Off to a bad start: original sin is a dark reality of human nature, but something light and lovely has an even greater power.

I'm ashamed to admit it. Garage sales bring Out the worst in me. Not as a buyer, but as a seller.

A while back my wife and I participated in our neighborhood's annual garage sale. The weather that day was so beautiful that there was very little traffic. About midway through, some friends of ours drove by to Say hello. That's when they saw the drafting table. "I've always wanted to get one of those for my daughter," Bill said. "How much?" Looking at my wife, knowing how helpful their family had been over the years, I said, "It's yours. Take it."

Since they didn't have any room in their car at the time, we told them we'd set it aside so they could pick it up later. Not five minutes after they left, a woman pulled up with her mother in the passenger seat. My entrepreneurial instincts were on alert. Finally I could salvage the day with a sale. Walking up, she pointed to the drafting table. "Is that for sale?" she asked. I couldn't believe it was coming out of my mouth, but I replied, "Yes." "How much?" she inquired? "Ten bucks," I said. In true garage sale spirit, she asked, "Will you take eight?" "Sure," I said. Completing the sale, I even helped put it in her car.

In spite of the sunny weather, a shadow of guilt fell over me. Though I wasn't able to quote it chapter and verse at that moment, St. Paul's words to the Romans came to mind: "I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.... I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do" (Rom. 7:15-19).

Shortly after the sale my wife came outside and immediately noticed the drafting table was gone. "Where is it?" she asked. Hoping for the best, I said, "I sold it." This, of course, was met with a "You what?" from my wife. "Well, you're going to have to call and tell them what happened."

Sheepishly I agreed. A few minutes later I called their house. "Bill, you're never going to believe it," I said. "A few minutes after you left, somebody pulled up and asked about the drafting table. I'm sorry, but we sold it to them."

He graciously congratulated me on the sale, and we ended the conversation. Hanging up, I turned to see my wife, who was listening to the call. "We sold it?" she said. "Leave me out of this."

My conscience batting average that day was pretty low. How I wanted to blame my friends for not picking the table up to begin with. Or the lady for even asking if it was for sale. Or my wife for making me stay outside and sell things. The only thing that would ease my sliding moral compass was to attribute it all to that nebulous and nefarious reality of original sin.

Mean-spirited

Whether we explain it theologically, psychologically, or economically, there is within the human person and society as a whole a deep wound. Where and when did this happen? The Christian tradition replies: Let me tell you a story.

It is in the story of Adam and Eve (Gen. 2-3) that one discovers the eternal contradiction. Made in the image and likeness of God, human beings refused this invitation and chose to chart their own selfish course. This originating and predisposing action led not only to tragic personal consequences but dire social ones as well.

Summarizing the situation, God said to Noah: "The inclination of the human heart is evil from youth" (Gen. 8:21). Soon after creation humanity's relationship with God was marked by division, resistance, and alienation. In short, getting the order all wrong, we began to love things and to use people.

One rainy afternoon I was playing Candyland with my daughter Cara. I left the room to get some drinks for us while she shuffled the cards. Returning, I offered her the first turn, but she refused. "Go on," I said, but she held her ground. So I picked a card and moved my gingerbread man ahead a few spaces. With a smile on her face, Cara picked the next card. It was Queen Frostine.

Coincidence? I think not. Anyone who's ever played Candyland knows this is the best card you can get. It allows you to move to the very end of the path to King Kandy and Candy Castle. It assures you victory. My lovely, innnocent daughter had rearranged the cards to her advantage. Where did she get such a competitive drive that would lead her to do such a thing? Surely, it was not I.

On another day last summer I was taking a walk with Cara and my son, Brendan. We reached a point where we could either go straight or turn left down an alley. The three of us know it as "the Secret Passage." Seeing it ahead, I asked Brendan, "Which way do you want to go?" He pointed, as he often did, to the alley.

My daughter, however, quickly said, "I want to go straight. That'll make him cry, then we can turn and go his way."

Taken aback, I responded, "I'm going to forget I heard that." But I didn't. I couldn't. Like the other example, I wondered where she could have gotten such a mean-spirited thought. Surely, it was not I.

First step into sin

As much as I fight against it, I am much taken with the historically Protestant perspective on humanity as massa damnata--a doomed lot. Experience seems to confirm it. How I need the Catholic teaching of the human person as fallen but redeemable through God's gift of grace first and our response to it later. The evidence, as illustrated in the movie A Man for All Seasons (Sony Pictures), is not encouraging.

One morning Thomas More is offered a bribe, a cup, by a woman with a case in his court. He takes it. On his return home More shows the cup to a young suitor, Richard Rich. Offering it to Rich, he asks, "What will you do with it?" Rich replies, "Sell it... and buy a decent gown." More, framing the rest of the movie, cautions him that greater bribes will come. He advises Rich, "A man should go where he won't be tempted."

Later Rich is asked by Oliver Cromwell, "What kind of thing would you repeat or report?" "Oh, nothing said in friendship," he replies. "Do you believe that?" Cromwell mockingly queries. After a few feeble protests, Rich responds, "It would depend on what I was offered." Cromwell offers him a position, collector of revenues for York. "What must I do for it?" Rich asks. The answer: Frame Thomas More.

Weakly objecting, Rich quickly and falsely offers information about More that later will be used against him. At the end of the meeting Cromwell utters, "There, that wasn't too painful, was it?" To which Rich remarks, "No." "And you'll find it easier next time," Cromwell adds.

Easier it does become, as later in court Rich testifies against More again. More's execution--and eventual canonization--is secured. Reflecting on Rich's character (and regrettably at times my own), I am reminded of a saying from the Talmud: "A sin repeated is a sin permitted." Sin, it appears, doesn't get harder with time but easier. A similar Latin proverb says: "He does not cleanse himself of sins who denies them."

A child shall lead them

Three-year-old Brendan gave me a nice image of original sin last night, although I'm sure he was stalling for more time to stay up rather than making an astute theological point. He pointed to his leg and said, "I need a Band-Aid. I have a boo-boo." Smiling, I looked down and told him, "There's nothing there. Now go to bed." He insisted, however. I relented and got him one.

I now see original sin as a wound just below the surface. We don't see the bruise, but it's there subconsciously. The older we get, the more calloused we are to it. Day by day, year by year, it becomes easier to live with. All the while it continues to affect our thoughts and actions.

Though I've had close to nine months to prepare, it still hasn't hit me that I am the father of a third child. My daughter Nora was born just days ago. I may be a bit prejudiced, but she is a beautiful child. As a parent, I believe that there is no greater testament to hope than to bring a child into the world. Yet with all three of our children there were those moments of doubt. What kind of a world are we bringing this child into?

Through no fault of her own, Nora is being introduced to a world that is consumerist, materialist, sexist, racist, militarist, and secularist. She is breathing, eating, seeing, touching, and hearing the sin of the world. As hard as it is for me to admit, it is not just the cultural context she is raised in that limits her freedom but also her familial context. As the saying goes, the apple does not fall far from the tree.

I cringe when I envision the first time--and it will come--that she sees sin lived out in and through me, when the saintly facade is broken, when she sees the fearful grasping of a sinner. In an attempt to excuse myself, I am quick to always point out to whoever will listen--my wife, children, students--that I will teach this gospel better than I'll live it. Yet if I don't live it, who will listen to my teaching?

I have to believe there is something else. Something that takes good, sensitive, caring, and compassionate people and makes them do things that are contrary to their being. It is something both internal and external. It is also something that is not only personal but social as well. The Catholic Christian tradition names this original sin.

Yet grace abounds

This may all sound rather depressing. But don't forget, I just had a new child. St. Paul's words return to me again, this time far more positive and fruitful: "For just as by the one man's disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man's obedience the many will be made righteous" (Rom. 5:19). With Nora, as with St. Paul, where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more. She, like my first two children, is the New Adam; in this case the New Nora.

In Nora Genesis is made real again. In this case, precipitated by my daughter's birth, "God saw how good it was" continues to be echoed in the heavens and on earth. The original blessing of creation that we are all made in the image and likeness of God is not cast aside as fancy idealism but proclaimed as realized. The cynicism, fear, and violence that appears in my daily newspaper readings is tempered by the hope, openness, and peace that Nora presents to me and those around her.

This scene is played out time and time again: Lucy holds the football, waiting for Charlie Brown to get ready to kick it. Despite evidence to the contrary, he always gives Lucy another shot at redemption. Approaching the ball full speed ahead, Charlie Brown thinks: "I believe that people who want to change can do so, and I believe they should be given a chance to prove themselves"--at which point Lucy pulls the ball out from under him and Charlie Brown lands on his back once again.

Original sin could be said to create a view of others, and more importantly of ourselves, that is negative, suspicious, and wary of our innermost being. I am called, however, to be as hopeful about the nature of humanity and creation as Charlie Brown.

When I bathe Nora, seeing the faith this vulnerable newborn has in me is humbling. It is a prayerful time. There I am, carefully placing her in the tub, making sure the water is not too hot. Gently I dab the water on her body and hair, washing her. This encounter, however, is far more cleansing for me than for her. In it she baptizes me into new life. Grace abounds indeed.

Thank you, Nora, my original blessing.

By MICHAEL J. DALEY, a teacher at Xavier High School in Cincinnati and the editor of the forthcoming book The Many Marks of the Church (Twenty-Third Publications).