It wasn’t me

It was the first real fire I had ever seen. There was what was left of an apple orchard behind my house, and near the street, almost directly behind us, was an abandoned barn. I was 10 or 11 years old when we arrived home to this towering inferno, flames and smoke were everywhere; the police, firefighters, and a kid about my age standing in the middle of them. He lived up the street and had a reputation for being a bit wild. He stood there with a box of matches in one hand and a gas can in the other. The first responders reported that he was standing like that when they showed up, transfixed by the chaos he had ignited. One of the police officers told us that he told them that he hadn’t started the fire, and when they called his parents, his mother said, “My boy would never do that!” 50 years before Shaggy sang it, this kid claimed it; “It wasn’t me.”

I watched Richard Nixon tell the country that he wasn’t a crook; he hadn’t sent those men to the Watergate Hotel. Pete Rose – Bill Clinton – Donald Trump – Jimmy Swaggert – Joe Biden – men with privilege caught red-handed could have sung that song. It wasn’t me. They aren’t alone – men and women through history and all around the world refusing to take responsibility for their actions. They hide behind their wealth and power and privilege, protected by systems that give them the benefit of the doubt and loopholes and deals. They gaslight and scapegoat and ask us what the definition of “is” is. They lawyer up – they convince their true believers that they are victims – it’s a witch hunt! they cry, knowing that some of those gullible fools will do anything to protect their leader. It wasn’t me! It must have been some other body, no, no, child; it wasn’t me (thanks, George Thorogood!)

These words have been offered billions of times to cover tracks or create an alibi. The words made famous by Harry S. Truman – The Buck Stops Here – seem less in vogue now. And it doesn’t matter how many videos we have or how many witnesses saw it; somehow, people caught with their hands in the cookie jar still try to get away with it. It wasn’t me. My enormous salary has nothing to do with the pitiful wages I pay my employees. My lust for millions in the offering plate has nothing to do with those poor people with nothing giving more than they can afford. My gigantic bonus has nothing to do with our closing that plant and moving it to Thailand. It wasn’t me – it was the market or circumstance or something else. No, no child; it wasn’t me.

Without our integrity, I was told years ago, we are nothing. We can restart, reconfigure, and repurpose, but we can never get our good name back. I was taught in Sunday school that our true character is defined by what we do when nobody is looking. Because God is watching. We won’t get struck by lightning or smote; those archaic images are no longer valid (never were, to be honest). How we live and how we take responsibility for our actions matters. We might be able to fool some people by saying it wasn’t me, but nobody is fooling God. God knows the real us. So do the right thing. And take responsibility. 

Prayer – Holy God, give us the courage to live our best lives and the integrity to take responsibility when we don’t. Amen.

Today’s art is “Integrity” by Linda Neal.

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