Yesterday someone stole my red duffel bag while I was working out at the college’s weight room. Not much was in it except my big wad of school keys. It was hanging on a hook right by the entrance to the room, so the thief was brazen enough to take it right in front of people. Of course, the loss of my office and building keys is hugely inconvenient—and puts the college at some risk, but the loss I felt most keenly was something less tangible.
First, I felt this sour and sad feeling. The rec center was no longer a place to escape tension and the worries of the day. But the sourness radiated far beyond this place and incident. The whole world seemed—I know this is stupid—a little more rotten.
Two former students, who were on the rugby team and had been bench-pressing impressive weight, offered to beat-up the guy who took my bag. One was a former Marine and is now a bouncer at a local bar. It was a tempting offer, but I had no idea who the thief was. I filled out a police report at Campus Security and went back to my office. Replacing keys can take over a week, so I debated whether to lock-up my office or not. More sour feelings swirled as I thought about a thief having a key to my office. Undoing my sweaty workout, I grabbed a donut someone had left in the lobby and left my office unlocked.
As I drove home, I began thinking of what I had learned. “That’ll teach you to work out,” I told myself. “You should never trust people,” I thought. I also kicked myself for not watching who was coming in and out of the room. One of the terrible things about even small sins is that the victims often learn all the wrong lessons: bitterness, suspicion, fear, and anger. A single sin, like the first, brings into the world a poison that spreads far beyond the sin itself.
By the time I got home, I had calmed down and realized how much I hate sin. One little act of theft was poisoning how I saw the world. I hated the change in my heart. So I decided to reject the sourness; to have a militant joy, to turn the other cheek, to give the thief not just my bag but my sweaty socks too. I was grateful for the sharper hatred of sin, especially my own.
The Coos Bay police called and said they caught the guy who took my bag. They also recovered my keys. I may be asked to press charges, but I probably won’t. I hate sin—not him. I’ll drop the charges if he joins the rugby team.
