No Exceptions

A few days ago, I went to visit a man from my church who was in the hospital. He introduced me to his nurse. She will be entering seminary in the fall, preparing to become a chaplain. We talked some; she had questions for me. They weren't questions about logistics, but about theology. She was quiet, thoughtful, and comfortable in the hospital. I imagine she'll be a very good chaplain.

In our talks about who Jesus is, why I'm a Christian if I think that about Jesus, and the like, there was one question that stuck out from the others. 

The question went something like this: I heard the stories of two men on CNN. I don't remember all about it, but they had done bad things to children. What makes your heart different from theirs?

I think she was looking for an articulation of being born again, at least in some way. I think she was waiting for me to talk about my salvation and their lack of it. I confess, I planned to go look up the stories or at least guess at the stories she was referencing. I didn't. 

Because I realized that the answer I gave, though it was hastily given, came from a deep, uncomfortable place. But I stand by it: nothing.

Nothing makes me different from those men, whatever crimes they committed. 

Yes, my infractions are minor by comparison, but they're present. I don't buy theology I was taught in my youth that said all sin is equal. You better bet it's worse to kill a person than lie to them. I'll take the second offense over the first any day. 

Still, I say nothing makes my heart different, if heart is speaking of the seat of feeling and knowledge, the thing that would be changed by being born again and live on in whatever comes after life. Nothing makes my heart different, if we're talking about the intangible thing that makes us human rather than animal. 

That confession is born of the conviction that God does not love me more than the worst criminal nor has God abandoned the worst criminal. That confession is born of the assurance that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. That confession is born from hearing a Gospel that says the person most offensive to polite society has a seat at Christ's banquet. 

That's a sobering confession. I'm not crying out, "I'm unworthy!" Instead, I'm crying out, "All are worthy!" All are worthy of God's love. All are worthy of God's best gifts. All are children of God. 

So still I say: nothing. Nothing makes me different from those men, whoever they are and whatever they did. We are beloved children of God, one and all. No exceptions.