As a child, I was taught we are inherently unworthy of God’s love. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,” I would intone at Sunday mass, along with the other parishioners. I was imploring God, not just to overlook my theft of the last cookie in the pantry, but for something more fundamental. I asked him to remove the heavy weight of shame from my eight-year-old shoulders.
I had absorbed the doctrine of “original sin” into the marrow of my bones, even though it was hard to square with another key teaching of my church: God is love. Surely, I reasoned, a loving God would not send me to hell if I failed to believe in Him?