Our final question asks us to consider the nature of religious life. The specific inquiry is:  Does the fact that forgiveness is freely given to those who ask for it mean that offenses are insignificant and there is no real emotional impact on the offender?  

As we will see, that question is so old, it is actually asked in Christian Scripture.  We have already noted that David’s sins, although forgiven, were profoundly impactful on him and others, of course. To varying degrees this is the case for every religious adherent who fails to live up to the standards of their faith or their own conscience.

To understand this, we must briefly examine the nature of religious life. If the life of a faithful adherent is merely a contract by which they perform religious duties and get benefits, then we might conclude that once forgiven their failures have no consequences. If, however, the religious life is an expression of an intimate relationship, then sin represents a breach of trust and love between two persons, as it were. And that always impacts both parties.

The religious life is fundamentally a relationship. Like all relationships it includes a tacit or explicit set of expectations for behavior, but those “rules” serve the deeper reality of communion in love. This is the case both for theistic and pantheist traditions in as much as both types of believers seek union with a Divine or ultimate reality that is, in this life at least, distinct or separated from them in some way.  This relationship can be deeply personal. In fact, Hebrew and Christian Scripture speak of it as a marriage or union between a child and parent. 

This is significant because when forgiveness or restoration is granted in a relationship both parties are affected, sometimes profoundly. In this way, religious forgiveness is much different than a legal transaction. For example, if a police officer lets a speeder off with a warning, the driver may be relieved but his heart is not saddened by his failure to honor the City Council to whom she has pledged her life.

As stated at the onset of this affidavit my focus is on Christian teaching, but my work in ministry requires some familiarity with other faith traditions. Although the different means for forgiveness that Faith teach are of great importance, the idea that God, or Allah, Vishnu or Krishna is more than simply a judge administering punishment is not unique to Christianity.  It can be seen, for example, in names for the divine being. Every Surah (chapter) but one in the Qur’an begins with the divine name “The Exceedingly Compassionate One”, a title which goes beyond the formal role of supreme adjudicator.  Eastern traditions include expressions like “He Who Nourishes all Creatures”, and “One Who Loves his Devotees.”

Returning to my own tradition, in one of the most famous stories about him, Jesus interrupted an angry crowd that was about to stone a woman caught in adultery by making the mob an offer. “He who is without sin,” he said, “may cast the first stone.” One by one they walked away, until Jesus was left with the woman.  In the most superficial and reluctant way they had all “forgiven” her.  Jesus, however, stood near her and said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and from now on sin no more. (John 8).” 

The woman clearly had no relationship with the mob and no obligation to heed their implied call to righteousness, despite their forced mercy.  Their only “authority” was force and threat. They were literally only a Judge to her.  Her experience of forgiveness from Jesus, however, was intensely personal. Jesus showed up to save her. He stood next to her. He took her side in “court” and stopped her execution. Then he forgave her and called her to a different life.  He didn’t simply become a kind Judge who acquitted her. He became her Savior.  

This illuminates our question.  What would we think if her take-away from Jesus’ kindness was that her past and future sins are no big deal because God was not going to throw any stones? If that is what she thought, we could all likely agree that she had missed the whole point of her rescue. 

Another story about a judgmental crowd reveals still more about forgiveness and the relationship it creates.  Jesus was the guest of honor at a Pharisee’s home when a woman identified only as a “sinner” rushed in looking for him. The label “sinner” was a kind of demographic term some religious leaders of the day used to speak of the morally compromised and irreligious.  This sinner began weeping and anointing Jesus feet with precious oil and her tears. The guests were scandalized and the host chastised Jesus for letting her touch him.  

Jesus, however, was unashamed of her attention.  In the ancient world hospitality was a sacred social art that included a set of customs designed to welcome guests.  One of the basic courtesies was to provide a servant or family member to wash the dust off guests’ sandaled feet upon arriving.

Jesus reminded his host that no one had washed his feet until this “sinner” had the love and humility to honor him with that basic recognition and comfort. Then he made a comment that helps us answer our question. 

I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.

Luke 7.47

Forgiveness makes the truly contrite love the forgiver. People are sorrowful when they fail those they love, even if they are forgiven.  In that way, even forgiven sin breaks the sinner’s heart. For the penitent, sinning is more than merely breaking a rule. Sin betrays a beloved friend. And that hurts even when the friend forgives us. Indeed, forgiveness has a sweet sharpness to it that touches the forgiven soul with a kind of healing sadness.

We began by noting that this question is so old that the Christian Scriptures actually ask it. As we have already seen, virtually all religious traditions understand humans to be somehow broken and separated from the Divine by ignorance or sin or some other malady.  The author of the New Testament book of Romans recognizes this, and along with the rest of Christian Scripture teaches that the only way to restore our relationship with God is to be forgiven by him, for no other reason than his loving mercy. 

This free benevolence or kindness is called “grace” or “compassion” or “mercy” by the world’s religions and has a home in virtually all faiths.  That reality is at the center of Christianity’s message of grace, which teaches that forgiveness is possible because Christ suffered the judgment that was due to sinners when he was crucified.

With that in mind, Paul  pre-emptively asked our question: “What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may abound?” (Romans 6.1-2) In other words, “Does the fact that forgiveness is freely given to those who ask for it mean that offenses are insignificant and there is no real emotional impact on the offender. He answered with, “May it never be!” because he understood that the nature of forgiveness required loving sacrifice in the context of intimate relationship.

In my pastoral experience as well as my own spiritual journey, forgiveness is not an emotionless transaction that turns our transgressions into vapors that never happened. Forgiveness comes to people by the restoration of a kind and loving friend, and God. 

Even without a central act of atonement like the Gospels depict, forgiveness requires the forgiver (God, or a spouse, or friend) to pay the price by absorbing the offence without restoration. One might experience relief or joy upon their pardon, but they would likely never say that their sin cost them nothing.  

Finally, moving away from Bible stories and theological terms,  we can learn the same thing from the spouse who is forgiven for adultery. I’ve been privileged to witness that sweet and difficult scene more than once. And I have never heard the forgiven speak as if forgiveness erased their sorrow for the wound they caused and somehow minimized their unfaithfulness.  If it did, we would rightly conclude that they do not understand what they have done.

For these reasons, we cannot conclude that forgiveness erases the significance or emotional impact of sin on a believing, but imperfect, man or woman of faith. 

Assuming a person violates a religious or sincerely-held belief, can you explain emotional experiences that are common, even though the person may appear to continue to function normally, such as going to work? 

Having examined some of the framework associated with the role of conscience, sincerity, and training, we will now consider common internal mental or emotional responses to a failure of one’s convictions through a compromise of faith.

By its nature the religious life includes the conviction that the mind and heart are more than complex bio-electric machines. They are somehow expressions of the ultimate self, living before God or some other conception of ultimate reality. This spiritual self-awareness can be the fountain of the most pleasant human emotions including joy, contentment, peace, and many more.  It can also be the seat of unpleasant or painful feelings like guilt, shame, and even anguish. 

In the course of pastoral care, ministers, often witness both types in the life of their members. With regard to the harder side of the continuum, I have cared for men and women in complete emotional collapse after coming to terms with their own destructive behavior. I’ve seen that collapse erupt in deep wailing, in apparent catatonic daze, or self-loathing. Of course, these are extreme cases where the failure is of such a magnitude that marriages or careers are in jeopardy, prison is looming, or someone has been injured by the individual’s lack of self-control. 

I have also seen less drastic failures impose real distress on individuals. Although it is a difficult task to prescribe exactly what, and how much, a person should feel when they compromise their convictions, using the measures of magnitude and duration are sometimes helpful. For example, if an employee cuts out of work an hour early once but still logs the time, then he or she has committed a sin, to use religious terms. That is not good, but it is perhaps not the worst sin in a person’s life. However, doing so three times a week for two years adds a cumulative effect to the larceny that should, we hope, begin to bear down on the employee’s conscience. In this hypothetical, the duration of the failure multiplies its seriousness. The cumulative weight of that behavior will be experienced as emotional pain or dissonance. 

Compromises of graver magnitude can have deep impacts even if they are not repeated. In one of the most famous religious and political failures in history, King David used his position as monarch to have intercourse with a married women in his kingdom and then have her husband killed. That was serious sin by any account, certainly by the Bible’s measure. His moral collapse went undetected for a season by all but him. Once he was confronted, he fell apart in guilt and shame. He later penned words that other sinners have used to confess their own transgressions for almost 3,000 years,

For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.

Psalm 32:3–4

That sentiment captures the internal cost of moral failure; in this case, deep regret for horrible sins. David was forgiven for those sins, but he still bore significant consequences in his family and kingdom. Other sins are less dramatic, but almost always lead to internal burdens. In these ways, religious failures always have consequences, even if they are forgiven.

Naturally, most pastoral care is done in the context of less dramatic personal struggles. It is common, however, to minister to people whose more pedestrian difficulties are ongoing. After all, most people wake up with the same weaknesses they went to bed with the day before. Consequently, our failures and their related sorrows usually cluster in certain areas and form a pattern. 

We also see individuals withdraw altogether, and functionally leave a faith that they actually embrace, because they are not ready to believe it will actually find room for their imperfect soul.

When people come to terms with those issues, they commonly experience internal pain in the form of guilt, shame, anxiety, withdrawal from relationships, loss of sleep, and inability to concentrate. Activities they once enjoyed, especially religious activities, become burdensome and increase internal distress. They naturally feel unfit for the blessings and responsibilities of their community (religious or otherwise) but often do not want to, or cannot extract themselves.  The result is that once eager participants become reticent, and central members of the faith community marginalize themselves. 

Sometimes they respond with opposite impulses and fretfully attempt to reverse what they have done by hyper-engagement. This is most often counterproductive, because it attempts to mask the failure with other spiritual accomplishments. That can be problematic, but at least they remain involved. We also see individuals withdraw altogether, and functionally leave a faith that they actually embrace, because they are not ready to believe it will actually find room for their imperfect soul. In these cases, the self-imposed loss includes an entire network of friendships and social events, as well as the more formal elements of the faith community, like worship and instruction. 

I have witnessed these patterns over and over again. And while I do not wish them on anyone, they are actually part of how God has built us. One tradition in Christianity calls the conscience the soul’s “Sergeant of Arms,” given so that the believer might be regulated from within and drawn back to their better-angels, to use Abraham Lincoln’s phrase.

This may seem overdone and psychologically counter-productive to the modern mind, but it has proven inescapable regardless of one’s world view. Remembering what was said earlier about the universality of conscience and the equally pervasive reality of human brokenness, no one would be surprised by the emotional distress an atheist felt if his or her moral failure deeply hurt a child, for example. In fact, regardless of one’s vision of God, or not-god, most people would be disturbed if the offender was unmoved by his or her failure and claimed that regret and guilt are hold-overs from the dark days of religious ignorance.

In her very helpful best-selling book Daring Greatly, Brene Brown recognizes this internal “pain-principle” as part of the innate human experience. Her work is broadly researched and comes from non-religious perspective, but echoes what ministers have seen for millennia. She writes,

Shame is real pain. The importance of social acceptance and connection is reinforced by our brain chemistry, and the pain that results from social rejection and disconnection is real pain. In a 2011 study funded by the National Institute of Mental Health and by the National Institute on Drug Abuse, researchers found that, as far as the brain is concerned, physical pain and intense experiences of social rejection hurt in the same way. So when I define shame as an intensely “painful” experience, I’m not kidding. Neuroscience advances confirm what we’ve known all along: Emotions can hurt and cause pain. And just as we often struggle to define physical pain, describing emotional pain is difficult. Shame is particularly hard because it hates having words wrapped around it. It hates being spoken. (Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead, p. 71)

Many consider spirituality a deeply personal and private matter. Religious adherents agree. But participants in a faith-tradition have also realized that living in a believing community is just as vital to the soul’s life and health, so religious people would likely resonate with Brown’s explanation of the influence of shame on the longing for connection with others. Brown argues that virtually all people experience these things. My pastoral tenure confirms that. I’ve also noticed that if one believes they live before God and others in the community of faith, the impact of that pain can naturally be magnified. Thankfully, so can the comforts of coming to terms with your own failings in the context of a community that believes in a loving, forgiving God.

Without religious training or guidance, would you expect the person to figure out on his or her own all of the practical ways in which he or she might violate that belief or guard against its violation?

Our next question considers the likelihood that an adherent who has not received adequate training could consistently understand the practical demands of their faith and the methods of discerning what constitutes a violation.

I know of no major faith tradition that leaves its adherents to figure out the teachings and practices of their faith without direct guidance. Sadly, it happens, but when it does it is considered a significant deficiency in a ministry.

It is commonly understood that clergy preach, lead worship, provide crisis care for individuals in distress, and perform religious services like weddings or funerals. However, these higher profile activities can obscure the minister’s equally important responsibility of training believers on the way of life prescribed by the tenets of their faith. This training traditionally includes both the content of the faith, as well as how to live it out in the practical settings of daily life. 

Of course, this can include a sermon once a week, but that is insufficient by itself. Whether a Rabbi, Pastor, Imam, or Priest, the clerics of most faith traditions are charged with more than teaching “up-front.” They are also called to train adherents through small group and especially one-on-one in interaction. The Christian Scripture calls this work “discipleship” or “disciple making” which comes from a Greek word that means learner or student. Listening to a sermon is only one way, albeit an important one, the disciple learns. Disciples need both teaching and training.  

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jesus provides the prime example of the teacher-trainer. His sermons have given the world some of its most memorable wisdom, like, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” but the story of his ministry goes beyond public speaking. He spent three years literally walking through life with his disciples, training them to live their faith in the daily world, by augmenting his public teaching with more personal instruction. In this way, he became a model for all ministers who follow him.  

This method was not new to Jesus and, as we will see below, is not unique to religious communities. Jesus was part of an ancient tradition of walking philosophers and prophets, in both the Jewish community and the broader Roman and Greek world. This is how spiritual guides have made disciples for thousands of years. 

Being scattered and faint does not mean humanity is unintelligent. It simply means that we need help, all of us.

And it is clear that this was how Jesus wanted his followers to help one another. We read that once, when he saw a large crowd, “he was moved with compassion for them, because they were faint and were scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherd.” Matthew 9:36 Being scattered and faint does not mean humanity is unintelligent. It simply means that we need help, all of us.  And for this discussion it is notable that the great teacher did not lament that the multitudes did not have enough professors to teach them, or books to read, or even preachers to preach. We need shepherds to help us learn to live in fullness.

For thousands of years since then, the Church has attempted to answer that call. Other faith traditions have as well. The shepherd disciple-making model worked its way out in the first generation of the Church, and afterward, through the establishment of organizational systems designed to equip the members of the community, so they could train mature disciples. Speaking of Christ, one of the Apostles wrote that in addition to sending prophets who wrote the Scriptures, Jesus gave the church:

…shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Ephesians 4:11–14

The last words of that passage depict the expected condition of people who are left alone to figure out how to understand and live their faith. Without teaching and training, most adherents would be incomplete in their faith and unable to discern helpful from unhelpful teachings on important matters. In this text, the unproductive views in question are clearly religious and not completely foreign to the mainstream teachings of the early church. Clearly, the traditions of the church assume that the community of faith educates its adherents.

This is not because they are incapable of spiritual adulthood but, rather, because they have the capacity to achieve it. The objective is to lead people to educated, mature, self-governed faith. Intentional disciple-making envisions a fully mature believer who is capable intellectually and trained in the art of Christian living. The pathway to maturity, however, requires purposeful training in the way of life that Christ taught his disciples. And that requires the kind of ongoing training that Christ himself modeled. Without this, we would expect the adherent’s growth to be uneven and stunted. 

As noted above, these principles are recognized beyond religious communities. Most fields of study and vocations recognize that humans do better at almost every task if they are trained by others. For centuries the medical profession has understood that book and lab learning alone do not make a complete doctor. The business world offers internships and apprenticeships for the same reasons.  In fact, the widely popular personal mentor and coaching movement is a contemporary example of this ancient way. Individuals are discovering that coaching and mentoring are still the best way to realize one’s potential. Whether the “disciple” is a faith-adherent or a professional who wants to realize her vision of flourishing, we all do better, usually much better, when we are not left to figure out our way on our own.

Our third consideration examines the meaning of personal failure among adherents. Specifically, should one view a violation of belief as proof that a person’s faith is insincere?

When religious adherents are confronted with the lesser version of themselves, they commonly ask this exact question. In my experience working with people and alongside other pastors the answer to is only very rarely a “yes.” I have counseled individuals who have committed egregious sins that destroyed their home or business, a friendship or even a church.  Others faced less dramatic lapses that still pierced their conscience. In these settings I have sadly concluded that some were insincere, or in Jesus’ words, hypocrites. However, that number is very small. 

On the other hand, I regularly minister to believers who acted hypocritically in a moment or even for a season. In fact, the entire community of faith has done that at some time or another, including its shepherds. And although my experience is among Christians, I am confident that this is true of every religious tradition as well as every non-religious person. Consequently, I am very reluctant to ascribe insincerity to a person simply on the basis of their violation of a conviction. If the simple fact of violating our convictions means we are insincere, than it must be the case that no one in history has sincerely held a belief.

The world religions, generally understood, all acknowledge that humanity is somehow less than it was created to be, or at least less than it will be.  It is probably fair to say that most secular people would admit the same. Whether that deficiency is sin or ignorance, or destructive social forces is the subject of many books. But its fact is probably not worth much debate

In my tradition, that brokenness is sometimes expressed as a sickness, a wound, foolishness or weakness, but its most comprehensive name is sin, which Christianity teaches is a universal human problem. In fact, it is so deeply embedded in our condition that our entire relationship with God is predicated on his willingness, eagerness even, to forgive us of it freely.  A famous verse from the New Testament puts it this way, “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3.23.24). This affidavit is not a gospel tract, but these questions cannot be understood without some understanding of fundament principles. Chief among them in the broad Christian tradition, and common among religions around the world, is that we are somehow spiritually and morally broken.

Along with that truth comes a second that directly impacts the question of sincerity. Namely, this brokenness is not immediately repaired by faith or religious exercises. It continues to abide in us for our entire life. Of course, we expect disciples to strive and grow. When Jesus said, “Follow me” he meant to lead us into greater faith and obedience. But that following comes in fits and starts. It often becomes more noticeable over time, but ministers are rarely shocked by failures because we never expect authentic believers to become perfect.

In fact, we are commanded to be patient with one another by stories like this,

Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.

Those words cannot mean that people who struggle with sin are hypocrites or insincere. They seem to teach us that God understands that we are weak and calls us to treat the failures of others with charity.

Obviously, this is not to say that there is no such thing as a hypocrite. In fact, Jesus saved some of his harshest words for them.  When calling out the strictest religious leaders of his day, he let these words fly,

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and the plate, that the outside also may be clean.

Matthew 23:25–26

A few Pharisees actually became followers, but these harsh words were spoken to a set of severe, judgmental men whose vision of morality was merely outward. They had not considered the condition of their own hearts allowing that self-knowledge to lead them to humility before God and charity toward others. Instead, they harshly judged the spiritual masses whose faults they eagerly pointed out.

Yet, Jesus never called the sinners he spent time with hypocrites even though they were clearly broken people. He could call his own disciples foolish or slow to understand. He rebuked Peter once by actually calling him “Satan” and in the Sermon on the Mount he told his people that we all have evil in our hearts.  Still, he never wrote them off by calling them insincere. They were just imperfect, perhaps deeply so.  Although it became one of his most endearing names, the moniker “Friend of Sinners” started as a criticism from Pharisees who were bothered that he took meals with those of ill repute. Ironically then, for Christ the insincere hypocrite is not the one who stumbles, but the one who doesn’t own up to his or her failings and judges others. Evidently Jesus was comfortable around the imperfect. It was the perfect he struggled with.

Pastoral care for the fallen begins with the spiritual reality of our conflicted and broken souls and takes it leads from Christ’s patience with sinners.  This is not to say that the confessing member faces no consequences. As we will see, even forgiven sin brings its own judgment in relationships, health, or emotional pain. And the community of faith, through its shepherds may also take definitive actions by admonishing the member and insisting that they make amends when possible. Officers or other leaders in the church can lose their position of influence or even their ordination. In more positive terms, we may provide counseling or education about their particular struggles.

Sadly, a few do not respond to the overtures of grace and prove to be insincere. However, that conclusion is reserved for those who are recalcitrant in their disobedience for prolonged seasons or insist on categorically refusing the oversight of the church. In these cases, the issue is not simply that they violated a code of behavior. Their ongoing unwillingness to own the reality or seriousness the sin reveals the insincerity of their faith. 

These principles guild the care of people who stumble. Their failings are not minimized, but they are not evidence their hypocrisy either. In the vast majority of the cases, their fall simply means that they did truly need forgiveness all along and that won’t ever change.

Do adherents ever have religious or sincerely-held beliefs that are different from or in addition to those beliefs established by the religious community that they profess to belong to?

The first question before us has to do with the relationship of the individual to his or her religious tradition. Specifically: Do people ever have religious or sincerely held beliefs that are different from, or in addition to, those beliefs established by the religious community to which they profess to belong?

Individual believers clearly hold particular views about how to live and are generally not considered to have compromised their faith if their scruples demand stricter or lighter adherence in certain matters. It would be foolish to assume a congregation of believers is composed of individuals whose beliefs are completely identical. 

In fact, from its origins, Christianity has understood this, and insisted that individual members’ views be respected by the larger community, as an expression of the person’s faith and conscience. A man named Paul, one of the authors of Christian Scripture, provided the foundational statement of this principle,

Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification. Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All food is clean, but it is wrong for a man to eat anything that causes someone else to stumble. It is better not to eat meat or drink wine or to do anything else that will cause your brother to fall. So whatever you believe about these things keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the man who does not condemn himself by what he approves. But the man who has doubts is condemned if he eats, because his eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin (Romans 14:19–23)

These words are directly relevant to our present considerations. Paul is counseling those who feel free to eat as they please. He tells them not to tempt or judge brothers and sisters whose conscience forbids eating certain foods. Obviously, an employer is not in the same position as a fellow member of an employee’s religious community. However, the relevant matter here is that individuals clearly may have divergent consciences on various issues, especially as they relate to food. 

What’s more, the conscience is taken very seriously. Paul reminds the Roman Christians that “the man who has doubts is condemned if he eats, because his eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin.” The conscience was held in such high esteem that disregarding its voice was considered a sin even if the act itself was not. This is not because Paul thinks that the deed might actually be immoral. Rather, he teaches that the conscience is one of the places where life is lived immediately before God, and casually casting off its counsel is not good for the soul.

Since Paul, the Christian tradition has understood some matters, like various food scruples, to fall under the category of adiaphora, literally “indifferent things.” To be clear, I am not in a position to determine whether or not the plaintiffs’ actions fall in such a category. The point is more refined. An individual adherent’s idiosyncratic scruples do not necessarily pose a contradiction to the authenticity of their submission to the broader, more authoritative, teaching of their tradition. The central concern is that, within boundaries, the conscience of the believer must be respected.

The importance of this principle is reflected throughout later Christian history, including contemporary doctrinal standards. For example, we see it in the Vatican’s official teaching through New Catechism of the Roman Catholic Church,

Man has the right to act in conscience and in freedom so as personally to make moral decisions. He must not be forced to act contrary to his conscience. Nor must he be prevented from acting according to his conscience, especially in religious matters. (# 1782)

A human being must always obey the certain judgment of his conscience. If he were deliberately to act against it, he would condemn himself. Yet it can happen that moral conscience remains in ignorance and makes erroneous judgments about acts to be performed or already committed. (#1790)

The Reformation leader John Calvin represents a different tradition within Christianity, but he also affirmed the centrality of the individual’s sense of right and wrong when he said that the conscience, 

Stands as it were between God and man, not suffering man to suppress what he knows in himself; but following him on even to conviction. It is this that Paul means when he says, “Their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing, or else excusing one another.” (The Institutes, Book III, 15)

The legitimacy of an individual believer’s right to form his or her own regulations for behavior is also reflected in the historic tradition of vows and oaths. The Westminster Confession of Faith was written in the 1640s as a systematic summary of the doctrines and practices of a large group of English and Scottish Christians. The writers affirmed the individual’s right to frame his or her own faith practices with these words:

Whoever takes an oath ought duly to consider the weightiness of so solemn an act, and to vow nothing but what he is fully persuaded is the truth: neither may any man bind himself by oath to anything but what is good and just, and what he believes so to be, and what he is able and resolved to perform. (Westminster Confession of Faith, 22, III)

In the Christian tradition vows are voluntary by nature. But once taken, the primacy of the individual conscience is to be respected as a kind of self-imposed law. Again, it is clear that the individual may take positions on matters which are distinct in ways from the larger tradition. The larger community is called to respect those choices.

This survey has called for patience with technical religious words written ages ago. Their historic context, however, testifies to the long-standing importance of conscience. Whatever the perceived value of Christianity’s historic teaching for the reader, it is clear that the choices of the believer’s conscience are to be cherished as vital to his or her life with God.

That sounds like the start of a bad joke, but it’s actually the start of a lawsuit I was asked to provide expert testimony for by the Rocke Law Group here in Seattle. The three religious adherents worked for a manufacturing firm that provided lunch for employees in order to maintain plant security and production efficiency since the building was isolated. Each of the men’s religions included dietary restrictions, and they petitioned to have them accommodated since lunch on site was required.

By the time I was contacted, things had become personal.  The company’s attorneys somehow discovered that the employees were not perfect devotees of their Faith. Since the men had sometimes compromised their convictions, the argument went, their complaint was invalid.   The Rocke Law Group reached out to me for help which I was glad to offer, for a fee. Hey, I watch legal docs on Netflix, and these poor guys weren’t in my church. 

There were other benefits, too. The exercise forced me to think about faith, conscience, and integrity in the context of the broader human religious condition as well as the current zeitgeist of skepticism so many have about religious people. The latter was certainly at play in the company’s defense. 

This series will explore the 5 questions I was asked to answer in writing for the case record and in preparation for testimony. The 6 parts of the series includes my introduction to the court (below) and the questions I was asked to testify about in the case.

You’ll be glad to know I’ve redacted the part that established my expert credentials. I was very impressed with me and would have charged more if I had written it before the agreement.

To the Court:

The conscience is at the center of human spirituality and its expression in religious community, but it is not only a religious phenomenon. As C. S. Lewis, the author of The Chronicles of Narnia, wrote, “Human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and cannot really get rid of it.” (Mere Christianity).

In broad terms, the conscience is the soul or mind’s guiding voice on matters of values or morality in relation to our thoughts and actions. Although culture, worldview, and nurture clearly inform it, most religious traditions, including Christianity, teach that our sense of conscience is inherent to human nature. Other perspectives believe its origin is not created in the strict sense but formed by social forces over ages and ages. Still, it is the rare soul, religious or otherwise, who is not thankful that something in their neighbor guides them to be kind and polite and keep their music at respectable levels.

In this capacity, the conscience is almost universally seen as a necessary component of a healthy person. And as such, it often seems to offer its approval or disapproval of our actions without being asked. Who among us, after all, goes looking for things to regret saying or doing? Still, regardless of a person’s religious sentiment or rejection of theism altogether, we do regret saying and doing things all too frequently.

For those who do not profess a traditional faith, or perhaps any faith, that dissonance might be addressed by careful examination of issues and personal reflection without religious categories or oversight. Religious adherents do the same. However, they commonly use the teachings of their faith, the guidance of their religious community, and various spiritual practices as framework for examination and reflection. It is altogether common to reflect on whether our behavior affirms or challenges who we want to be, regardless of our religious views. Religious or not, human imperfection and the desire to live up to our values appear to be givens.

These observations bring us to issues raised by this lawsuit. In this submission to the court, we will explore answers to the following questions from a religious and pastoral perspective.

• Do adherents ever have religious or sincerely held beliefs that are different from or in addition to those beliefs established by the religious community that they profess to belong to?
• Assuming a person has a religious or sincerely held belief, should one view a violation of that belief as proof that the person is insincere?
• Without religious training or guidance, would you expect the person to figure out on his or her own all of the practical ways in which he or she might violate that belief or guard against its violation?
• Assuming a person violates a religious or sincerely held belief, can you explain emotional experiences that are common, even though the person may appear to continue to function normally, such as going to work?
• Assuming all that is required, under the person’s religious or sincerely held belief, is to pray for forgiveness, does that mean there is no offense and no emotional impact on the person?

The case was settled the night before I was scheduled to testify. Like my preaching ministry, it’s hard to say whether all these words made the difference.