A Special Sinner

This past Sunday in church the Pastor was talking about sin. He spoke to the idea that while some sin is always sin (murder,) other sin is relative depending on perhaps your culture (going topless at a beach.) I don’t know, but in my book that one has always belonged with the former, but that’s just me. I’m more of a full-coverage swimmer, complete with skirts and heavy duty spandex. Anyway, he urged us to consider that while we may stay clear of the “BIG” ones, we are often guilty of lesser known sins such as feeling special. He said that feeling special sets us apart and is a sin. After his service, or rather during (my nursery pager may or may not have been vibrating,) I snuck off to attend another service. It turns out the liturgy for the Methodist and Presbyterian churches must be the same because wouldn’t you know it Pastor #2 also spoke to the fact that we aren’t supposed to feel special. It’s only by His Grace that we are saved and we shouldn’t boast. Yes, yada, yada, I get it only I don’t really get it. I mean, of course, yes I know it’s only by His Grace that I am this person, living this life, and that I have no reason to boast, but  I question that about being special. I believe God thinks I’m special. I believe I am special. How can we claim to be “the righteousness of God in Christ,” and “created in His image” if we don’t believe we are special?


After the 2nd service there was a formal Q&A time with the pastor. I’ve attended church my entire life and I’ve never attended (or even heard of) Q&A time so I decided to stick around. I was trying to summon the courage to ask about the “special” issue when the conversation quickly turned very (and I mean VERY) theological and I realized, without hesitation or shame that I was, no question about it, the dumbest person in the room and I decided it was better to just live in ignorance and believe that I’m special.

And it’s not just me, my children are special too, and if feeling special is a sin then my daughter, Emma Claire, is in real trouble. She walks into a room and there’s a slight pause; a hushed silence. She stops; looks around and expects people to notice. She makes special mention of her clothes and gives a play by play of where it all came from. Moving beyond clothes, she continues with a dissertation on where her brother is and what the plans are for the day, or she’ll randomly start telling stories of her grandparents’ dog CoCo or their farm hand, Jesse, and occasionally she’ll just break out into song. I smile and nod and try to give reassuring glances that, yes, I know you’re just trying to buy groceries and no, it’s not rude if you don’t respond with genuine delight at hearing this impromptu concert.

Emma Claire believes she is special and as her Mother, I believe she is right, but lately I’ve decided it’s more than that. She is fearless. It’s not so much that Emma Claire thinks she’s special, it’s that she’s confident and she’s brave and it just comes across as “wow, aren’t I special.” Yesterday I watched endlessly as she propelled herself off the leather ottoman and did belly flop after belly flop onto a couch cushion. She never once questioned whether this would hurt or if she might be unsuccessful in her landing. She just kept flying. And I just kept worrying; feeling sure that this wouldn’t end well (and for the record it didn’t.) I also kept thinking that Pammy, our nanny for almost 6 years was seriously underpaid, but that’s a story for another time.

Some days I look at my daughter and even my son and I wonder where it came from? Did I help instill that or are all children just born with that? Was I ever that brave? Did I ever fly from couches or float into a room looking around to see who had noticed and know, without doubt, that they had noticed? I don’t remember, but I do remember being told that I was a child of the most high God. I do remember being told that I should “let my light shine.” I do remember being told that I was not to have “a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and self-discipline.” And that feels pretty special to me.

Being a child of God makes us special. Knowing it’s only by His Grace keeps us humble. If teaching that to my children is sinful then, well, I’m a sinner, but I guess we already knew that. What I didn’t know until this week, is that even as a Christian, I can go swimming at a topless beach, so long as I’m in Germany. Now isn't that special?