Faults

Today I've been thinking about faults, and the importance that one clarify one's own. It would seem that clarity about one's center -- and the presence of God there -- necessarily clarifies the place of one's faults.

But why fear my own faults? Faults are by nature nothing: God is; sin is not. Faults are distinct from self, in fact they are the contrary of self: or at least they ought to be, when the self is whole and warm with God.

It also occurs to me that community -- including especially the community named family -- ought to serve as a cooperative endeavor in which we help each other overcome our faults, so that we may all become more brightly aflame in love.

But this isn't easy, because it requires two very difficult things.

Perhaps foremost, it requires the ability to listen patiently and in gratitude to criticism. This is hard. This is very, very hard. This is humility; this is the cross. But this is where God is.

It also requires the ability to approach another -- in gentleness and great love -- to help another distinguish and overcome his or her own faults. This too is hard; this requires wisdom. Perhaps the wisdom required is the humility to listen to criticism of oneself, in patience and gratitude.

Humility is important: perhaps it is humility that guards the heart of healthy community.

When I am afraid of my own faults, I am brittle; I fear criticism; I cannot listen. I do not help others with their faults, for fear that they might criticize mine. I cannot love because my faults are my master.

My faults are what kill me. Not in themselves -- they are nothing -- but in my own pride, which makes them my master.

Without personal humility, community fails to be a cooperation of love. It may qualify sociologically as community, but God isn't interested in a sociological home: God wants the warmth of love.