"ANGELA ATWOOD WAS a dear, honest, sincere girl, who—like Christ—died for her beliefs."
These words actually fell from the lips of the Reverend Citro, a Roman Catholic priest . . .
"ANGELA ATWOOD WAS a dear, honest, sincere girl, who—like Christ—died for
These words actually fell from the lips of the Reverend Citro, a Roman
Catholic priest, as he delivered Angela's eulogy to those who had gathered
in St. Paul's Church of Prospect Park, New Jersey. Sadly, this young woman
was one of the six hard-core Symbionese Liberation Army members killed in
Los Angeles in 1974. The way the eulogy was delivered, you'd think she was
martyred—you'd get the distinct impression that the SLA is a religion that
will save society's soul if we will only allow its members to carry on
their "ministry" of terrorism, kidnapping, armed robbery, and murder.
"Sincerity" is considered the international credit card of acceptance.
Flash it in the face of Mr. and Mrs. Gullible Public and it will be honored
without question. No matter how deeply in debt the user may be or how much
the card is misused, "sincerity" will erase all suspicion and validate all
actions. You don't even need to sign the voucher. Just write "I'm sincere"
at the end of each transaction, and you'll become another in a long line of
card-carrying creatures who keep our world on the edge of crisis. For some
strange reason, justice sleeps as judge and jury smile at the ultimate
verdict, "Not guilty because of sincerity."
But does this mean that sincerity is questionable? Not really. It might be
better to say that the value of sincerity depends on what it represents.
Here's what the Bible teaches:
I pray that your love will overflow more and more, and that you will keep
on growing in knowledge and understanding. For I want you to understand
what really matters, so that you may live pure and blameless [sincere]
lives until the day of Christ's return.
When the Son shines through and tests our lives, the absence of cracks will
guarantee the presence of truth. You cannot separate the two . . . no
matter how sincere you may be.