Our Puritan ancestors believed in predestination: God had chosen the ones who were going to be saved, and the way you proved to others that you were among the worthy was by acting so perfectly correct on the outside that no one had any doubts of your perfection. You know that someone is good on the inside because they act right, pray right, earn lots of money, look good, eat right.
We still do this today. It’s a theology of self-loathing disguised as unworthiness and grace. No matter how perfect you seem and act on the outside, you’ll never be good enough, no matter what you do; you should be ashamed of yourself because deep down you’re bad and broken and can never be fixed.
Shame breeds self-righteousness and self-certainty. Because the risk of imperfection is shattering, you can never admit a mistake, genuinely apologize, make repair in a relationship, accept forgiveness. It means you can never learn anything new, or not know what to do, or risk making amends.
It’s an act of profound bravery to turn away from that kind of living. Not once and for all, but day by day: choosing not to live a private theology of your own unworthiness and self-hate. It is an act of love for yourself and for each other to come back home to being a regular person: to let go of pretend-perfection and certainty.
That transformation—from a stranger to someone already home without knowing it—is the invitation and the promise that our congregations offer to each person who enters its doors. The invitation into an undivided life, whole in our brokenness.
Our work together—in song and silence, and laughter and hope and tears—isn’t a denial or avoidance of difficult realities but an embrace of all that it is to be human. May this community provide a homecoming, relief, and celebration.