Note: This is something I wrote years ago. Recently, some potential information regarding my ancestry has come to light. It’s got me thinking a lot about the stories we all tell ourselves about who we are, where we come from, who we belong to. I’m going to pick up the thread of my adoption story again, but thought I would post this, especially as it relates somewhat to the current season. Merry Christmas y’all.
I’m a bastard.
I’m not cursing. I say this in the technical sense; I’m the product of a sexual union between a couple not married to each other. This designation would’ve carried a heavy weight in ages past; dishonor, limited opportunities, social stigma, but it hasn’t caused me the slightest damage; economic, social or otherwise. I was adopted at birth, given a good name, warm home. I wasn’t shunned or whispered about (at least not because of my parentage). In this, I’m extremely lucky to be born where, and when, I was.
Don’t think so? Let’s do a quick check of the synonyms for “bastard”: scoundrel, villain, rogue, rascal, weasel, snake, miscreant, reprobate, scumbag… Historically, “illegitimate” children were denied inheritances, societal standing, and other rights and privileges. This holds true in many places in the world today.
Anyway, it’s hardly a designation I want to lead with, but I won’t deny it either.
Even though I’m not publicly hounded by slander and stigma, I’ve never been free of internal accusations. Recognized at times, but mostly subconsciously, I’ve wrestled with the label and the associated questions — “What did I do so wrong?” “What’s wrong with me that my own parents didn’t want me?” — and accusations: “You are unlovable, unwanted and worthless.” These glances are cast from the inside out.
This internal monologue has subverted and sabotaged grace, and contributed to myriad unhealthy behaviors. Let’s just say it’s been a very long road coming to terms with why I feel and act the way I do, and where my feelings come from. A big part of the healing is understanding the way God seems to work in, among and through those, like me, who don’t “fit.” The Bible is full of stories of bastards, cowards, screw-ups, murderers, misfits, whores and scoundrels not just “used” by God, but favored by God. Loved by God.
Consider the four women listed in Matthew’s genealogical record of Jesus. Tamar, Ruth, Rahab and Bathsheeba, are all notorious for various reasons (although common to all of them are socially aberrant sexual behaviors). I have a theory — just imagination, no proof — about why they’re mentioned: As Mary considered her situation, betrothed but unbedded, about to give birth to a “bastard,” she recalled these women from the rich heritage of her people and suddenly identified with them in a personal way. She claimed them as her own, her spiritual “fore-mothers,” and began to understand that she too, although guilty of nothing, would be slandered, accused and shunned. In this lineage, she found not only comfort but strength and revelation of the love and presence of God. Maybe she’s even the one who suggested to Matthew that he include these specific mothers in his testament.
Regardless of exactly how they made the list, there they are. And just like Mary may have, I find a tremendous amount of comfort in their presence. I’m one of them. And like them, I pray that I might be included in some list somewhere of bastards loved by God and willing to be used to bring something good into this world, in spite of what it,, or even my own flesh, might say about me.