My wife and I are repairing damage to our old house caused by renters. In our attempt to get it back on the market by the end of July, we recently hired a painter who has eyed me warily ever since he began working with us. “How long did you live here? I’ve been here all my life but I can’t quite place you. You look familiar…” I hate to tell him, but I prosecuted him. About five years ago he was in a bad place with alcohol. Everywhere he went, alcohol went with him. One night alcohol convinced him he was in good enough shape to drive. In fact, it told him, “If any police officers disagree, you’re hereby authorized to run from them. They can’t drive like you can!”

So he landed in my court with felony charges for “fleeing while DUI” in addition to the charge of “4th offense DUI.” The officers were adamant that he receive the full penalty of the law because, “He could have killed someone!” That was certainly true. Eventually he admitted his guilt and took a lighter sentence than would otherwise have been imposed. “A waste of time!” some huffed. “There’s no use trying to help people like him! I’m just glad I’m nothing like him! I work for a living!”

At some point during his legal process, I left my work as a lawyer and returned to full-time ministry. I moved out of state and have only recently come back to try to sell the house that has been hanging on for the last four years. I don’t know exactly what happened to him, but I have a good guess: during his brief time in prison he attended AA. In this case, it stuck, and after being paroled, he continues to attend meetings. I’ve never seen him look so good. He’s doing a fine job in our house, and he’s so much more personable than I ever thought he could be.

He met our neighbor in the local AA meeting, which is how he came to work in our house. “He does good work and he’s been through a lot,” is how our neighbor recommended him. Some of my best friends are in AA. My brother-in-law attended for years until he died. I love being around redemption stories.

But now the story turns. He can’t figure me out. I don’t want to admit what would certainly be an awkward truth--not yet anyway. While I was back in Indy, my wife told him that we had moved away to Indianapolis because I'm now a full-time preacher. He’s intrigued. He asks me, “What’s the name of your church?” I dread that question almost as much as any. “Church of Christ,” I answer, “but not like any you’ve met down here.”

I often feel the need to add this disclaimer to people I know have had a bad experience with our tribe. I had a bad experience in this town, and I was the preacher! So I know all too well how many others have had bad experiences. I want him to still be open to me. I don’t want him to assign me to the “judgmental, hates gays, anti-science, anti-intellectual, only-ones-going-to heaven” crowd which is the prevailing flavor in this county.

But like the praying Pharisee in Luke 18, I sometimes over-estimate my accomplishments. I am thankful for opportunities to continually learn to be less narrow, parochial, and judgmental than the church environment in which I was raised. I practice this through spiritual disciplines. I read my Bible every day and practice centering prayer. I have discovered fasting. I appreciate Benedict and the Ignatian exercises. I can clap my hands during a song, sing during the Eucharist, listen to a woman preach, and worship joyfully in an instrumental service. Yet I know that the final temptation of any deed is the temptation to arrogance, and in spiritual matters, arrogance often masks as gratitude.

God, please be merciful to me. I am a sinner.