“Sin hath the devil for its father, shame for its companion, and death for its wages” -Thomas Watson
I think a thin line of difference exists between shame and guilt. Both seem to feed off each other; yet, shame can grow out of guilt or be placed on someone regardless of their guilt. Shame can develop in a victim of hurtful and abusive circumstances or in cases of torture. Furthermore, shame-based cultures exist. Shame seems to be a part of human socialization in all societies.
I understand the relevancy of conviction as experiencing guilt or shame for something we have done wrong. The fear of shame and guilt has prodded my conscience in critical moments enabling me to do the right, and often more challenging, thing. However, shame invokes a much deeper, defeated image. A person experiencing an abundance of shame cannot realize the blessing of their humanity nor the abundance of a life lived through the truth of bearing God’s image.
My Catholic past may have invoked guilt sometimes reminding me of God’s standards, but it also allowed me to live in my humanity and provided me with the means to release guilt through confession. The expectation was not Tara, perfect, sinless, super-human, but Tara, human being becoming more like Jesus, filled with successes and failures. Sin would enter my life, guaranteed, but sin and shame did not, and shall not, define my life.
Thus, I typically experience two levels of shame centered on one ideal: perfection. First, a self-generated shame provoked out of an emotional response: my disappointment in myself, and further, a feeling that I disappointed God. My image of God was a stern face, crossed-armed God standing over me, unhappy unless I felt ‘bad’ enough. He certainly would not forgive me until then, and even so, would begrudge me for the next time. Anything less then perfect was unacceptable. Now God’s image captures a ready extension of grace, love, forgiveness, but self-forgiveness is still a process for me. I think I demand more from me than God does.
Second, the church generates shame, because of a lack of acceptance (not of my sin or guilt), but in essence- me. The church reconstitutes disappointed, stern God while pronouncing the opposite. We assert the value of authenticity, vulnerability, and our admission as failed human beings. Yet, there seems to be little tolerance for failure and almost a meter of image control at its basis. In our guilt, we experience shame and realize “I can not tell them that. I should not be wrestling with this. This is not suppose to happen to me. What if they found that out about me?”
We become afraid to confess our sins to one another, because we are afraid of shame. Yet, confession is the very thing we need to do in order to escape the effects of shame. I have a favorite saying, “Only nasty things grow in the dark.” Consider pastors and leaders who have experienced moral and personal failures. They most likely felt the weight of perfection, knew their guilt, yet in a sense of shame, they could not confess their sins, because they were afraid of greater shame. Shame seems to operate like fire. The more you feed it, the more it consumes.
In my own life, I have realized if I truly believe there is no condemnation in Christ, I must readily own my mistakes, not with guilt, shame, or in self-defeat, but with humility, recognizing the freedom and power of the Christ’s cross and resurrection. I am alert to the moments when I feel that I cannot be myself or speak of my failures, because of what people might think. In these moments, I muster my strength and courage to move in the opposite spirit and confess. Image control generates shame, because we believe that we are disappointing, unacceptable, and insufficient as the human beings we are.
Yet, a gracious, perfect God delights, accepts, equips and loves me in ALL my imperfection and mess. He sees beauty in my humanity, and modeled grace perfected in my weaknesses. If He can accept me in the midst of my failures, should I not be willing to accept others in theirs?
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