If you'll indulge me...

Indulgences. 

Sweet, sweet indulgences. 

The very word feels like sin to the well trained Evangelical tongue - though not the delightful kind. 

I entered full communion over 20 years ago, and it's only maybe a year ago that I started to feel okay with the idea of that which shall not be named. Not that I doubted the Church's authority, but rather upon reading the Terms & Conditions, this particular business about detaching yourself from any sin seemed to to be an immediate disqualifier. 

When you're in a place where confessing grave sin is a routine matter, like Forrest Gump meeting the President, why bother with these extra bells and whistles? 

Before you read on, know that I encourage conferring with a trusted pastor, spiritual director, or otherwise seek wise counsel on sensitive matters. Don't take my word for it. But this much was an encouragement to me and it could be for you:

The Church is not asking you to actually be detached from all sin. 

From the Decree of the Apostolic Penitentiary which proclaimed a jubilee year for the 800th anniversary of St. Francis' death, her first condition upon the faithful is "a heart detached from sin." 

My mistake was interpreting "heart" to mean my entire self. 

This is where self-knowledge and sound formation are truly helpful. 

Your soul may be attached to sin. So may your strength - that is, your body. And if you've read anything about neurochemistry (an excellent starter is "The Power of Habit" by Charles Duhigg) then you know how our minds are attached, and how your mind can be freed. 

All that to say: Your heart is where freedom begins. 

You can choose detachment in your heart, even when the rest of you feels like a lost cause. It may feel like your heart is attached to sin or worldly things. Only God can truly judge that, but I'll hazard to encourage you that it's more likely the rest of you which is more attached while your heart is yearning for God. 

Our recent Sunday readings speak to this. Tax collectors and prostitutes entering the kingdom of God ahead of chief priests and elders. Laborers hired at five o'clock who receive a full day's wage. How the Father deals harshly "unless each of you forgives your brother from your heart." 

If you'll indulge me with a quick tangent, hear me out. When you think about the spiritual reality of what happens at Baptism, it is a sacrilege to justice. In a sense, it should make you angry. Think about someone whom you find repulsive. You might think of a political leader, a rapist, serial killer, or child abuser. Think about what it's like to be a helpless victim of a horrendous, heartbreaking crime. 

Now think about wiping clean the slate of that offender for no better reason that he or she asked forgiveness. 

You see, if anything should make you angry, it is Baptism. The despicable notion that the worst human could enter heaven only because of God's grace. (To be clear, this deal doesn't work if the offender's heart remains closed to grace.)

That righteous anger you're feeling is exactly where the Angel of Light stood. Now turn. "It is in forgiving that we are forgiven."

Therefore, make your amendment, seek grace, and keep growing. 

P.S. I know this post might be a hot take. My intent is definitely to recognize the beauty and simplicity of sincere repentance and reconciliation. Baptism is a beautifully scandalous thing.