In the best of us, there is pain, brokenness, self-centeredness and darkness. In the worst of us, there is light, goodness and potential for making the world better. Religious or nonreligious, we all know this is true. Somewhere in the midst of that reality stood a very human Bob Carlson.
As I’ve wrestled with mixed emotions in the wake of Bob’s suicide and the allegations against him, a bumper sticker comes to mind: “If you were accused of being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?”
The earliest waves of sadness and affirmation last week from all over the region seemed to answer a resounding yes where Bob was concerned. Through parish ministry, chaplaincies and promotion of health care, he put his considerable energy to work advocating for the underserved, helping individuals in trouble and bringing God’s love to the churched and unchurched in times of need.
Then came the stunning accusations. We don’t know if there would have been enough evidence to convict him of the allegations, but we do know he was not a perfect Christian. That must be said of every one of us who tries to follow Christ. Everyone seeking to follow the moral guidelines of any religion or philosophical system falls short, some more dramatically and publicly than others.
Any suicide is inevitably seen as giving up on life, on self, on fellow human beings, and-or on God. Sadly, other desperate people often see it as permission to do likewise, especially if it was someone they looked up to.
It’s probably safe to say that 99 percent of the time, Bob believed every person, including himself, is worthy of redemption. In that one percent of time when he doubted, he acted on lies that he was worthless or couldn’t endure what lay ahead even with God’s help. If he had confessed, would we have stood by him in his time of humiliation and need? Or might we have been hypocrites in our own ways, pretending we have no flaws of our own?
Each of us has done things that have hurt others, whether out of ignorance, weakness, carelessness, meanness, laziness, stupidity or selfishness — usually in a mixture of these human failings. Guilt, shame and the need to forgive and be forgiven are at the heart of what we all face in life even if we never go wrong in ways that belong in a court of law. Each of us knows these burdens of bad things we’ve done or had done to us. And there are good things we have failed to do or missed out on through the neglect or selfishness of others.
Forgiveness — needing it and granting it — is among the most difficult and confusing challenges of life. When a person wrongs us directly or wrongs others and thus destroys our ability to trust them, the layers of intense hurt, disappointment, sadness, shame and anger become knotted in ways that can strangle us. That’s equally true when we know we have failed others.
Forgiving is not condoning a person’s completely unacceptable actions. It is letting go of our angry or wounded insistence that the person is not worth saving. But every person is worth saving. Bob was worth saving, even though he evidently feared otherwise at the end.
All 12-step programs recognize the pervasiveness of these life-destroying tangles and how they contribute to the demons from which we try desperately to escape. Conducting a searching and fearless personal moral inventory, admitting our failings, ceasing harmful behaviors and making amends where doing so will not cause more harm are essential steps these programs urge on the path toward healing.
At the heart of Christianity is the belief that an individual’s genuine remorse, confession and repentance reopen them to the flow of God’s love. With a truly chastened and open heart, forgiving oneself becomes a possibility. Closely tied to it is the belief that in humble awareness of our own failures, we must find a way to let go of our hardness of heart when others fail us.
Whether we are religious in the traditional sense or not, we would all do well to exercise this self-scrutiny and this humility.
Carol Sherman is a pastoral counselor who lives in Bangor.