Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Confession

 To confess your sins to God is not to tell [God] anything [God] doesn't already know. Until you confess them, however, they are the abyss between you. When you confess them, they become the bridge. Frederick Buechner
  
Since I couldn't sleep tonight, I thought I'd get up and do some writing.  I thought at first I would write about some of the books I've been reading, but a thought was gnawing at the back of my brain.  It seems that in nearly all the books I've been perusing of late, a common thread weaves through all:  Confession.  

Now I readily admit it's something I don't give thought to on a day-to-day basis.   C.S. Lewis calls confession the threshold in our prayers.  When I was first starting in my walk of faith, I learned a little acronym for "how to pray."   ACTS - Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication.  I have tried that, and it's handy and effective enough if a mnemonic device helps you connect with your Creator.  When I tried it, I understood that the C meant that I needed to tell God what I was sorry for.  But being mostly left-brained, I also reasoned since God is omniscient, He already knew what I needed to be sorry for...alas, I typically kind of gave that part of the acronym a token attempt.  So with that limited experience and pig-headed logic, confession is actually something more or less of foreign to me.  
I think there are a number of reasons for that.  
  • I grew up Protestant, not Catholic, so I never experienced what Catholics call the Sacrament of Penance.  In the churches I've attended, there has oftentimes been a corporate confession, and certainly a Confession of Faith; by and large, though, Protestants don't believe an intermediary is necessary for confession and absolution. 
  • My family didn't talk about personal matters between each other, let alone share our deepest secrets, sins and shame with an outsider.  
  • As an American...perhaps just as a human, humbling myself and giving voice to my wrongdoing just doesn't come naturally.  
Yet I'm starting to wonder if maybe I've missed the boat.  

In her book, Girl Meets God, Lauren Winner traces her steps from being born to a Jewish father and Southern Baptist mother, having to convert to Judaism in order to actually be considered Jewish, and then being wooed by Jesus and converting to Christianity.  Winner details her experience as a Christian in the Episcopal church and as such, talks about the rite of confession, The Reconciliation of the Penitent.  We've all seen at least the beginning of this portrayed in films - "Bless me Father for I have sinned."  On first blush, this might seem a little too Catholic for many sensibilities, but in the Protestant rite, it ends with the confessor also offering a type confession: "Go in peace, and pray for me a sinner."  

Winner recounts that she doesn't entirely understand how confession - in the sense of confessing sins to another person - works. The priest who acts as her confessor shares that he doesn't understand it much better, but perhaps there is something psychologically liberating in confessing via a semi-public rite.  Winner ties this in to her Jewish roots, explaining that on the holiday of Yom Kippur, "Jews confess their sins, both privately and corporately.  Before the holiday begins, they go around asking the forgiveness of everyone they have wronged; the Talmud teaches that God forgives the sins we've done against Him freely, but He will not forgive the sins we've done against our neighbors until they have forgiven us first.  One Jewish prayer book puts it this way: God's forgiveness for us is our forgiveness of other people running through us."  

While reading this book, I've also been reading another, written by the senior pastor of the church we're now attending.  From what I can glean, Brian Tome is not one to stand on ceremony, and is decidedly not an Episcopalian priest or likely a Talmudic scholar.  In his Free Book, Tome describes that years after confessing certain sins to God, it was brought to mind during prayer that he needed to confess in a different way.  So he wrote letters and made restitution to people he had wronged.  And while not explicitly advocating the formal rite of confession, he does say this:  "Freedom isn't cheap.  Talk is cheap.  If you want forgiveness and its ensuing freedom, you need to show it.  This means that as much as you are able, you need to try to right the wrong. If you stole money, it should be returned with the interest it could have earned. If you've slandered a person's reputation, don't just ask forgiveness.  Call every person involved and tell the truth - maybe take out a full-page ad in the local newspaper."  

My take-away from both of these authors: Confession is not just a going through the motions lip-service, and it's not simply a tidy step in our prayers.  What confession is... is necessary. 

Confession is necessary because it's biblical. 
"Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working."  James 5:16 ESV.  

Confession is necessary for restoration and reconciliation.  
Although God absolutely is the One who absolves (Isaiah 43:25, Psalm 103:12), confession is necessary because something has gone wrong in the world, in our hearts and in our relationships.  

Though nothing is said in James about offering absolution to one another, it clearly instructs confession on a lateral plane, not only to God.  Perhaps a reason for that is the clearing of the conscience, a psychological impulse as suggested by Winner's priest.  And of course as suggested by Matthew Henry in his commentary, it will lead to greater harmony:  "To acknowledge our faults to each other, will tend greatly to peace and brotherly love."  

But looking a little further in James, maybe there is another reason confession is necessary. 

 "My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and someone brings him back, let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins."  v. 19-20 ESV

How can we know if someone "wanders from the truth" unless we have relationships that are authentic, transparent, and include confession?  

Lauren Winner notes that confession makes sense because it is incarnational.  "Here, in confession, God is connecting us to Himself not through bread or oil or water or wine, but through another broken body, one who absolves you, and then says, 'Go in peace, and pray for me, a sinner.'"

Perhaps just as confession spans the abyss between us and God, it also can be the bridge between brothers.



Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Times Like These

I am a one way motorway
I’m the one that drives away
Then follows you back home
I am a street light shining
I’m a wild light blinding bright
Burning off alone

It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again
It’s times like these time and time again

I am a new day rising
I’m a brand new sky
To hang the stars upon tonight
I am a little divided
Do I stay or run away
And leave it all behind?

It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again
It’s times like these time and time again 

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Mail Pouch and Witch Hazel

NB:  This is a post from March of last year.  I'm in the slow process of trying to collate from various other places I've blogged on the interwebs to create on cohesive batch.

While doing some cleaning the other day (feeling particularly bored yet adventurous – and yes, Good Housekeeping still has me blacklisted), I was going through various things on the bookcase.  I came upon my grandfather’s journals.  Actually, journals is a bit of a misnomer, as these two volumes, spanning 1974-1995 are a cover-to cover combination diary, ledger, scrapbook, memoir, philosophical codex, almanac, historical record, hardcover safety-deposit box and catch-all.   For example:

In January 1974, my grandfather procured a 3-year subscription to “Field and Stream” for $8.95 , purchased a Salute to Glen Miller album ($6.86), and paid a buck and a half for a haircut.  He further documents the weather, my great-grandmother’s fall on the ice, the news of Hap Kreager (a soul unknown to me) trapping a 50+ pound beaver, and that he (my grandfather) trimmed the grapevines.  Also sprinkled throughout the pages are clippings of recipes, an occasional postcard, laminated pocket charts of wind-chill index and Canadian provinces, Bible verses and prayers, plus a veritable volume of pithy aphorisms (“Perfectionist: someone who takes great pains and gives them to other people.”).  On the right side of each page, he documented each day’s high points…mostly ordinary events.  On the left, a record of his cost of living – everything accounted for.

It’s a fascinating log jotted in his distinctive meticulous print and occasionally his calligraphic script, and I could read for hours these bits and pieces of a life that I truly loved and admired and didn’t always understand.

Rediscovering these has had some curious effects.  Some are straightforward and fun:  regaling my dad with stories from the journals and jogging his memories, laughing about his father’s attention to detail, eccentricities, humor…opening up discussions on cost of living, simpler times, people we remember.

Yet another effect is more self-reflective.  Perusing my grandfather’s minutiae and wisdom, I’ve stopped to wonder what kind of life am I living?  Certainly not the micro-examined life my grandfather chronicled – documenting rainfall amounts, a red-eye gravy recipe he particularly liked on a trip to  Midway Restaurant in Maggie Valley, NC, and the color paint used in the master bedroom (Olivette).  I smile at his details, but I’m concerned that I’m traveling too haphazardly, forgetting what happened yesterday, let alone a month or year ago.  Maybe I’m being too careless with time, missing too much, living somewhat slapdash.

I started having this sense that I was possibly a little too disorganized, floundering, a bit unconsciously going through the motions in recent months.  Perhaps it was a direct result of our daughter (only child) going off to college and the empty nest.  Much of our energies and focus that had been concentrated on her were now fumbling and diluted.  Some of that energy has regrouped and become anxieties, some of it transformed into worries about getting older.  But reading my grandfather’s journals has made me stop and think that maybe what I need to do is refocus and live more intentionally.  I don’t have to record the temperature and daily world events, or hyper-document every penny I spend as he did on each left-hand page.  Yet it’s possible the bigger lesson in his journals is to be more present. Live each moment fully aware and with purpose.  I need to ponder it all a bit more, but I thought this was a good place to start trying to sort it out.

On the last page of his journal on the inside of the hardback, my grandfather printed:  STOP! Let your soul catch up.

In March 1979, my PawPaw Mitch  spent a whopping $6.50 on Mail Pouch chewing tobacco and Witch Hazel.  Neither of those is on my list, but I’ll let you know how I’m progressing with my cost of living.
“The clock of life is wound but once
And no man has the power
To tell just where the hands will stop
At late or early hour.
Now is the only time you own;
Live,love,toil with a will.
Place no faith in tomorrow,
For the clock may then be still.”

PawPaw’s journal – title page

Monday, September 5, 2011

Dominoes

It's been a while.  

When Em was younger, one of her favorite books was Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst.  After having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad .... few years in and out of church.... and after a few more years of licking our wounds, we finally made it back to church.  Oh, we had tried before several times - at very good churches - but we weren't yet at a place to venture again with any real diligence.  Or at least that was the folly we allowed ourselves to believe in our grief, outrage and sorrow. And now for four weeks straight, we've been at church - no missing, no bellyaching, no dawdling or finding excuses.  

And God in His faithfulness has blessed that. 

In retrospect, I can look back and see the dominoes lining up, the timing and circumstance.  I'm not sure what the inciting event was, though I can see definite moments, but the dominoes started to tumble and the Spirit was determined in wooing us back to life.

When I was first a Christian in high school, it was commonplace for my other believing friends and I to query, "How's your spiritual life?"  Isn't it interesting Jesus never talked about His "spiritual life" as if it was something separate from His physical life?  Fully physical, fully spiritual - we are.   C.S. Lewis noted, "You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body."  

This was the opening song yesterday at church.  I was blown away as it took on new meaning as we looked again at collisions that happen in our spiritual and physical lives, how one impacts the other.  Just like dominoes. 


There's a fire starting in my heart,
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark,

Finally, I can see you crystal clear,
Go ahead and sell me out and a I'll lay your ship bare,
See how I'll leave with every piece of you,
Don't underestimate the things that I will do


And she was looking at herself
And things were looking like a movie
She had a pleasant elevation
She's moving out in all directions

(and she was)
(and I am)