False guilt and the deck of playing cards on my desk

Every week at our church’s mid-week children’s ministry I do an object lesson for our kids. It’s a great way for them to see me in a little different light and get to know me on a personal level. They think it’s neat that the pastor comes and shares a little of his evening with them. (At least I hope they do.)

            So a couple of weeks ago I was preparing for the lesson and realized I needed a deck of playing cards for the “object.” No problem, right? Well no, except for the fact I don’t play cards and therefore don’t own any cards. My father was very strict about the devil’s game, I mean playing cards, so we never learned to play. To him, playing cards was as bad as, well, going to the movies or chewing tobacco or God forbid, dancing. These were all sins of the highest order and his distaste for these wicked deeds soured my heart toward them too.

On my way to church that night, I reluctantly stopped at the neighborhood “Dollar General” and picked up a deck for a buck. I must admit I felt a little guilty. I looked around to make sure no one saw me and quickly tucked them into my coat pocket as soon as I exited the store.

 I did the object lesson (with a fair amount of guilt, I might add) and then brought the brand new cards back to my office and threw them on my desk…where they sat for several days. They were in a bright red box and every day I’d see them sitting there. Perfectly good cards, including the jokers, just sitting in the box…on my desk…in my office.

            Sometimes I’m pretty sure I heard the jokers snickering in the box. I’m not sure why they were mocking me, but I’m almost certain they were. I think they were pleased that I was coerced by the lesson to do something I wasn’t comfortable with doing. Or maybe they knew it was just a matter of time until temptation got the best of me and I actually opened Pandora’s box, I mean the box of cards. If I had ever decided to open the box, I’d have waited until my secretary left for the day and made sure the door was closed. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see me.

            One day I thought maybe I’d just run them through my shredder. But that meant handling them or perhaps someone seeing the tell-tale shreds when taking out the trash. I didn’t want to just throw them away for fear someone else may find them and use them. I could, I imagined, wrap them in a brown paper bag and then throw them away. Yes, that’s what I would do, wrap them tightly in a plain brown paper bag and put them in the dumpster.

            Some time has passed now and with the playing cards thrown away, I once again feel safe. By now those cards are buried beneath tons of garbage at the city dump. My problem is solved…except…except sometimes I still hear the snickering…down deep where no one else can hear…I still hear the jokers laughing. Perhaps it’s because the snickers weren’t coming from the box at all. They were coming from an accuser who isn’t as easily thrown away as playing cards.  

            The false guilt which we inherit…or catch…or somehow internalize is just that…false. It seems so real, it can do real damage, it can drive us to do things we should never even consider, but the hideous laughter convinces us that the shame and darkness are real. There is but one cure. Resist, reject, rebuke, rethink, reconsider, realize that the bony finger of the accuser is powerless unless you give him power. Don’t take him seriously, don’t give him credit, he is a loser, a liar and he doesn’t fight fair.

            The next time you hear the snickers, the laughter, the lies…don’t wrap up the deck of playing cards on your desk. Wrap up the real source of your shame and throw him in the dumpster!