True Confession Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On October 6th 2019 Scripture: Lamentations 1:1-6, 3:19-26 This past summer I have been meditating on a question: what is a right response to the tragic events that come up in our news all too often? I’m thinking specifically of gun violence, and the frequent mass shootings in our nation. This is on my mind as we approach the first anniversary of the shooting in the Pittsburgh Tree of Life Synagogue. I’ve seen two responses, and I confess I have tended to one of them. The first response I’ve noticed is to offer “thoughts and prayers.” They say when lives have been taken, and victims are grieving and in shock, it is “too soon” to think about solutions to gun violence. Instead, we should be praying for those who are suffering. The problem with this response is that it (often) leads to no change. And gun violence remains a problem. The second response, the place I go, is to demand change especially to gun laws. It is an insistence that the status quo isn’t working and so we must do something about it. Of course, people who adopt this response care about the victims’ grief and suffering. But they see the solution as doing something about the situation, according to their own analysis. The problem with this response is that angers the people who believe strongly in current gun laws. It does not invite a meaningful conversation for those who care deeply about the situation but who have different perspectives. And so, gun violence remains a problem. And so, my meditations have led me to a different place. Now I believe that an appropriate response means beginning with deep communal lamentation and repentance. That is to say the community would enter the same grief as victims of the shooting. We would identify with the victims, crying out to God, lamenting the great tragedy that has come upon us. And then, we would throw ourselves on God’s mercy, because we know in our hearts we are culpable. These tragedies come upon us because we have failed in our calling to create loving community. We have built walls of defensiveness and fear around ourselves, our nuclear families and our small groups. We have raised damaged children who see no solution to their pain, but to inflict pain on others. Oh God have mercy upon us! This is the place I see the writer of our passages from the book of Lamentations we read today. He stands in the midst of ruins in the city of Jerusalem. The streets are deserted. Judah has gone into exile, her children have been taken away. People lie slaughtered on the ground, children and babies are starving in the streets. This writer laments the affliction of his people. The Babylonians have come in and ransacked the city. And they have taken almost all the people to exile in Babylon. The only explanation he has for this devastation is that God has brought this upon them. It is a punishment for their sins: failing to meet their covenant with their God. Even though he sees the people as culpable, he throws himself, with them, on God’s mercy. Surely this punishment is too great! Of course, the Judah-ites did not sack their own city. This was done by their enemies. And yet they had warnings. They did not listen to the prophet Jeremiah’s words of wisdom from God. They were proud, relying on their own power. They kept their God for themselves, seeing God as resident in their city and their temple. Something that God never asked for. Instead of building community with the enemy, they tried resist the greater external power. It didn’t work out. And so here the writer stands in the desolate city. And, still, there is a glimmer of hope, as he perceives God’s great mercy for the people. He perceives God’s longing to forgive the people and restore them as God’s beloved. In chapter 5 of Breathing Underwater, Richard Rohr talks about step 5 of the 12 step process. This step says: [we have] admitted to God and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. Rohr writes: “When human beings ‘admit’ to one another ‘the exact nature of their wrongs,’ we invariably have a human and humanizing encounter that deeply enriches both sides … It is no longer an exercise to achieve moral purity, or regain God’s love, but in fact a direct encounter with God’s love. It is not about punishing one side but liberating both sides.” [1] Rohr notes almost all religions and cultures through history have practiced retributive justice. We have tended to believe that sin and evil must be punished. We have distanced ourselves from our own shadow sides, by focusing on the wrongs of others. We think of good guys and bad guys and we know which we want to be. God’s justice is not retributive, but restorative. God wishes for those who sin to be transformed and restored to the way God has made them. God’s promise to restore the exiled people to Jerusalem is the metaphor for this outcome. The pathway to this restoration is found in God’s mercy. As Rohr says, God resists our evil and conquers it with good. In the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians, we too are invited to forgive others as a pathway for their transformation. Paul says “‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”(Romans 12:20-21) [2] I’ve heard it said that “God loves us just the way we are, and yet God loves us too much to let us stay that way.” God means for us to always be open to transformation, to becoming who we truly are. And, for Christians, this means true confession, repentance and forgiveness. Rohr talks about the red faced look of shame, when we are forgiven gratuitously and loved anyway. And I know this red faced experience only too well …especially from a time when a friend held me accountable for something I had done. I was leading a group from my former church. In one exercise I had members to share their passions. And then for some reason, for cheap laughs, I made a hurtful joke about my friend’s share. After the group was over, he confronted me. He told me he was “gob-smacked” by my remark. I realized what I had done and I felt ashamed. Because he held me accountable I was able to apologize to him. Not only that, I was able to admit this falling down to the whole group in our next session. This was genuinely humbling for me, but it also felt true and right. There was grace in the moment of receiving my friend’s forgiveness. Sadly, we are not always willing or ready to confess, or even to receive God’s mercy as a pathway to restoration. I had two conversations about confession and forgiveness in a church where I sometimes used to lead worship. The first involved an older woman, who did not like the corporate prayer of confession we said every week. “I am a good and kind person” she said, “I don’t need that kind of negativity.” I had to admit she was a good and kind person. She did a lot to help others. But confession is not only about whether we do enough, or whether we are kind enough. It is admitting that we all fall short of the mark from time to time in our thoughts, our words or deeds. It is our route to becoming the best version of ourselves. And it is also admitting that we cannot escape the sin of our community and our world. We are bound together in sins that simply are: the destruction of the environment, gun violence in our communities, the oppression of invisible people in the supply chain of our food and other goods. The prayers of confession in worship allow us to admit our culpability in these sins. The second person I talked with was a man who thought he was unworthy to receive communion. He did not tell me why. Perhaps he could not bring himself to confess, yet. Or perhaps he was confessed, and still could not believe he was forgiven. I was reminded of an introduction to the communion table I sometimes use. I talk of how we, here in church, strive to break down any barriers to communion. We provide gluten free bread for those who need it. We use non-alcoholic juice in the cup, so that the table is open to those in recovery for alcoholism. Then I say “if you believe that there is some spiritual barrier to your receiving communion … if you believe there is something you have done that excludes you from this table … remember this: at that Last Supper, when Jesus gathered with the disciples, Jesus knew that one of them would hurry away from the table after supper to betray him. And he knew that before the night was over, all the disciples would abandon him in fear. And still, he served them all.” Friends, let us review and admit our sins. Let us confess to what we have done individually and what we have done as a community, with lamentation and grief. Let us repent honestly and wholeheartedly. And then, may we come to the communion table to receive God’s great mercy and grace, because as the writer of Lamentations says: The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end. Amen [1] Rohr, Richard. Breathing Under Water: Spirituality and the Twelve Steps (pp. 39-40). Franciscan Media. Kindle Edition. [2] Rohr, Richard. Breathing Under Water : Spirituality and the Twelve Steps (p. 41). Franciscan Media. Kindle Edition.
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