Alone With My Sin

12-23-95


As I entered the church in my old hometown, I was surprised to see a few familiar faces I thought I had long forgotten. As the greeter shook my hand, I struggled to remember his name, but my mouth spoke a greeting instinctively: "Hello, Gerald!"

I continued through a short corridor to the sanctuary, in a daze of half-reality caused by my absence of so many years. The last time I had set foot inside Calvary Baptist was about five years ago, back when I was a college freshman. It was a small church, and I had since progressed to a prominent position at a larger church in my college town.

As I passed by a classroom where old Mrs. Cleary was finishing her Sunday school lesson, I paused to thank God that I didn't have to work with such a small group. The Sunday school class I taught back at Morning Star Fellowship was much larger, and so I had become well-liked by many upstanding parents in the church community. However, I was the only male Sunday school teacher at Morning Star, and I guess you could say I resented that fact.

I reached the end of the dark corridor and emerged into the brilliantly-lit sanctuary. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows on my left and illuminated the dozen or so pews with a myriad of rainbow colors. As I shielded my eyes with m y left hand, I saw the figure of a man sitting in the front pew, with his head bowed. "Ah," I thought to myself, "Pastor John praying before people arrive for the service." I gave my mental assent to his prayer and decided to wait on saying hello until he finished. I admired the cross in the front of the sanctuary during those moments of silence. I reflected on God's awesome power, His unbreakable Will.

Finally, Pastor John sat up and looked around, noticing me immediately. "Harry!" he exclaimed. He stood up as his salutation echoed off the walls of the empty room. "How've ya been?" I walked down the center aisle and met him halfway, giving his hand a firm shake as we came together.

"Not too bad," I replied, as a few people began to make their way in from the back. "I'm teaching a Sunday school class now at Morning Star. In fact, we just finished our first study of Ephesians."

"Well, that's great!" he commended me. "I'm sure you make a fine teacher, too." I was glad for his compliment; I only wished more people would realize how much work I put into my class each week. At least most people, both at Calvary and at Mornin g Star, seemed to like me pretty well. I'd always kept my nose clean, never gotten in trouble... I did have sex once but no one ever found out about that. What's done is done.

Suddenly a little girl, who barely came up to my knees, tugged on my good pant leg. Her hair was a beautiful auburn, curled on the sides with a light blue ribbon to match her dress. Her moist eyes seemed almost familiar as she looked straight up in to my face. "What a gorgeous little girl," I thought aloud. Pastor John simply smiled.

"What's your name, mister?" she asked while continuing to pull my pants with a regular rhythm.

I smiled and used my 'talking with little kids' voice. "Well, my name's Harry, what's yours?" I replied. I put my hands on my hips in a mock display of impatience. I continued to study her haunting brown eyes. The inquisitive trustfulness in them was so familiar to me, and yet I couldn't quite put my finger...

Alarmingly, a flood of memories enveloped my consciousness. Things I had not thought about in years came to the front of my mind with crystal clarity as I relived that night so long ago. Kara had trusted me as I had taken her to my dad's apartment after our date. I remembered subtly locking the door in case he came home. The music was right, and I swayed in a stupor. I kissed her and then... screams. Did I ever hear her scream? I had never remembered it.

"Susan!" the shout snapped me out of my past and back into church. I blinked a few times. "Okay, it's Sunday," I told myself, trying to regain my composure.

"You know you shouldn't talk to strangers." The little girl looked innocently back at her mother, who was quickly approaching. I turned my eyes to the mother and opened them wide in disbelief upon recognizing the woman storming up the aisle.

Kara.

"Oh my God," I whispered, half to myself and half to God. I looked down again at Susan, my... my... daughter? It couldn't be. How old was she? Some quick calculations took place in my head, but before I could finish them, Kara had taken Susan und er the arms and hoisted her up to her chest. There Kara held her in silence as they both looked at me. Mother and daughter. I was not part of the family.

In Susan's youthful eyes, I saw the innocence of a wonderful little girl, regarding me still with mild curiosity. I was ashamed to look at Kara, for I knew her eyes would pierce my soul. I painfully brought myself to meet her gaze, and there I saw a war-torn woman who had been fighting hatred since that night I had forced myself to forget. Kara had always been the perfect model of charity, but I had put her in her place that night. In a dark, secret corner of my mind, I couldn't say that I was d ispleased at having caused her to suffer.

I stood expressionless as Kara shifted her gaze past my shoulder. I turned my head to follow her eyes... and came face to face with the cross. Quickly I looked back at Kara. She kissed her daughter on the forehead and whispered, "I love you, honey . Go on, find Tom." She leaned down and set Susan's feet on the ground. Immediately the young girl bounded out the back door in search of "Tom," with Pastor John quick on her heels. I watched her as she ran. My daughter. I became upset that I could never know her, that I would never be her father. Me, a father!

I looked once again at Kara. She seemed to be still examining me, assessing her hatred. I knew she was completely justified. Unexpectedly, however, her gaze turned soft and she lowered her eyes a bit, as if pondering something. She blinked a few times and looked back at me. I felt the guilt twisting in my chest as I wondered how much Kara had endured as a result of my sin. I knew I could never imagine. Slowly a smile came to her face, which confused me. Why was she smiling at me? It was almo st a... friendly smile, a loving smile. Not at all condemning or wicked. She looked again past my shoulder.

I turned myself around to look once again at the cross where Jesus had shed his blood. I regarded it anxiously, as someone standing naked before a door about to be opened. I became terrified of what might happen next. God had seen my heart all alo ng, though I had tried to hide its blackness. I became slightly dizzy as guilt made my vision go dark. Surely there must have been some way of redeeming myself. "I'm... I'm sorry," I squeaked, turning my head back toward Kara. But Kara was gone.

She had passed over the mountaintop, and I found myself alone at the bottom, with a long journey ahead. I was alone with Jesus, alone with my sin.


[thelenm@cs.utah.edu | Poetry Page | Mike's Humble Abode | Vaderland]