I told you last time I’d go first.

One of the most powerful, and debilitating, emotional experiences I’ve had over the past few years is shame. In some but not all cases, shame can be the fruit of a root, the effect of a cause.

The bouts of shame I’ve specifically dealt with have come moments after I foolishly relented to the tsunami of emotions that demanded I be swept away by them instead of steadying myself to brace against the waves.

Because I allowed those torrents to flow like white hot lava. I’ve had some true emotional blow ups, the volcanic kind, which betray an undealt with something deep down in the mantle until the pressure erupts in a big ugly. The undealt with may even be that which were not yet able or willing to see, much less confess to God.

Wanting to get a handle on those big ugly emotions, among other reasons, I went through the training to receive an emotional intelligence certification and found some creepy crawlers under the rocks that got turned over. I’ve seen shades of an impulsive fool in the mirror. Know thyself Till We Have Faces, I suppose. During the EQ-i training, one of my fellow learners said shame is the fear of disconnection. I couldn’t agree more.

In an act of severance, I’ve given the reigns to my impulses and allowed frustration to burst in anger. It most often happens after I wish I was already in bed and asleep. In the wreckage, it’s as if there’s nothing left to do but retreat since my flashpoint heat evaporated any trace of the hospitality I would want. It’s no excuse. Even with an apology, it’s not like shame ceases to oppress your guilty heart. Shame does follow sin, but it’d be a grievous error to say it always follows your sin. Shame can set up shop in your heart like an observant gargoyle after horrible things - mentally or physically - have been done to you.

Whether by our own or another’s will, “Who would want me now?” is the cry of the shameful heart, disconnected with no way back to meaningful connection… until someone slides you a note while you’re in the dismals that reads, “I miss you being a part of what I’m doing.”

An invitation into hospitality breaks shame by rebuilding the bridge that was incinerated. Connection. Restoration.

It has to come from outside the one who feels shame. It’s more than just forgiveness and being at peace. It is full blown reconciliation and reconnection. Sit down at my table and sup with me.

My wife and I were talking about the aftermath of some of my mushroom-cloud-level atom-splitting explosions. Our discussion led me to ask myself, “How would I want someone to respond after I blew up at them?”

The responsibility for injuries inflicted are mine to own. I’m not trying to do a blame shift here. Fuse lit or not, the explosion belonged to me.

I bring up the fuse to address any whatabouts. Provocation can play a part, but I’ve found when provocation lights a fuse, it’s easy for the provocateur to fall back into the role of blamelessness and never seek what led to the explosion. Maybe you’ve seen this with siblings. The one who gets in trouble is the one who finally socked the other, and not the one whose comments provoked the socking. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but the second wrong tends to overshadow the first wrong. That being said, each is responsible for their own actions.

Acknowledging the dual responsibility dynamic, I do have to make very clear that what I’m about to propose is not something I deserve, either.

This is from the position of the guilty.

The response that I would love to hear, that rebuilds bridges instead of finger wags at their collapse, would ask some form of “What’s going on? I mean, what you did hurt. Badly. However, that wasn’t the you I’ve known and experienced, either. What’s happening in your life that’s pressing on you to create a reaction like that? Have I contributed to any of that?” Again, that would also take a level of awareness and ability to put their finger on the path of collapse.

Apologies are absolutely in order, but can any true restoration come solely at the hands of the exploder? They can’t repay the debt. They can’t undo the damage. Maybe they can initiate peace or, at minimum, a ceasefire. The target of the guily’s wrath is in their right to look at the exploder, deem them toxic, and have nothing to do with them again. I wouldn’t fault that response. Shame would insist on it. Shame makes the withdrawal and separation seem right. Holy, even.

However, if you want to have the kind of relationship which doesn’t accept the mere tip of the iceberg but wants to understand what’s below the surface, the relationship has to include connection. Not quid-pro-quo, or what’s the return on investment, or how does this benefit me. I’m not saying correction or feedback or observation whatever isn’t necessary, but when the injured looks back and says, “Ouch, but you must be ouching, too. Will you tell me about it?” then a profound restoration occurs. The one who blew up the bridge is no longer the one who has to bridge the gap. In fact, it can only come from someone who has not sinned in the exchange.

Man. If only we could live like this every day. It’s a lot easier to talk about these things in theory than actually walk them out. We shut down, blow up, lose patience, cry, fight, give up, lose heart, and just have an all out rage. The weapons of warfare - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness, self-control, forgiveness, reconciliation - aren’t carnal and could change the world (2 Corinthians 10:3-5;
‭‭Galatians‬ ‭5‬:‭22‬-‭26‬). Many days, I may not even be able to be honest with myself to the point I can even confess a lack of those traits against which there is no law.

Would people begin to feel safe enough to attempt being vulnerable enough to timidly accept a beam of grace-light into their law-darkness? Knowing they could never bridge the gap, still approach to cross?

A while ago, a small group of people dedicated to this Way did change the world, and we’re invited to walk in that Way now.

Even with my shame, the invitation beckons me to lay it down. Forgiveness might be the most powerful act in the history of the world. In fact, that mercy fueled forgiveness is what’s given me the grace to stop wallowing in shame. Even if the person I blew up at doesn’t want to trust me again, which I can understand, Jesus has bridged the blood-soaked gap to come find me and restore me into relationship with the triune God.

There are days I’d rather be offended and blow up in anger or keep myself at a distance, but there is One who calls me out of my withdrawing shame and back to the table. Iniquity and sin have been atoned for. Walk like it.

Vulnerability, from the offended and the offender, can dispel shame. However, vulnerability and restoration will be impossible if one side is demanding their pound of flesh, choking the other to say, “Pay what you owe.” That doesn’t mean the offense has to be swept under the rug. It deserves to be laid out, but restoration cannot happen if the offended does not absorb the offense as they choose to lay it down and remember it no more. That could be a gap they cannot bridge. Only one can.

What would the world look like if we went to our friends and family and neighbors and co-workers, who legitimately do owe us, and we absorb that debt - with all its pain and suffering - and tell them it’s been paid and their account is now clean?

You might even be so motivated to scold the thief, who knocked you out in the still of the night and stole all your silver ware, for forgetting to take the candlesticks, too, when the authorities brought him back to you.

It might cause the offenders to do a double take but that kind of psychological safety could change the world.

It’s changing mine.

Wishing you well,

J.P. Simons