I have no way of knowing the truth of what happened three decades ago at a teenage party, between Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh and Christine Blasey Ford – Or whether or not he exposed himself to Debbie Ramirez at a Yale University party. I’ve seen enough episodes of House of Cards, Scandal, & Ozark to not be surprised by anything, while at the same time being guarded about the motives and righteous indignation of any institution. While the debate rages on regarding what did or did not transpire, and the statute of limitations on decency and morality, it has given me an opportunity to examine one of the personal indiscretions of my youth. For 40 plus years I have carried a burden – an albatross of guilt that I’ve tried to chalk up to childish immaturity. Over the years it has nagged at my soul and up until now I’ve been able to continually shove it down to my dark corners.

I’ll spare you the details of my psychological profile but suffice it to say that I was raised in a Christian home with loving parents and a close family unit that knew right from wrong. We were God, Country, and Family before we knew people could be any other way. I was raised in church and attended a Christian school from preschool through the 12th grade. Maybe it was natural rebellion, possibly a Napoleon complex, or maybe I was just a punk, but for whatever reason I devolved into a holy terror during my middle school years. I was smaller than everyone else, but what I lacked in physical stature, I made up for in attitude. I had influence and ego and was determined to use both to ensure my social status.

I guess every classroom has that one vulnerable kid who gets singled out to be the brunt of someone else’s insecurity. Victimized for nothing more than their very existence, bullied into submission by overwhelming odds and a system that betrays them by its inability to adequately protect those most at risk. I was too cowardly to inflict much physical harm, but I let others do my dirty work and was complicit with my sneers, my taunts, and even in my silence. I told myself that these were harmless pranks – nothing over the top… just your garden variety bullying – pushing, tripping, harassing, shoving the nerd in the locker kind of stuff. This is what 12-13 year old kids do, right?

The story is told in Christendom that when the martyr Stephen was stoned to death, the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young leader named Saul (Acts 7). This symbolism indicated that whether or not Saul cast a single stone, Stephen’s blood was on his hands. Likewise, I watched sadistically over the death of innocence, the loss of childhood hope and acceptance. I’m thankful for teachers who modeled grace, and kind-hearted family and friends who helped steer me to a new path. In high school my life changed, my values developed, my integrity became important, I met a beautiful girl. But those clothes that were laid at my feet… I packed them up discreetly and carried them with me.

Last week I finally had the courage to find, and reach out to this wounded soul.
I simply asked him if he was the same person that had attended middle school with me.

I waited 5 days for his one word answer – “yes”.

Part of me wanted his response to be “hey Phil, great to hear from you again…”
A bigger part of me wanted him to say “hey Phil, F*ck you, a**hole!”

I took a couple of deep breaths and wrote him back. I said, I don’t know if you remember me (I prayed that he didn’t) and I told him how sorry I was for the way I treated him. And then I asked him to forgive me.

He responded immediately with: “I do remember and will probably never forget; however, I forgive you”.

His words sliced my heart in pieces for I knew I had caused him lasting and irreparable pain.

I thanked him for his forgiveness, and added that it was more than I deserved or could hope for…

He simply said: “You are welcome”.

Mercy offered as restitution for guilt will take your breath, and overwhelm the spirt. The cynical will instinctively cry out for “eye for eye” but those who have been through the crucible of life whisper: Father forgive them, for they know not what they do…” THAT is humanity at it’s Godliest – that is what being “awake” looks like. This is who I want to be.

This narrative is not to be read as a presumption of guilt or innocence on anyone other than me.
This is my story to tell but It’s also your story. Each of us has been the victim and the victimizer, the accuser and the accused. We can give the gift of forgiveness, and we can be forgiven. This is THE cosmic redemption story. Dare we look into ourselves and acknowledge our darkness? Can we release the pain that we carry inside of us as the recipient and perpetrator of violence?

The Creator and all of creation waits for this most vulnerable conversation to begin – Forgive Me – I Forgive You – Thank You – You Are Welcome.