It seemed to me, as a 12-year-old, that excommunication was the most awful thing that could ever happen to a person, worse than death; an all-encompassing, church-wide determination that a person had failed to π¬π¦π¦π± π΅π©π¦ π§π’πͺπ΅π© and had become a heretic or, πΈπ°π³π΄π¦, an π’π±π°π΄π΅π’π΅π¦.
To experience it myself, then, many years later was shocking. It implied I had not measured up to the expectation of Christian living, and this judgment sits uncomfortably with me. I had no glaring moral issue or unrepented sin that would give cause for such action. And yet, I felt like Hester Prynne, with the letter 'A' (for π’π±π°π΄π΅π’π΅π¦, in my case) painted in bold, vivid red on my back for all to see.
The seeming dismissal of the authenticity of my faith was and still is painful and difficult to understand. I wondered silently, π©π’π₯ I failed to π¬π¦π¦π± π΅π©π¦ π§π’πͺπ΅π©?
https://carrielloydshaw.com/keeping-the-faith/
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