“And Now Let us Confess Our Sins to God…” Preached on December 10th, 2017 at Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Mark 1:1-8 This is the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, Son of God, according to the gospel of Mark. John the Baptizer, a messenger, is sent ahead of Jesus and like the prophet Isaiah of old, cries out in the wilderness “prepare the way of the Lord.” In the days of Isaiah, the cry was for the people of Israel, exiled and separated from their only spiritual and physical home by the Empire of Babylon. For the people of John’s day the cry is for a people whose spiritual and physical home is occupied by the Roman Empire. The Baptizer has separated himself from the tainted religious institution. While some temple leaders have decided to cooperate with the Roman rulers, John has removed himself to the wilderness. People come from miles around to hear John preach as he reminds them that God has every intention of coming to end their suffering. They are required to prepare the way for the Christ who is to come. We might imagine that John would send them back to their synagogues to begin a fundraising campaign. After all, they are going to need build up their space to make room for the Messiah and all those will come to hear him speak. They will need to get the crews working on the highways and paths, so that the Messiah will be able to travel efficiently around the country. Even though they dislike the Romans, thank goodness for their focus on transportation and infrastructure. But, no, this is not how John tells the people to prepare a way for the coming of the Lord. Instead of getting buildings and systems into shape, John invites them to come and confess their sins. They are to get themselves into shape. They are to promise to turn their lives around, and receive forgiveness. And then they are to be baptized: adults and children, gentiles and Jews, pushed under the chilly waters of the River Jordan. The work of preparation is the deep heart work of confession and repentance. So, what do you think? Should we follow John’s example as we prepare the way for Christ this Advent? Should we call ourselves and others to confession and repentance? I have a feeling that many of us in the mainline church might shudder and say “no thank you.” Why might that be? Is it because the idea of repentance from sin is too much vulnerability for us? Is it because we associate the idea of sin and repentance with dire, unforgiveable acts? For most people, the things we believe we have done wrong, or failed to do right, are the most difficult things to share. We prefer to hide these things because they cause us shame. Exposing our sin and shame is probably one of the most excruciating things we could do, but also one of the most healing things we could do. So, let’s consider what we mean by sin. The best definition I have come across is from theologian, Paul Tillich’s who says sin is anything that separates us from God, others, or our own best selves. Molly Baskette, UCC minister and author draws on this definition, saying that “sin might manifest something that doesn’t immediately sound like sin: say, clinical depression, or anxiety or control issues.” But she goes on to say “of course, depression like addiction, is an illness and not a sin. But refusing treatment or keeping such issues secret from loved ones is [a sin], because it undermines our relationships and denies God the power to help us by all possible means.” [1] So, perhaps confessing sin is less about what we have done wrong and more about admitting our need for help. Of course, we frail human beings do things wrong. We hurt our loved ones ... spouses, children, parents and friends; we turn our backs on those in need; we make judgments about others; we over-indulge ourselves; and we take what is not ours. In cases where we have hurt others repentance will involve making amends, and asking the hurt one for forgiveness. We need help from God for these things too. Even though it can be excruciating to confess our sins to others, I have learned that there is a deep human need to do so. People often share details of their lives with me, in a way that could be thought of as confession. I want you to know that you are welcome to come and talk to me confidentially anytime. Feel free to reach out - we can have coffee together, or meet before or after church, or during my office hours. This is one of the most important aspects of my ministry with you. It feels good once a burden is shared, that is why so many of us will confide in a walking partner, our coffee buddies, our mom-and-me groups. Some years ago, while my children were young, I went on a retreat with a group of church women. One of the activities was to use a sand tray - like the one up here on the table here – to create the “story” of one’s life. The women on the retreat loved doing this. Moreover there was an unintended consequence of the activity. One by one, each woman would take another aside to explain their sand tray. One woman, a young mom like me, showed me her tray. She showed me how her children and her husband featured on the tray and the things they did together. But then she pointed to a tangled mass of moss, like this on the tray. “That is my spiritual life … confused and messy, I don’t seem to be able to find my way through to God.” The other moms who were on the retreat shared similar stories with me … “I don’t feel close to God” … “I want a spiritual life but don’t know how” … “I never really learned enough about my faith, and now I’m really challenged.” Besides going on the retreat, this group met every alternate week at the church. The idea of the “young mothers” group was to support parents in raising their children in the Christian faith. But it became clear to me after that retreat that the first thing these women needed was support for their own faith. During our meetings we would share confessions: the times when we had yelled at our kids or had felt small or judged by other members of the church or community. It was a safe space in which to share our failings as parents, as well as our joys. And it was particularly needed in a community, where so many parents attempt to project images of joy and perfection from what are often very broken and lonely lives. In the book “Standing Naked Before God”, Molly Baskette describes the way that confession saved her church’s life, while she was minister at the First Church Somerville, UCC. [2] She tells of a feature called the “liturgist program.” The liturgists at First Church don’t only read scripture. Each week a different person volunteers to make a public confession. They present a prepared story of a time when they needed God’s help in their brokenness. These are not things they are currently struggling with, but things they have worked through and, by grace, have come out on the other side. Liturgists talk of their struggles with addictions or eating disorders, anger management or taking a particular pleasure to excess. There is a beginning, middle and end to each story, after which the liturgist invites the congregation to please join them in a unison prayer of confession. The liturgist finishes the story with their own composed “words of assurance”, telling of how they received grace in their situation. Dare I dream that this program might one day be a feature at the Wollaston Congregational Church? Of course, not all our confessions are ready for public hearing. Sometimes we find ourselves in the middle of a struggle and cannot see the way out. Confession within a small group, like my moms’ group, or one on one with the pastor is a safe place. But there are times when formal confession, repentance and the assurance of grace, needs some ritual and the support of the faith community. John the Baptizer understood that this was needed for the people of Judah, all those years ago. As they came flocking together, I imagine him working his way through the crowd, beckoning them one by one down to the water. He listens to their confessions privately and then lays hands on them, praying with each one, before the gentle dunking them in the waters of life. For me, the most meaningful ritual confession in my own faith life, took place some years ago. The minister and the deacons of the church I attended at the time offered the imposition of ashes during an evening Ash Wednesday service. Each member of the congregation was invited to ask for healing prayers as they came forward for their ashes. The pianist played soft, reverent music as people walked up the aisle. A respectful distance was left between the head of the line and the person receiving healing prayer at the front. I came forward to my pastor and the deacon I had known for years. “What can we pray for, Liz?” my pastor asked. In the moment I knew what I needed “I need help letting go of past hurts.” And so they both laid hands on me, and my pastor gave thanks for me, “sister in faith, wife, mother and daughter,” and then lifted my confession to God asking for my healing. The ashes were imposed, and I walked back to my pew, the ash cross planted on my forehead like a medieval penitent. As others came forward I saw the same ritual repeated, the private prayers, lips moving and heads bowed. Everyone participated. Finally when all were seated, my pastor, and the guest pastor from the AME church worshiping with us, came together in the front. Words were exchanged, their heads were bowed, each prayed over the other and they imposed ashes on one another. It was a powerful moment in my life, but it was also a powerful moment in the life of that church. The people who had participated that day had come together, connected by a deeper authenticity than they had experienced before. I believe this is the preparation that John the Baptizer called for among the people of his time, and I believe it is the kind of preparation for the coming of Christ we are called to do today. It’s not for the faint hearted, it’s deep heart work, and at times it can be excruciating. But it is our own best hope for healing. And it’s our own best hope to create the space, so desperately needed, for the Christ to come to our world today. Let all of God's people say, Amen. [1] Molly Phinney Baskette, Standing Naked Before God: The Art of Public Confession, (Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 2015), 8 [2] Ibid.
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