be broken.

I must and can give voice to it. I need to give voice to my sins of commission--unloving acts, words and thoughts I've exercised against another. I need to confess my sins of omission--my neglect that evokes regret, those loving actions I have withheld. To do either is certainly not without risk. We need to have a safe person to whom we confess. This may take months if not years to cultivate, but the freedom and buoyancy of spirit that comes from a heavy heart finding acceptance and forgiveness is immeasurable.

There is this pearl of wisdom tucked in the Scriptures: "Confess your sins to each other. . . so that you may be healed." (James 5:16) When rightly done, there is healing in giving voice to our silenced sins--whether sins done by us or to us. There is healing when the person to whom I confess responds not with the rejection I fear, but the acceptance and understanding I long for.

How long has the shame bought your own silence? How long have you lived with that cancer that erodes your hope and with its tentacles chokes the life out of your joy?

There can be healing. We all need someone who is trustworthy and compassionate to whom we can confess the cancer. The light of confession can cast out the darkness of the cancer.

Peace