Since we folded shortly after he joined us, this essay below was to be the first (and only) installment of Ron Chasteen's "Notes from the Lunatic Fringe" column in ST. His column used to appear in Zinograffitti, for those of you who remember that zine. Sadly and surprisingly, his wife replied to one of my emails in early April to say that he had just died, unexpectedly and in his prime. She was kind enough to give us permission to print this last piece.

Sadly, Ron felt he had to write under the pseudonym Helmut Rodriguez so as not to offend or embarrass some of those Christians in his life who might read his brutally honest rants. We envy him now, free at home with the King of Grace.

Anyway, I saw it laying there on the ironing board and thought to myself, "What the hell, might as well take it this morning. Fit right in with the rest of the deacons." Usually I cast a jaundiced eye on such ostentation. I don't need no big assed floppy Bible to impress people with my spirituality. Normally I get by with a Slimline NRSV or a pocket-sized New Jerusalem. A lot of times I don't even take a Bible, telling people that I've got it all memorized anyway. Of course they don't believe me, but it gets a chuckle and that's pretty much what I've decided my purpose in life is.

Maybe it's because I was feeling guilty about having sinned pretty good this past week, especially the previous night, and was feeling the effects of it this morning so strongly that I felt a need to compensate for my "carnality" (God, I hate that word!). Now, I know that the easiest way to compensate on Sunday morning is to get all dressed up and look good on the outside when inside you feel like dog poop. But I refuse to fall into that trap. No matter what I feel like, my attire is always jeans, tennis shoes or cowboy boots and shirt. During the summer it's shorts and sandals (and tank top). The only time I ever wear a suit is when I'm preaching that morning.

So I dragged the big assed Sword of the Lord with me to church and boy did I feel spiritual. The genuine imitation leather is nice and supple. It's slain more than a few in the Spirit when I've had the opportunity to wave it around in the process of cleansing some temples. The only thing that I don't like about it is that it's this wimpy brown color. I wish it were Amish black. Good and stern. Nobody messes with a person carrying a black big assed genuine imitation leather Bible. When they see a brown one though, they know that the person carrying it is destined for a double wide instead of a mansion in heaven. Brown just doesn't have that same seriousness. Maybe my ordination committee knew something back then that I didn't know.

When it came time for the sermon and the preacher told us to open our Bibles to some Old Testament book, I was ready. I lifted that thing from the pew with both hands and put in my lap. Then I flopped that sucker over to the passage. It was just like a big juicy steak that falls over both sides of the plate. I felt so spiritual ...until I started reading the passage.

God's pissed at Israel and he's threatening to inflict some serious ugliness on them if they don't get their acts together. We're talking plagues and minorities moving into the neighborhood. We're talking about wars and rising interest rates. Same old story, same old song and dance. I'll be playing that tune later on for the kids when I put them to bed. "If you kids don't shut up, I'm going to cut the cord on the Nintendo." If you don't obey me, I'm going to make your life miserable.

The last thing I need this morning is to be reminded that the Ultimate Cosmic Bully is pissed about my sinful ways and if I don't straighten up real soon, all sorts of ca-ca is going to be hitting the fan. The last thing I need is to be guilted into serving on some church board because this is "God's will" and I'm being disobedient if I don't. The last thing I need is somebody tallying up the score, because the odds are so far against me that there's no way I can make a comeback. I might as well give up. Sadly, my sins far outweigh my good deeds. Sin. I know all about sin. I'm real good at sin. In fact, I'll go as far as to admit that I'm addicted to sin. As much as I want to, I simply cannot stop doing it. I have to. I must. Sinning is right up there with eating, breathing, and sleeping. I simply cannot live without sinning. Go ahead God, let's get it over with, go ahead and send that plague of locusts down on my house. Then everybody in church will be able to proudly say, "I told you so. I knew he was one of THEM."

I would love to stop if I could. But I'm powerless. There are days when I simply pray, "Lord, I want to, but I know I shouldn't and I know that I'm probably going to go ahead and do so anyway. Lord, I'm powerless, so all I can ask you is to keep those opportunities away from me where I won't be able to. Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner. Maybe your people won't, but I'm praying that you will."

Maybe I made light of my spiritual condition as I recalled going to church that morning. But living in a world in which appearance is everything, unfortunately, is naturally carried over into church as well. We bring our big assed genuine imitation leather study Bibles. We bring our big assed theological words as well as a few Greek and Hebrew ones that we picked up in some Promise Keeper's meeting. We bring our nice and smiley nuclear family in our minivan, dressed to the hilt in our suits and dresses (always below the knee). We bring all these things to church and to God. But unfortunately God doesn't give a damn!

God doesn't give a damn because he sees beyond all that b.s. God sees our hearts. God knows all that "stuff" that we're dealing with. God knows we sin and are going to sin. God knows that we flat out take delight in some of those sins. God doesn't give a rats "behind" if I'm carrying a pocket Good News or some cheesy flavor of the month study Bible. All God wants is for us to come and worship him. I'm doing everything to stop from quoting a bunch of Bible verses to make my point, because that pisses me off when others do it.

You know what? If I'm so consumed with getting the holy you-know-what knocked out of me by the Ultimate Cosmic Bully, then there's no point in me even bothering with it, because I know He's going to win in the end. None of us stands a chance before Him on judgment day. I might as well give up.

And maybe that's what grace is all about: giving up. Giving up all pretensions, that we can do it on our own. Giving up trying to justify our existence in the eyes of others. Giving up trying to justify our existence to ourselves. Giving up trying to justify our existence to God. Giving up trying to earn the love of others and of The One. Giving up trying to be God and be perfect.

Yes, I sin and I am responsible for the consequences of that sin. But one of those consequences however, is not, not being able to experience the love of Christ because of that sin. Because no matter how many times I obey and get it right, I'm still going to get it wrong most of the time and I'm still going to bear the painful consequences of getting it wrong. That consequence of not being able to experience His love because of my sin no longer exists because of Christ's death on the cross, which was God's ultimate way of telling us to give up.

I go to church, not to be guilted or motivated into trying harder to get it right. I go to church because I need some healing for all the damage that I've inflicted upon myself and others for getting it wrong. I go to church for God's grace and mercy. Grace and mercy that no one else can give but God. I need to know. I need to be cleansed. I need to be pure. I need to know that I'm cool in God's eyes. And it sure is kind of nice if other people can see past the dirt and grime on the outside and see the shiny new inside that God cleaned up.

Sure I go to church to meet with God to find that grace and mercy. But as much as I hate to admit it, I also go in hopes that I'll find that grace and mercy from his people as well. People just like me. And sometimes, sometimes, God surprises me. Sometimes despite my cynicism, God answers my prayers and I find us putting our big assed Bibles down, giving up everything that we've held on to for dear life this past week and wrapping our arms around each other. A bunch of prodigals who have given up all illusions of self sufficiency and come home. Celebrating the fact that even though we are sinners, somehow, some way God not only sees us as saints, but allows us to see each other as saints as well.

Sure, we'll go back into the world and we'll keep on struggling with our secret sins. We'll keep on hurting and confessing and wondering when we'll get it right. But it sure is nice to know that it's okay to give up and to know that I'm not the only one who's giving up ...

But then again, what do I know? I'm just waving my big assed genuine leather Bible around, out here on the lunatic fringe....