We have had lots of examples recently to debate. Teddy Kennedy arguably placed his own political career above the life of a young woman. Only he knows the depths of his crime, although we all judge. But did 41 years of service in the US Senate redeem him? His obituaries wrestled with the issue. The Wall Street Journal placed his crime in the first paragraph. The more sympathetic New York Times waited until paragraph two. They both had to mention it, though. We all weighed Teddy's 41 years of good acts against his action that one drunken evening in Chappaquiddick.
I am sure Mark Sanford and Eliot Spitzer's obituaries will both weigh the years of public service against their sexual antics. Michael Jackson's obituaries all acknowledged the shadows of unspeakable crimes against his artistic genius. They all beg the question of whether our ability to forgive is determined not by the seriousness of the crime, but our attitudes toward it?
For my wife, torturing and killing dogs is a crime that should sentence one to a life of poverty and reflection. Yet shouldn't the indiscretions of climbing drunk into a car, driving off a bridge, swimming away from a drowning woman, and never admitting your crime, weigh more heavily against the man who admits to his failings and promises to do better?
The problem is that the apologies are too formulaic, too easy, too transparently motivated by a desire to move on. Kanye West apologized for his attack on Taylor Swift not to Taylor Swift first, but to America on Jay Leno. He called Ms. Swift later to apologize personally, and then his "people" publicized the fact. Mark Sanford apologized but then insulted his wife by professing his desire to fall back in love with her after having hot Argentinian sex. Spitzer got the tone right, but his previous holier-than-thou stance against financial misconduct made him a greek tragic figure. Wall Street cheered his humiliation.
Teddy never apologized. Michael Vick did. He tearfully confessed his failings on "60 Minutes" - a more serious choice than Jay Leno - and seemed sincere. And, I remind you, he did his time. If society decides that three years in prison is punishment, do we have a right to punish him more? Why is his crime - yes, horrible and disgusting - any worse than Teddy Kennedy's? The answer can't be that he got caught. That is far too cynical.
I could not bear to be judged by my worst sins. Having them publicized, debated on talk shows, argued on talk radio, and weighed against my good acts - I would beg for redemption. More, for forgetfulness. Growing up Catholic but dating born-again Christian girls, I was confronted with the tension between the one true church's teachings that good works would get me into heaven and the opposing view that by faith alone would I reach the Kingdom of Heaven.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me . . .
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.
If good works win, then do we forgive Teddy for his service and Michael Jackson for his art, but damn Michael Vick because he is just a football player? If it is amazing grace that redeems us, then can any of us judge? Isn't it, in the end, one's own relationship with God that determines whether we forgive ourselves? As humiliating as our sins publicized may make us, it is our inability to forgive ourselves that destroys our soul.
Each of us has to confront our own failings and reconcile those with our good works and our self-view to decide whether we die in peace. The debates about forgiveness, about whether to grant or withhold it, are really about whether we could forgive ourselves for committing the sins made public by these public figures. In judging them, we judge ourselves. If we are human, we pray that we never walk their path. If we do, then I guarantee that after the sin, while committing good works, we are praying for Amazing Grace to help us find peace.
