A Pocketfull of Sins

I visited a new church a couple of Sundays ago. I do this occasionally in order to discover how other Christians worship. The church I visited had a friendly congregation. The members were hospitable and helpful. I never felt like a stranger. This church reminded me of the church I usually attend.

The worship service was excellent. The praise band was made up of talented musicians, and the song leader’s voice was clear and powerful. The Spirit was filling the auditorium as song after song was sung. Hands were lifted in praise. Tears were streamed in joy. Voices were raised in conviction. I too joined in the praise by lifting my hands and singing out loudly.

The preacher delivered a life-challenging, amen-echoing sermon in a loud, booming voice that the sound system could not contain. It was as if God was amplifying the preacher’s voice and the Spirit was directing it outside the church so that a passerby would hear the words and be convicted.

The sermon ended with a challenge. The challenge was to cease our sinning because when we sin we are driving another nail into Jesus’ hands. The audience was then directed to the back of the auditorium. Three five-foot cross were lying on the red-carpeted floor. Each of the wooden crosses were separated by fifteen inches.

We were instructed to form lines in front of crosses and think about a particular sin in our life, which we are struggling with. Once I reached the cross I took a piece of paper and pen from the attendant. I wrote down the sin which I am struggling with. Next the attendant gave me a hammer and a nail. I nailed my at the top of the crude, wooden beam.

Hands were hammering away on the crosses as everyone’s primary sin was nailed down. Hammers were shared. Hugs were exchanged. Tears were mixing on the crosses. These nailed pieces of paper were a visual example of what our sins do to the body of Christ. We all walked away with the pounding of hammers in our ears and the challenge of the preacher in our hearts.

Sunday School followed worship. One of the memebers escorted me to a classroom. I was welcomed by the teacher with a chair and a cup of coffee. The class was going through the Gospel of John. Halfway through the lesson I had to use the bathroom. I didn’t want to leave, but I could not hold it until the class was over.

Exiting the bathroom I took a detour. Instead of going back to the classroom I went back to the auditorium. I wanted to have another look at those crosses. I had been thinking all through Sunday School what was written on the slips of paper. I peeked my head around the door and saw that no one was there.

I walked to the cross where I had stood in line. I knelt down and looked at all of the tear-stained pieces of paper nailed to the cross. I looked up to see if anyone was looking and I ripped a piece of paper off. I opened the folded slip and read what was written. It said: “I put Canadian change in Salvation Army buckets.”

I scowled at the sin, and put it in my jeans pocket. I tore another one off the cross and it read: “I insert my name for Jesus while singing praise songs.” I gasped at this horrible confession and balled it up and stuffed it in my pocket. Another sin read: “I flip off the babies in the nursery.” It went into my pocket. “I make paper airplanes out of pages from my Bible.” Another in my pocket. “I use a small cross as a back-scratcher.” “I send diabetics boxes of chocolate signed from a secret admirer.” “I poured a bottle of Coke on a stranger in a restaurant stall.” "I'm not happy and I know it, yet I still clap my hands." "I put rotting meat in my neighbor's mailbox."

Sin after sin was crammed in my pockets. After a few minutes my pockets were bulging with the sins of the church. I was sickened by all that I had read. These sinners were the same ones I worshiped with earlier. I left without saying goodbye burdened with the sins of the church in my pockets. I even tore my own sin off. It read: “I lie a lot.”