Mercy and Fresh Starts: Thoughts on Peoples' Skeletons in the Closet

Have you ever imagined starting over? Really starting over. I've read a few stories about people who have faked their own deaths, or assumed another identity. (No, I'm not going anywhere; it's an analogy. Hang with me a moment.) They wanted a fresh start, and they were willing to go to any lengths to start over. Maybe they'd made irretrievable mistakes. Maybe they'd made such a mess of things that they didn't see a way forward. Maybe they'd gotten involved with dangerous people and didn't see a way out. So there are stories where someone fakes their death. They count themselves as dead to the old, dangerous crowd -- and that frees them to be alive to a better life. The U.S. government even has a witness relocation program to help people start over. But that has a high bar for admission; for most of us there's no clean, legal way to start over. And even then there's the risk of running into someone that you used to know.

"Count yourselves as dead to sin, but alive to God." (Romans 6:11)

When it comes to sin, that's not too far an image from the idea of faking our own death. Not in the sense of starting a false life, but in the sense of starting over with a true one. When temptation knocks, we tell the devil, "Sorry, I -- er, I mean they -- don't live here anymore."

But there's always the risk of running into someone that you used to know. It seems to be a public sport to find the skeletons in peoples' closets, to dig up an old secret and say that one thing from long ago shows what a person is "really" like. But is one thing from a long time ago usually the true key to what a person is really like? And, from our faith: is that the good news? When we come across someone's old secret and have a chance to think differently of them, how about: Let's not, and let forgiveness be our choice. We can let them live a new life, and not be the force working against mercy. After all, who doesn't need mercy?