Better Late Than Never

Late it was that I loved you, beauty so ancient and so new,

late I loved you! And, look, you were within me and I was outside,

and there I sought for you and in my ugliness I plunged into

the beauties that you have made. You were with me and I

was not with you. Those outer beauties kept me far from you, yet

if they had not been in you, they would not have existed at all.

You called, you cried out, you shattered my deafness: you flashed,

you shone, you scattered my blindness: you breathed perfume, and

I drew in my breath and I pant for you: I tasted, and I am

hungry and thirsty: you touched me and I burned for your peace.

-Augustine, Confessions

Augustine's journey to Jesus was neither quick nor painless. He arrived on the prayers of a saintly mother who never gave up pleading for the salvation of her son. Augustine laments that it was "late" in his life that he believed the gospel, although he was still fairly young. But now that he had tasted the goodness of the Lord, he realized how much he had missed. But, better late than never.

I was raised to believe in Jesus, no questions asked. Early I came to him, and there were times of great passion for him, but I feel that it is only of late that I am truly learning to love him. But, better late than never.

I never realized who I really was until a Pastor friend of mine told me who (or what) I was in our conversation this past week. I respect his counsel, his wisdom and love for Jesus and for me, but I wasn't quite ready for his description of me. He called me a whore. And, he was dead on. I am. Or was. He tempered it a little by saying that he was a murderer, that in Jesus eyes we are all either whores or murderers, because we have all either lusted or hated. But for me, as I looked honestly in my heart, I knew he was right. I have been a whore.

Seeing myself that way has completely changed me. Accepting grace as a whore is so much different from accepting it as a preacher. I had always proclaimed the mercy of God and his great love for sinners, but everyone else always needed more than me. It was a joy to dispense his grace and forgiveness in mega-doses to others, saving their lives from the power of sin. Oh, I needed a dose once in a while too, but for me it was more like a vitamin. It was just wise to remind myself every so often that I too needed a little grace to be healthy and humble.

That is why I have not been able to get over the guilt of my sin and feel forgiven. I kept thinking that I could clean myself up, try really, really hard, and be a perfect slave for God. I would confess over and over...say how sorry I was over and over. Maybe you know the recipe for self-atonement: Confess repeatedly, add in heaping amounts of self-loathing, beat in self pity sprinkled with tears, bake at high heat in the oven of doubt, remove when burnt to a crisp, throw out and start over. Nothing really changes though; a whore is a whore is a whore. I had to quit trying to convince God how bad I was, he already knew. He knew before I did, and was waiting for me to believe that He really was the God of whores and murderers.

Being a whore in recovery has changed everything for me. It is as if his cure for my sin was injected straight into my heart! I pray with urgency and faith. I worship with purpose, not to experience God, but to praise the one who welcomed me, a whore, to his banquet. I see him laughing and saying eat! Eat! Yes, this is for you! I welcome his hand upon me, his discipline and his words, which will keep me off the street corners of my past. And I confess, over and over: thank you, thank you.

Late it seems, that I am loving him. But, thank God, better late than never.