For Wilshire Baptist Church
Have you checked your permanent record lately? You know, the “permanent record” school teachers and principals told you about way back when?
Sunday morning while helping LeAnn get her Sunday school room ready for the pre-K class, I noticed a stack of manila folders with names on them, probably for the children who attend Wilshire’s weekday early childhood learning center. And the first thing I thought was, “Are these their permanent records?”
Growing up I’d often hear teachers say, “That’s going on your permanent record.” It was usually said as a warning or deterrent against poor performance or bad behavior. “Make that mistake and it will go on your permanent record.” When I was really young, I thought that was a real deal, but then I forgot all about it. I never saw my permanent record, so I don’t know if there were any commendations or criticisms in it.
The one time I know for sure when my permanent record received a black mark was in the dorm at Baylor. A dozen of us decided to prank a fellow resident late one night, and the noise we made infuriated the law student “dorm dad” living with his wife and new baby in the apartment below. He stormed upstairs, threw the door open, and took our names. Apparently, an incident report went into our permanent record along with our academic transcripts, but I’ve never seen that record either.
Later as a more responsible adult, I learned employers also keep permanent records documenting our mistakes and poor performance. That can lead to a PIP — performance improvement plan — served like a subpoena during an annual review. I’ve never had one myself but have had to help administer some.
Permanent records are also kept by insurance companies, credit agencies, vehicle service centers and healthcare providers, although I don’t understand why the health folks don’t share that record with each other instead of creating a new one everywhere you go. Some permanent records are helpful, such as when my regular vehicle maintenance provider asks a question like, “When was the last time your brake lines were flushed?” and I can answer, “Check the record.”
A truly permanent record is a central doctrine of many faith traditions. Parents and Sunday school or parochial school teachers might talk about St. Peter waiting for us at the pearly gates with a big book that holds a record of our good deeds and bad deeds. That’s been magnified by popular culture, such as at the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life” when a bell rings and we know Clarence, the guardian angel, has finally earned his wings by doing good. And on the other side of the ledger, Chris Martin of Coldplay sings in “Viva La Vida” about a bad king who lost his kingdom and confessed, “For some reason, I can’t explain, I know St. Peter won’t call my name.”
At some time in history, that same accounting and judgment power was assigned to Santa Claus: “He’s making a list, checking it twice, gonna find out who’s naughty or nice.” I always felt bad for the kids who had file folders full of citations for naughtiness.
I grew away from those ideas about permanent records and behavioral ledger books early in life. I think it’s because my parents never used a “permanent record” as a performance or behavioral adjustment tool. More often they expressed disappointment, and that was enough to set me straight. I might make new mistakes, but rarely would I repeat the old ones. And all along the way they still loved me and they let me know it.
That’s been my theological perspective most of my adult life. God is not making marks on our permanent record so much as being pleased like a parent by our successes and disappointed by our missteps, bone-headed decisions and most importantly our lack of trust and faith. If we had more trust and faith that “all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28), we would be less inclined to try and fix or control things ourselves, which often is what causes us to make mistakes and get in trouble.
The truth is none of us knows for sure how any of this works. Nobody has come back to tell us except for Christ, who did warn we would be judged if we judge others.
That’s my two cents on permanent records. Now, does anyone know where they keep our thinking caps? Apparently, we all had one in grade school because teachers were always telling us, “Let’s put on our thinking caps now.” I never saw mine, but comedian George Carlin talked about his: “I don’t even know if I still have mine . . . it’s probably in the closet . . . I saw mine once . . . kind of a leather deal, big metal hoops.”