It's Time to Sin More, and Hate Less

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It's Time to Sin More, and Hate Less

My soul is embedded with classic Catholic-sin like crimson rubies buried in a sandbox. And I'm not just talking about eating two helpings of double-decker chocolate cake (although I do that, too) - I swear, I lie, I mock the Bible, I use the Lord's name in vain (to name a few). I love the very term "sin" - never has there been a three-letter word with so much power, such drastic implications. But as far as I'm concerned, my sins are holy. Each moment, as my moral code thickens like congealing milk, I sin more - for I embrace my sin. As humans, we are born and die with a myriad of imperfections, but to fear sin and god is to fear life. I can't live this way because I know that if this intangible figure, god, did create the world, he/she/it (I'll use he for convenience) wants me to love it and live it. In living full-throttle, I become more faithful. And, at least, I can give god a good laugh in the process.

A friend once told me that she lived in fear of god - she didn't understand why it was a sin to kill someone who tries to kill her or swear or anything; she just feared that if god existed, she would go to hell for living outside the ten commandments. Although in her mind she dreamed of playful sin, her emotions could not understand that god, if he existed, might just accept her questioning, appreciate her vitality, and welcome her open-armed to whatever death is. And she never understood when I tried to explain that this here, this very moment, this day, year, life, this is my heaven and what comes after is for after's breath. She didn't see that my moral code is solid, that most of us sinners are unbelievably trustworthy becaus...

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...eeds to come to terms with his self-created "sin," not just make up for it. Similarly, Mrs. Sandy spends so much energy worrying about the consequences of sin that she never really explores the definition of it.

Even in the year 2000, we struggle with the concept of sin. In a world where 6-year olds sell cocaine so they can make money, we know not where to assign blame or when to feel guilt or how to resolve all the strife and hate and violence. Perhaps this is because we can't assign blame or feel guilt; we need instead to embrace, forgive, and love. We must recognize that if we don't blame the migrant farm workers in the novel who steal, we can't blame inner-city youths who sell drugs. It seems trite to say that we must treat hate with love, but it is the most fundamental concept that Americans still don't get.

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