All Is Grace_ A Ragamuffin Memoir - Brennan Manning [44]
Twenty-one years later I stand by what I wrote; those words are as true for me now as they were then and on the day of my mother’s funeral. That paragraph from Ragamuffin Gospel spoke to many people; they’ve told me so time after time. I must admit though that from where I sit today the paragraph is a bit much, a little wordy. I believe I can now whittle the lines down to a three-word response that incorporates all the truth of a verbose 1990s ragamuffin into a 2011 ragamuffin’s preference for brevity.
Question: “Brennan, how could you relapse into alcoholism after your Abba encounters?”
Answer: “These things happen.”
I’d like to give my good friend Fil Anderson the final word in this section. These words come from Fil’s latest book Breaking the Rules. He knows all about the response “These things happen.”
My highest hope is for all of us to stop trying to fool others by appearing to have our act together. As people living in intimate union with God, we need to become better known for what and who we actually are. Perhaps a good place to begin would be telling the world—before the world does its own investigation—that we’re not as bad as they think. We’re worse. At least I know that I’m worse.
Let’s get real. For every mean-spirited, judgmental thing some preacher has said, I’ve thought something nastier, more hateful and more cutting about one of my neighbors. For every alleged act of homophobia by my fellow Christians, I’ve done something stupid to demonstrate my manliness. For every brother or sister whose moral failure has been exposed, I’ve failed privately. No matter how boring followers of Jesus may appear to be to the outsiders, they don’t know the half of it; trust me.… If we really believe the gospel we proclaim, we’ll be honest about our own beauty and brokenness, and the beautiful broken One will make himself known to our neighbors through the chinks in our armor—and in theirs.2
Notes
1 Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel (Sisters, OR: Multnomah, 1990), 31–32.
2 Fil Anderson, Breaking the Rules (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2010), 80–81.
Part III
ME
18
I celebrated my seventy-seventh birthday in April. If you asked me whether what I have done in my life defines my life, I would answer, “No.” That’s not to diminish my sins or humble-bumble my successes. It is simply to affirm a grace often realized only in the winter of life. The winter is stark but also comforting. I am, and have always been, more than the sum of my deeds. Thank God.
If asked whether I have fulfilled my calling as an evangelist, I would answer, “No.” That answer is not guilt-ridden or shame-faced. It is to witness to a larger truth, again more clearly seen in my later days. My calling is, and always has been, to a life filled with family and friends and alcohol and Jesus and Roslyn and notoriously good sinners.
If asked whether I am going gently into old age, I would answer, “No.” That’s just plain honest. It is true that when you are old, you are often led where you would rather not go. In a wisdom that some days I admit feels foolish, God has ordained the later days of our lives to look shockingly similar to that of our earliest: as dependent children.
If asked whether I am finally letting God love me, just as I am, I would answer, “No, but I’m trying.”
Belmar, New Jersey, has been called “the Irish Riviera.” Wealthy New Yorkers used to drive the hour down the coast and renew themselves in the sand and surf. It was a resort, a summer place. But all that has changed. Now the cottages and boardwalk are occupied year-round; Belmar and its environs are full of residents. I am one of them. My apartment sits back off the street, behind a lovely old home with a porch and sycamore trees. My residence is almost hidden.