"Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then I am strong." (II Corinthians 12)

Some time ago while reading on the beach, Kathy found a fascinating talk show on the radio - something other than Rush Limbaugh. I believe it was the USA Network, and it billed itself as the radio network specifically for Christians.

Surprisingly, we found a fairly straightforward, reasonably balanced discussion of abortion, the rights of children vs. their parents, as well as a few other topics. The only time we thought they went a little overboard was during their commercials. They had only one, (which they played over and over), in which one of their largest contributors came on, and after identifying himself as one of their largest contributors, attempted to sell life insurance and other items pertaining to financial security. All of this he said would be done in a specifically Christian atmosphere (presumably over the phone), and one was just forced to believe every word he said was gospel because the background music was the theme to Bonanza, and how could we fail to trust as fine a Christian as good ole Ben Cartwright?

Anyway, I get uncomfortable when hearing on the radio or elsewhere that this is news or information for Christians. And I get uncomfortable when people tell me that they're Christians, because I wonder from time to time just how Christian I am. I don't mean that I don't love God, but I'm well aware that my behavior - or lack of it - doesn't really proclaim how much I love Him. I may be a Christian by name, but most of the time I think I'm a pretty bad one. What comes to mind is that wonderful line of John Donne: "I durst not view Heaven yesterday/ And today with words and flattering speech, I court God."

I'll never forget a number of years ago in Savannah our neighbor telling me with the straightest face and calmest manner that since her teenage daughter wasn't a Christian as she was (even thought they attended the same church), that therefore the daughter was damned and going to hell. This was not some dumb red-neck, but a beautifully educated woman.

A few more examples. On the local scene I continue to hear of groups of "Christians" who for social occasions segregate themselves from some of their peers who supposedly are not in their eyes equally Christian. And I continue to wonder why of the two bookstores downtown around the corner from each other, only one is Christian. Is this because of the books that they sell? But surely not every book in there is a Christian book. So does the owner mean that he or she is Christian? If so, how is her Christianity different from her neighbor? Or different from the owner of the other store around the corner: both of whom, to the best of my knowledge, are Christians.

Finally most of you have heard of my problems with so-called Christian music. Why are the truly great Christian masses of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn considered classical or fossilized, while so much of the theological and emotional pabulum disguised as music is considered Christian?

To me, most of these melodies are repetitious and the lyrics are so subjective, making it sound that the person doing the singing loves God so much, that he or she has absolutely no trouble living the Christian life. It all comes so easy for them. And since I know how difficult Christianity is for me, I can't begin to identify with it or them. Aside from not caring for it musically, I just feel guilty. So when people tell me, "I'm a Christian," I get the feeling that their Christianity doesn't necessarily include me. Or else I'm tempted to say something really brainless like: "Well I'm only an Episcopalian", as if we were less than Christian.

To be a Christian these days, it seems one has to make a show of one's religion: you buy Christian books; you listen to Christian music; you tell how often you go to church; you tell how much money you give to church; you tell how often you pray at church or at home; you tell how much you're doing for others; you tell others how much you love God, and you make it known to them essentially how good you are and that you never let God down. And yet, just about every single of these practices is condemned in the Sermon on the Mount.

So what does the Bible say to the rest of us who do not have such an easy time with our Christianity? What does God say to those of us who like St. Paul in the epistle, wrestle constantly with our besetting sins: those thorns in the flesh of which he speaks. What does God say to those of us who despair over our failure to be perfect? He says the most wonderful words: "Don't worry about it; my grace is sufficient for thee."

And since God's grace is sufficient for Paul, he concludes that he will glory not in his righteousness, but in his failures - he says he will actually take pleasure in his infirmities!

Now why would Paul - or anyone else - glory in his weaknesses? Why would we delight in our failures and infirmities? Because, as Paul says, it is when we know we are weak that we are best prepared to accept the strength of God. It is when we know our limitations that we can best believe that God's grace is sufficient for whatever perfections we lack.

This is one of the great passages of the Bible: so much the heart of Christianity, yet so strange and foreign to far too many of us. And yet, to glory in our failures can produce in us two of the most important Christian virtues: empathy (or charity), and humility: both of which seem to be lacking in many of those who call themselves Christian.

If we can recognize how difficult certain things are for ourselves, then we have to become a little more empathetic for others. I might be completely turned off by the sin of another, because his sin might be something very easy for me to deal with. But yet there is no way I can have any idea how mightily that other person might be striving to deal with that sin. By our own experience of failure, we can learn how long and hard our inner struggles may be, before the outward fruits of holiness begin to appear in us. So we can be - or ought to become - more empathetic toward others.

The second thing we can learn from our failures is humility, remembering that humility is defined as knowing the truth about ourselves. And this beautiful virtue of humility can be the magnificent result of the very unlovely act of sin.

The proper reaction to our sins and failures is to acknowledge the fault and go on with our lives. We do not profit at all from wallowing in despair because despair at failure indicates not humility, but pride. To be excessively downcast at our infirmities is to show an over-estimation of ourselves. Even being impatient with ourselves is a milder form of despair, and both these wrongs spring form the mistaken feeling that swift spiritual growth is easy, and that swift spiritual growth ought to be expected, when such a fine person as I is involved!

Thankfully, God's patience is very great. He not only understands our weakness, but also knows His strength: "My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness." "Therefore" says Paul, "I will glory in my weakness." If I've learned anything as a priest, as strange as it seems: sin rather than righteousness is the pathway to holiness. That is the absolute truth.

I mentioned Christian music a few minutes ago. I came across a little editorial a while back in a magazine called "The Door" which satirizes bad religion and bad churches. The piece was about a ski-trip being promoted in conjunction with the release of a new album by a particular Christian singer. I'll call her "Mrs. X." She was at that time very attractive, if not sexually provocative. And she is one who has at least in public, worn her Christianity like a badge. Listen to the irony in this excerpt:

"Dear Diary, The wife and I were down at House of Christianity today. Couldn't' believe what we saw amongst the tapes and CD's: a five-foot high picture of Mrs. X's face! What a babe! Her lips were, like, right there. Could sear her eyes were looking straight at me. What a great Christian witness she is. Have always loved her music. Praise the Lord daily for her.

"O look! Entry forms to win a ski trip with Mrs. X! Really! Some kind of promotional deal. New album. Just like her. So giving of self. To go with a total stranger on ski trip. What humility and faith she must have! What does her husband think? Who cares. Will fill out numerous entry forms. Must win.

"Wife not impressed. Complains. Mrs. X's pictures all over store. Notices excess makeup. "What's that all about?" she says. "Doing the Lord's work," I say. "Gotta look good." "Yes," says wife suspiciously. "Somehow here face does point me directly toward Christ!"

And he goes on to fantasize about his ski trip with Mrs. X, upon which he thinks "great thoughts, Christian thoughts, many deep and Christian thoughts."

What this writer to brilliantly caught was the fact that the emperor - or empress - has no clothes. That the so-called Christians are just as spiritually naked in one way or another as we are. In fact, many of them are worse off than we. Just because one says "Lord, Lord" does not make one fit for the Kingdom of Heaven. Sin rather than holiness is the pathway to holiness.

Never forget the words of John Donne: "I durst not view Heaven yesterday/And today with words and flattering speech, I court God." None of us is super-constant in our devotion. Thus it is when we know we are weak, that God can act His strongest. We all have our thorns, and we must remember our particular thorn or thorns in the flesh. Our ignorance of it can turn us into loathsome self-righteous hypocrites. Our awareness of that thorn, can transform our hypocrisy into charity and humility.

This is what Paul means when he speaks of glorying in his infirmities. Not that he will sin to his heart's content, but that he can actually sin boldly, because God strength (His grace) is sufficient: for Paul's weaknesses, as well as our own.