I Boast of My Immaturity

So now I boast of my immaturity. I boast of how young I am in this. I boast of my lack of probity. My lack of deliberateness. My ineptitude in judging. My complete astonishment and bewilderment in the courthouse. In the courtroom. In the jury room. In the judge’s chambers. In the prosecuting attorney’s office. On the judge’s bench. In the judge’s skin.

Now I congratulate myself on my bewilderment. On my confusion. On my stupidity before the question of who is in and who is out. Who is culpable and who is not. Who is evil and who is good. Who is suspect and who is blameless. Who is guilty and who is innocent. Who belongs and who does not. Who has been called and who has not. Who will go to heaven and who will go to hell. Whom God loves and whom God hates. Who is the greater sinner and who is the lesser sinner.

I boast that I do not know how God will judge when he chooses to put on his robe. I boast that I do not know what God’s own justice will be. Or is. Or has been. I boast that I am weak in mind and moral judgment. I boast that I have no convictions in these matters. That I convict no one in these matters. I boast that I have no zeal in the application of the law. That I have no facility with courtroom procedures.

I boast that I am a fumbler. A bumbler. That I have no particular insight. That I cannot be relied upon. That I am no leader of men and women. I boast that my moral sense is underdeveloped. I boast that I am a sinner through and through. I boast that I am a sheep, baaaing bathetically in the wilderland. I boast that I do not know my way. I boast that I do not have a plan. I boast that I am in control of nothing. I boast that I am dust, a bit of nothing with no consequence.

I boast that I am young in my faith. That I have no idea what it means. I boast that my moral sense is flawed. That my moral sense is deceptive. I boast that my moral compass spins and spins. I boast that I am lost and without direction. I boast that I whine and moan. I boast that I am a sniveling child in everything. I boast that I am an abject incompetent. An abject loser. An abject dependent. Infantile, really. A toddler who has no idea which end is up and which end is down. Who must be instructed. Who must be comforted and led. Whose nose must be wiped. Whose drool must be wiped.

Who thinks of nothing but play, really. Nothing but gamboling about. Under the great, wide universe of light. And dark. Under the great wide sky.