Tiger’s Confession: I’m Sorry vs I Was Wrong

Deana4 Comments

Me — “Tell your brother that you’re sorry.”

Child “Sooorrryyy!”

Me – “No, say you’re sorry like you mean it!”

Eye roll.

Sigh.

Me “Well if you two don’t make up, I’m going to make you sit on the couch and hold hands until you forgive each other.”

— Word to the wise N-E-V-E-R do that if you have boys. I won’t go into details, let us just say, it wasn’t pretty.

Teaching my boys how to apologize and how to forgive is no easy feat. And to make matter worse they have a neurotic mother who tends to apologize for everything.

Are you having a bad day? – I’m sorry.

Did I forget to call? – I’m sorry.

Is it raining? – I’m sorry.

Do I think you are mad at me? — oh dear God, I’m-sincerely-horribly-sorry-and-I-hope-you-will-forgive-me-because-I’ve-obviously-done something-horribly-terribly-wrong-or-there-wouldn’t-be-this-tension-between-us! (DEEP BREATH) tell-me-you-forgive-me-before-I-hyperventilate-and pass-out!

I’m am a recovering apology queen. If I think for a minute that I have done something wrong, I will immediately apologize and ask for forgiveness, even for something that is the other person’s issue, just so that I do not have to suffer the uncomfortable consequences of relational tension.

There is a world of difference between “I’m sorry.” and “I was wrong.”

I was wrong to call another blogger friend an “overstuffed pig” last year. I did feel badly about that once I thought about it and had to make amends – repent, apologize, and seek forgiveness. My actions were out of line and had a negative impact on another human being. My hostility was undeserved. I began by telling him I was wrong. Why I thought I was wrong and wanted to make it right. I’d sinned, that was an appropriate action step for sin.

VS.

I was sorry that I thought I’d offended a pastor on his blog a year or so ago — sorry because I didn’t want any ill will between us, I liked him and I wanted him to like me. Just because I felt uncomfortable, doesn’t mean I did anything wrong. It’s taken me a long time to learn I don’t need to repent of having a different opinion than someone else. And if someone chooses to take offense at my different opinion that does not mean I have sinned. That’s a tough one for me. I did apologize for giving voice to my opinions and for possibly offending him and his response fascinated me –

“No sin committed, therefore no forgiveness needed nor offered.”

You’d think I’d be relieved – but what I felt was panic. I didn’t understand the grace and wisdom behind those words for a very long time. I was so freaked out by his response that it took me over a year to work up the nerve to talk to him again. True story.

In time I understood that he was right. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t repenting for sin, I was lamenting over potential loss of good will and tried to patch it up before the boat sank. I was simply afraid. He saw through that fear and offered truth and grace. Through that example, I’ve learned how to help my own boys discern sorry from wrong and forgiveness from peace treaties.

A very good example of personal accountability, integrity, and honesty can be seen in Tiger Wood’s public apology that aired last Friday. If you haven’t seen it you can see it here:  Tiger’s very public apology

I’ve already seen the comments and posts about how “it was scripted.”, “It’s just a PR.”, “He’s a buddhist? He needs Jesus and then we’ll talk” Faith issues aside, I am quite honestly, impressed by his statement. I’m also just as impressed with what he didn’t say, as I am what he did say.

He could have blamed others:  “I had an unhappy childhood.” He could have made jokes or blamed his wife for not understanding him. Or he could have blamed the other women — “They came on to me.”

But he didn’t.

He could have also said “I’m sorry and I won’t do it again” and expected his responsibility to end right there.

Instead he did more than that.

Think what you may of him, his actions, his confession, or his faith, his confession does contain four very important elements.

  1. He named the sin – “I had affairs. I cheated. What I did was unacceptable.”
  2. He took personal responsibility: “I was wrong. I brought this on myself. I recognize I have brought this on myself. And I know above all I am the one who needs to change.”
  3. He acknowledged the impact his choices and actions had on others: “I hurt my wife, my kids, my mother, my wife’s family, my friends, my foundation, and kids all around the world who admired me.”
  4.  He acknowledges active repentance: “My real apology to her (Elin) will not come in the form of words. It will come from my behavior over time.” And he named some of those behavioral changes that will enable him to take right action.

What I like is that Tiger seems to understand that this apology doesn’t automatically make everything okay now. He acknowledges, and owns his part and his part alone. Are there two sides or more to this story? Sure, there probably is, but he doesn’t need to be concerned with any sidewalk except his own. Tiger seems to understand this is about a life time of change that he, and his family, has to look forward to.

I have too much debris on my own sidewalk to stand as judge and jury over Tiger’s apology. It’s not my place to decide whether or not he is sincere or even whether or not I’m going to forgive him. God alone knows the heart of a man (or woman) and He calls us to forgive as we have been forgiven.

Repentance doesn’t end with I was wrong or I’m sorry, it begins there. I wish him well on his journey.

Check back tomorrow while I write about my journey back through the pages of liturgical worship, Lent, and finding Christ in the seasons.

This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved.

Skywatch Friday: Saying Goodbye

Deana2 Comments

 

A new thing to Redemption’s Heart is Skywatch Friday. This skywatch photo is brought to you from Tampa Bay. It was Mom’s wish that her ashes be scattered in the bay.

For more  Skywatch photos, please see the Skywatch Web Sight.

I’m Still Not Getting it

Deana6 Comments

In light of what I consider to be the worst book review ever, I made a decision to really study liturgy this year. I loved the book, but cannot verbalize why. I felt so lost after reading it that I almost sent it back to Thomas Nelson with a letter of apology stating excellent book, but I’m not smart enough to review it, I’m sorry. But I didn’t. The book changed something. The book awakened a desire within my spirit to want to know more. And for that reason alone, I gave the book five stars. And I stand by that review.

If I could capture my emotions on a canvas this book would be filled with deep greens, blues, and violet. It wouldn’t pop like modern art, rather I would have it  flow with depth and substance. It would have texture, high places and low places where you can put your hands and feel the landscape. It would be much like Raphael or Botticelli paintings where the entire story could not be conveyed at first glance. There would be hidden subtleties that only come out with contemplative attention to it’s detail.

Modern art has it’s own beauty, don’t get me wrong. The painting I’m trying to give voice to is simply a different kind of beauty.

I am lost in this sea of the political debates over “right worship”, Liturgy vs. Contemporary, and a concept of a liturgical life that resonates within my spirit. I haven’t found my landing point. It’s as if I think it has to be one side or the other. You are either pro liturgy or you are pro contemporary services and one cannot stand on both sides of the fence. And to make it more interesting, the debate goes deeper than that. Within liturgical circles you have the debate over ancient liturgy vs. modern. There is no reprieve from the arguments.

I don’t get the personal peace that Sister Chittister is talking about from a church life that is 100% contemporary. There are too many distractions and I feel disjointed if I stay in that world for too long. That life is lacking or missing key components of a contemplative life. The sacraments of communion feel empty and void of substance and more of a representation than real presence without that contemplation and repentant stillness before God that a liturgical life or service provides. At least for me.

And yet, it’s occurred to me today, that maybe I’m still not getting it. The object of my studies is still a thing and not a person. I’m missing the connection as much today as I was when I read Joan’s book. My liturgical notebook is cleanly organized by church season, color, and festivals. Full of facts waiting for meaning. It’s too neat, too sterile. It’s missing something. The notebook  and the journey isn’t finished yet.

Am I looking for a peace that passes all understanding from the things of liturgy rather than the person of Christ?

Have I traveled back to the young woman who railed against our new sanctuary that had only an empty cross and no pictures of my king? Or am I again the young woman who upon entering a Lutheran church for the first time, whispers (too loudly) to her then boy friend “Why is the cross naked?” making my there-for-moral-support girlfriend fall off her pew?

I don’t know. But I do know that this is the season of Lent. A season to lay down the things that get in the way and keep him from drawing us closer. Much like earthly marriage, I have a lot to learn about my heavenly groom. Maybe the trick for me is to stop trying to think quite so much — and simply be in the journey.

Wordless Wednesdays Miss me Yet?

Deana2 Comments


Billboard seen on I-35 in Wisconsin

I See Dead People, and other church funnies

Deana4 Comments

“I had a receptionist job once. Man was it tough. I got yelled at, had things thrown at me, I was lied to, lied about, hit on and called names — yeah, last time I ever work in a church.”

Do you know that joke get’s high laughs. Not just a polite chuckle, but high sustained laughter. Are people laughing because they are shocked, or because they can relate? Church workers have it rough.

It’s often said that great humor is born from tragedy. And there is truth in that.  I poke fun at a lot of things that did not start out as funny becauseI choose to find the funny through the tears. Like my funeral story — pastor has a funeral on Friday, Wedding on Saturday and Sunday service. That’s three services and three sermons. Friday morning pastor gives me his funeral sermon and asks me to put it on the pulpit for him. I start to read it and realize he may have given me the wrong sermon so I go back to his office. I try to tell him it’s the wrong sermon and he tells me it isn’t and to do what he asked. Walking away I mutter “alright, but I don’t think the Browns are going to be happy when you open Mom’s funeral with I see Dead People. Just sayin”  — I promptly received the correct sermon for the funeral and no one was the wiser. Funerals might not necessarily be funny — but that story is.

Pastor started his Sunday Sermon with a quote from the movie The 6th Sense. “I see dead people. They just don’t know they are dead yet.” I’m really glad that one didn’t make it to the pulpit for the funeral, that would not have been good. His sermon verse was Matthew 23:27-28  “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.”

Many of us walk around as part of the living dead. Including ministry workers.  We either kill ourselves with overwork or get killed by flying arrows so to speak,  either way we keep standing up until we fall down.

I rarely write about that season. I’d rather write about this season. I’d rather write about the fruit I’m living in now than the saddness I lived through then. But maybe that’s not the right approach.

I read and hear so many stories about broken ministry leaders. There are so many people walking around with severed limbs, bleeding profusingly on everthing they come in contact with. The burnout rate for ministry leaders is higher than any other field. We should talk about it.

Are you a ministry leader? Have you ever been burnt out? What did you do?

Written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. February 10,2010

Wishing I were on the other side already, Learning Trust

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“The task of growth is to pursue an unflinching honesty about self, world, and God, no matter what the results compel us to face or give up.” = Dan Allender, Bold Love

Have you ever gotten frustrated with the healing process? Have you ever wished you could just hurry up and get there already? If so, I’m right there with you. Healing is hard, it takes time, and it takes God’s help and tender mercies. Healing does come if we are willing to be honest, willing to let go of the things that hold us back, and willing to forgive even the unforgivable.

I have to admit, I think speaking is far easier than writing. In speaking, I can use body language, tone, facial expressions and other senses to  convey the story within the story. I can share tragedy in such a way that it’s okay to hear it. How does a writer convey a deeper story, without violating the sensibilities of the reader? I don’t know that I am fully there yet, but I’m going to give it a shot.

This is definitely one of those days where I regret deleting my former blog. Mentioning the “meanest pastor in the world” as I so unloving called him yesterday, doesn’t mean much if you don’t know the story. He was mean — most people who knew him would agree with that statement. God also used him to do great things for His kingdom. Being a pastor does not mean he was perfect. He was a sinner, just like you, just like me. He was also a good man in a lot of ways.

There are only a handful of trusted people who know the depth and breadth of my church work experience. Putting that experience into the acceptable standard of 500 words or less post won’t suffice. His death and his roll in my life are only relevant in the sense that he is responsible in so many ways for who I am today. What his death also signifies is the need for me to let go of excuses for no longer working in a church.

  •  Because of him — I learned that my own temple was full of idols. — People pleasing is rooted in idolatry and false shame.
  • Because of him — I laid down everything I thought I knew as a teacher of the Word and ran back into scripture and the arms of a loving God and found new value, new worth, and truth like I’d never known.
  • Because of him — I faced my own mirror of fear and secret shame.
  • Because of him — I know today that I am more than the things he called me.
  • Because of him — I learned the value of being trusted and keeping a confidence.

I am trying to choose my words carefully here. What I don’t want is someone to walk away from reading this post thinking I said God makes bad things happen. God doesn’t. We live in a sinful and broken world.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

What I don’t want to do is violate your sensibilities. I do however, want you to think. I want you to think about your life and the people in it. I want you to think about those you can learn from; even those you think hate you or better yet, those you think you hate. I want you to think about whatever past it is you hide from. I want you to think about God and His redeeming plans for your life. What I don’t want you to do is think about me.

My story, is anyone’s story.

I have a past. We all do. No big deal really.  Except that as a ministry leader, I lived in fear of being found out and called a fraud – or worse, being exposed and rejected.

 Guess what. I got found out. I got exposed. And I was rejected.

But hear this: I didn’t die.

I wanted to. Thought I was going to. I even considered taking my own life at one point. I spent three years in therapy fighting to stay alive. God won and I’m eternally grateful. He saw this coming, he’s already made a path. I have no idea why he allowed what he did, but I do know that I am stronger and better today because of it.

 Do I still spin sometimes when I talk about what happened? Yes. But not like I used to. I’m healing. I see progress.

Before I answered any kind of call to ministry, I processed my past with someone I trusted. A local (at the time) pastor. He was encouraging, thoughtful and kind and shared how God doesn’t hold our sins against us. We talked about how He redeems and gives new life. Our conversations revolved in large part around this is who I used to be, and this is where I am now because of God. My story is a witness to God’s mercies, grace and power. What I was most afraid of really was would the church still accept me? What if they didn’t?

I don’t want you to miss this — I wanted to belong MORE than I wanted to serve God. My core belief was if I could work in a church than that would really show the priest who kicked us out when I was a kid. This was hidden scar that did not come out until I was broken. It was a reality about myself that I had to face one way or the other — and repent of it — before I could be of any real use to God.

The thing is though – I always viewed my story as my story to tell. Not someone else’s. I only share that which I think can benefit others while still protecting myself. I only share in my time and on my terms.

This pastor’s belief that God redeems and I am forgiven apparently stops in his office. I say that because, once I took a part time church job, he chose to extend a professional courtesy and fill my new employer in on everything we’d discussed. That sharing got twisted from a past reality to a present reality and I was treated differently because of it. I honestly never saw that coming. I grew up in a time where priests took your confessions to the grave. Apparently in the protestant church, some ministers take your confessions to their wives and your employers. Some pastor’s view professional courtesies as rights and privileges. I view them as crap.

I’m going to get harsh here. Just for a minute.

It is my opinion that professional courtesies are nothing more than emotional and spiritual rape. My confidante is a rapist, whether he sees it or not, that is what he is. Any pastor who betrays the confessional betrays a sacred trust. Harsh words and a very unpopular stance, but true nonetheless. I’ve learned that the path of recovery from emotional/spiritual rape is almost identical to that of physical rape. — I’m working on several pieces regarding that topic, so I won’t expound here just yet. If that has every happened to you, please know that you are not alone. And know also, that God does indeed have a greater plan for you.

 It was because of this professional courtesy that said, now deceased, pastor felt he had the right to call me names and share his version of my life with others. I was, according to him both a whore with an over active conscience and the office bastard. I’m still living with the fall out from that and while I’ve forgiven the whole situation, there is still some pain. I don’t trust pastors, including my own.

Will I fully recover from that? I honestly don’t know.

 I tend to assume the worst of intentions and keep a closely guarded heart. My standard response to personal inquiries is “fine.” I pursue intellectual activities and communication at the expense of truth sometimes.

I also test the spirits. I am learning how to trust a little at a time. I’m learning to watch, and wait, and trust some more. While I have not arrived at my desired location (full trust) I am at least on the right travel itinerary.

What happened was wrong. It was huge. It did cause damage. It was not without consequence. What happened requires that I learn how to forgive the unforgivable. Not for their sake, but for mine. Why? Because the God of the universe, who knows the number of hairs on my head is in the midst of it all. He sent his only begotten son to die for me. It is through the redemptive, healing work of the cross and the resurrection that empowers me and anyone who has ever been deeply wounded to do so.

Running away from LCMS as I did, took me straight into the lives of the most unlikely of people. Anne Jackson (flower dust), Ken Davis, Chonda Pierce, Thelma Wells, Carol Kent. Not personal friends per se‘, but people God gave me to help me heal and teach me truth. They literally became my teachers through books (Anne), or personal conversations, and classes. I’ve even had the privilege of working behind the scenes with a few of them at conferences. They have taught me that my life is more than my past and more than whatever pain I may or may not experience. It was these very people that helped me find my way back home to LCMS and ministry – and it is these same people I write about today as a shared resource to other LCMS readers here on this blog.

In the psalms King David says that God created us to trust and if that is true then distrust must be learned. And if it’s learned then it can be unlearned. I like the hope in that. –Psalm 22:9 Yet you brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you even at my mother’s breast. (NIV)

So what is my responsibility here?

It is my responsibility:

  1. To: Act on the knowledge that God’s word carries more weight than the word of man.
  2. To: Repent of being more afraid of man than I can be of God.
  3. To: Learn that just because I trusted someone – who should have been trust worthy – and they let me down, does not mean I should never trust again.
  4. To: Trust God above all else.

I am able to forgive the man who called me names far easier than I am the man who betrayed my confidence. The man who called me names was only reflecting my biggest fears about what was true about me. He was just a mirror. The timing of his funeral was too close to Mom’s death and we didn’t have the strength to be there. I owe him a lot.

And the irony is, while he may have been my nemesis while he was alive, he was also one of my greatest teachers and for that, I am thankful.

I have learned silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet, strange, let me not be ungrateful to those teachers. – Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

The Higher Road to liturgical literacy

Deana2 Comments

Funerals denied.  Ashes held for ransom. Heirlooms stolen by angry family member. An old friend suddenly dies.The meanest pastor in the world is layed to rest. And I don’t have the faintest clue which road to travel.

Hearts are still tender today. It’s been a long strange road this past week and we aren’t finished walking it yet. Mom’s estate will not be settled until the 19 of February. And on that day a small few will gather to spread Mom’s ashes in Tampa Bay. Another memorial service will be held in Chicago at a later date.

There have been many opportunities to walk the low roads this week. Chances to fight fire with fire. Bark out orders, smack down the arrogant, and have our way. Lucky for me I married my opposite. While he may have the same less than sanctified thoughts that I can have, he chooses not to act on them. I like that about him.

My nemesis passed this week and once again my feelings are raw as I remember his words and actions over the years. He was the first person I ever met in my life who openly and publically hated me and called me names. I’ve been disliked, avoided even – but to be hated and called names? That was new.  I probably would not have minded  so much, if I hadn’t adored him and his wife as much as I did. We chose not to attend his funeral. I’m not sure if that was the right choice or not, but it was the best choice for us this weekend.

Having said that, I really feel I have little to offer just yet. Jeff hasn’t been able to play praise music all week – which is rough when you lead worship, kwim? And I haven’t been able to write.

It’s all part of the grieving processes. Before we know it, our words will once again flow. Until then, I’d like to offer up this blog post by Pastor Beecroft. I can come up with a funny here – if you really must know, I read it because I thought it was a sermon on sex. Which is not my fault — he wrote all over facebook that this was Sex Sunday.

This is what happens when you are liturgically illiterate.

Enjoy!

Sexegesima 2010 — The Parable of the Sower

A Time to Die

Deana3 Comments

Dear Friends, my beloved mother-on-law had a stroke on January 19 and another more severe one on January 20. My husband flew to Tampa to be by her side and make sure that she was taken care of. Mom showed pretty good improvement the first few days, but by the 25th she still could not lift her head, swallow, or sit up. At 86 years old, and having been fighting bone cancer for five years, Mom decided to involk her living will. She is refusing all treatment, and has been moved to a hospice care facility in Tampa.

The change in her demeanor was immediate. Safe and secure in the care center, and in her own pj’s Mom just shined. Her caretaker Beverly is with her and Bev tells us the funny stories about mom as well as her updates. As of today, mom is no longer opening her eyes, or communicating in anyway. Her blood pressure is so low it no longer registers with a cuff. It’s almost time.

She’s ready, but we aren’t.

I’m taking a week off of blogging and will be back next week.

I hope you understand.

EDITED to add: 

 February 2 at 4:31pm
 
Hi all,

I just wanted to let you know that Jeff’s Mom (Aunt Alice/Grandma) went home to be with the Lord at 2:30 this afternoon. Mom is a breast cancer survivor from 35 years ago and was a wonderful woman. Mom had suffered two strokes on Jan 19 and 20th and was placed in Hospice Care Facility in Tampa FLA at her request, on January 26. Hospice is a wonderful organization – and to see her there, in her own jammies, no wires or tubes or machines… she was beside herself with joy. Her last days were filled with peace and hope of the coming reunion with friends and family who had gone before. Mom was 86.

Funny thing is, I was in my truck picking up Dillon from school when she passed, and a country song was playing… something about flying up on the wings of angels and dancing with Jesus. The sun was shining and I could have sworn I heard her giggling beside me. Jeff’s cousin Cynthia said the same thing when she called him at 3… How awesome is that?

Thank you everyone for your kind thoughts, and prayers. they have meant a lot to our family.

Blessings
Deana O’Hara

 

My Husband, The Prophet

Deana2 Comments

Jeff:  Ooh blueberry cobbler! My favorite. Is that what you are making for dinner?

We’ve been together for 22 years and he knows me. Having dessert for dinner on a cold icy snow-stormy night would not be that far-fetched. But not tonight. Tonight I wanted to impress him. Contrary to popular belief, I really do like to impress my husband from time to time.  I think he rocks.

Me: No, I’m making Cornish hens for dinner. The cobbler is for dessert.

Before you start thinking I’m this wonderful cook or something, I really need to tell you that my house has a kitchen because it came with one. And my family is well fed because, well… I try, but you know…I’m not Julia Child. I’m not even that other Julia chick that wrote the blog that got made into a movie. I’m the daughter of a baby boomer. I don’t sew and cooking is questionable. 

Granted I do have my days where I am able to cook fantabulous meals. I think I just made that word up. Fantabulous is a good word. It means edible.

Apparently though, today is not one of those fantabulous days.

In honor of today’s winter storm I want to be daring and cook a fancy meal. I want to cook the kind of meal that is great to eat by candlelight, in case the power goes out. With my Cornish hens thawing in a sink full of cool water, I whip up a mean blueberry cobbler thing — (Cheaters cobbler: canned blue berries with yellow cake mix sprinkled on top. Dot with butter and bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees.)

I bake the hens at 350 degrees for 90 minutes. They are brown and yummy looking. The legs wiggle when I move them and juices from the breast runs clear. They are P-E-R-F-E-C-T.  I carefully set each plate with one Cornish hen, mashed potatoes and steamed snow peas. Everything looks and smells wonderful! My husband smiles, I smile and my son (who is already cutting into his hen) asks, “Mom is chicken supposed to bleed red all over everything?”

You know, blueberry cobbler for dinner on a cold, snowy night isn’t really that bad.

To Save A Life, The Movie A Short Review

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To Save A Life is the best best movie I’ve seen in a long time. If you have teens or work with teens, this is a must see movie. While not necessarily appropriate for youth under 13, (older themes, drinking, and alluded sexual content) I believe this movie will touch hearts and change lives. Everything from the core message (Christ) to the acting, directing, and musical score hits it 100%. It’s engaging, well written and bound to inspire everyone who sees it.

Thank you Hollywood for giving us another movie worth seeing. See the trailer and find out more.

Sometimes you just have to ask yourself, “What do I want my life to be about.”

 Click Here for more information: To Save A Life Web Page