In the 25th Psalm, the psalmist says, “Do not remember the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you, Lord, are good.”
We often imagine that, unless otherwise attributed, David wrote all of the psalms. Reading his story, however, it seems pretty clear that he saved his most egregious sins for the latter part of this life. The writer of this psalm looks at his youthful years with regret – as I do so often. I remember how blithely I went along with racists assumptions 7th grade, even though my best friend was black. I remember how thirsty I was for attention in High School, causing me to barely notice some of my classmates who, it turns out now, seem like terrific people. I remember how crassly I tried to live into the cis-gender, heteronormative ideal of a stud as a young man, while barely recognizing the full humanity in the others that I saw. And I remember vividly how cocksure I was in my faith that I ran roughshod over the other ways that God was at work in people’s lives, in order to force my experience on them. I’m sure I left a far greater trail of tears behind me to which I am still blind, but these I remember all too well.
So, what’s the point of retrospection with regret? Is the psalmist, and am I, simply reaching that stage of life when we look back with either a feeling of accomplishment or regret? Well, with apologies to Erik Erikson, I think there’s more to it than that. The reason I remember those expressions of sinfulness so powerfully is because they are still me. Despite maturations, born again experiences, getting woke, or lessons learned, there is a thread of identity that connects the me that regrets with the me that is regretted. The psalmist prays for God to see him/her apart from that part of life, and I echo the hope.
What a balanced, nuanced, keenly and refreshingly honest expression of humility is presented here. Just as we are and as we have been. God have mercy.
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