Tag Archives: repentance

Ash Wednesday: “Ash”? (March 5, 2025)

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Readings

Well, here we are again at Ash Wednesday with its “Remember that you are dust.” As I wondered how we might enter Lent this year that dust image got my attention, an image Scripture uses in a variety of ways.

The words that accompany the ashes echo that text from Genesis’ Garden of Eden story: “By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But ‘dust’ is not always the best translation of Hebrew עָפָר, so the Common English Bible reads “until you return to the fertile land, since from it you were taken; you are soil, to the soil you will return.” Not good news, but it recognizes an ongoing relatedness: adam (humankind) from the adamah (the fertile land). That relatedness is good news—and easy to forget. So I’m grateful for the various initiatives our parish is taking.

Dust. From this evening’s psalm: “For he himself knows whereof we are made; / he remembers that we are but dust.” Hashtag ‘dust’ positions us for God’s mercy. And the prophet Isaiah recognizes that not even death can get in the way: “Your dead shall live, their corpses shall rise. / O dwellers in the dust, awake and sing for joy! / For your dew is a radiant dew, / and the earth will give birth to those long dead.”

So there’s an implicit promise in “Remember that you are dust…” The year I was in the middle of a hospital chaplaincy program I made the promise explicit: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return, and from the dust you shall be raised.” And every year I remember that.

The raised part isn’t automatic, of course, which is why imposing the ashes in the shape of the cross is as important as the ashes themselves. The cross: Jesus’ path, Jesus’ way, our way with Jesus through death into life.

Our faithfulness to Jesus’ way is usually—shall we say—ambiguous, which is why Paul regards being reconciled to God as an ongoing project, why the BCP’s invitation to a holy Lent emphasizes repentance. ‘Repentance’: a $50 word for changing course, for changing.

Back in 1957 they made a short movie featuring the cellist Pablo Casals. The director asked him why at age 80 he continued to practice for hours each day. Casals answered: “Because I think I am making progress.”

That’s a lovely model for repentance. We often assume that repentance is about what goes on in the head or heart. But recall our Isaiah reading: “to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke.” Repentance needs to move to Casal’s fingers, to our hands and feet, to have any lasting value. And in any case, as Jesus points out, the heart pretty much just tags along after the treasure.

“Because I think I am making progress.” OK. “Making progress on loving God and neighbor:” where does that fall among my priorities?

There’s probably an unavoidable element of altruism here. Rowan Williams talks about decentering, abandoning—as often as I need to—that oh-so-attractive idea that I’m the natural center of the universe. But altruism isn’t the point.

Recall these lines from the Song of Songs that didn’t (alas!) make it into tonight’s readings:

10 My beloved speaks and says to me:
“Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away;
11 for now the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone.
12 The flowers appear on the earth;
the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
is heard in our land. (Cant. 2:10-12)

The noise and worries of the day-to-day can easily drown out that voice. Lent is our time to remember that for quite selfish reasons that’s the voice we want to hear, that hearing it more clearly, more often, might be worth some change.

Parenthetically, here’s one reason I want to hear that voice. Whether it’s Jesus’ “But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (Matt. 6:33) or the BCP’s “self-examination and repentance,” our responses often leave us overly serious and wound very tight. Jesus, in the midst of the Roman occupation and the multiple Jewish factions each claiming the Lord’s stamp of approval, responds with joy and generosity. There’s a lot I could learn from that voice.

Earlier I said that Scripture uses the dust image in a variety of ways. Here’s another, with which I’ll close. At one point the Lord said to Abram: “I will make your offspring like the dust of the earth; so that if one can count the dust of the earth, your offspring also can be counted” (Gen. 13:16). And in Scripture’s last book John gets a glimpse of the fulfillment of that promise: “After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!’” (Rev. 7:9-10). May we be numbered with that dust.

Jesus’ Baptism–and Ours (1st Sunday after the Epiphany, 1/12/2025)

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This sermon was delivered at Holy Cross, Wisconsin Dells, in 2022.

Then as now we’ve never lacked idiots declaring—often with sandwich boards—that the end is near. Perhaps that’s why Luke gives us two long chapters of backstory so that we take this “idiot” John the Baptist seriously.

First there’s Elizabeth’s extraordinary pregnancy when she and Zechariah are “very old” (CEB). Then Mary’s even-more extraordinary pregnancy, being a virgin. John is born to Elizabeth, and his father Zechariah responds with a lengthy prophecy speaking of “a mighty savior” and of being able to serve God “without fear.” Mary, even before Jesus’ birth, sings what we know as the Magnificat:

He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.

After Jesus’ birth the shepherds convey the words of the angel and the angelic military chorus, and Simeon and Anna add their witness in the temple. So, John the Baptist is no ordinary “idiot.”

John’s message is, I think, three-fold: (1) “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” God is coming to set things right. (2) Repent! When God comes it’s prudent not to be obviously part of the problem: stop hoarding, stop extorting! (3) Me, I’m just the warm-up act. It’s all very apocalyptic. The newspapers might have called it the “Apocalypse Now” tour. Things have to be pretty bad for apocalypse to sound like a good idea, and the crowds flocking to John give us a pretty good idea of life in the benevolent claws of the Roman Empire.

And, at the end of today’s Gospel: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” In those words of the Divine Voice many hear echoes of three biblical texts:

The new king’s witness in Ps 2: “I will tell of the decree of the LORD: He said to me, ‘You are my son; today I have begotten you’” (Ps. 2:7).

The Lord’s introduction of the servant in the midst of exile: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations” (Isa 42:1)

The Lord’s words to Abraham: “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you” (Gen. 22:2).

John is hardly underplaying what’s going on here! And all three of these texts continue to echo in Luke’s Gospel. Psalm 2: Jesus sorting out his messianic role, which is essentially about what it means to live as a human being. Isaiah 42: Jesus assuming the mantle of the servant—and invites his followers to do so as well. What sort of service pleases God? Genesis 22: Jesus continuing on a trajectory over which he has limited control.

There are many things that we might explore in this and the other readings. Since we’ll be doing the renewal of baptismal vows in a few minutes I’ll focus on just two.

First, this salvation that everyone’s been celebrating—Zechariah, Mary, Simeon, Anna, John—doesn’t play out predictably. Luke’s mention of John’s imprisonment brutally yanks John offstage, and signals what Jesus is getting himself into. This is probably not what John had in mind when he proclaimed “every tree…that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” And Simeon had warned Mary “and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” And the echo of the words to Abraham in the words to Jesus. Fast-forwarding to Paul, who started his career very certain of how God’s salvation was going to play out, being baptized into Jesus’ death and resurrection means giving up our illusions of control.

Second, for all that Zechariah, Mary, John, etc. get right, there’s plenty that they don’t get right, plenty of room for ongoing repentance. Zechariah responds with so little faith to Gabriel’s announcement that Gabriel decides it would be better for all concerned if Zechariah would just shut up until John’s birth. The story we heard last week of the twelve-year-old Jesus in the temple: every parent’s nightmare, but also evidence that Mary and Joseph had no idea who was living under their roof. This pattern continues with the disciples, so that in Luke’s telling they chose the Last Supper to continue their argument about who’s the greatest (22:24-30). They all end up abandoning Jesus. So, when in the renewal of the Baptismal Covenant we say “I will, with God’s help,” Luke would probably want us to remember that “God’s help” includes graciously accepting our repentance. Jesus tells us to accept a brother’s or sister’s repentance even seven times a day (Lk 17:3-4); our firm hope is the God does likewise.

Let us close with the collect for Friday from Morning Prayer: “Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord. Amen.”

“Good, I’m not crazy.” Mary & Elizabeth compare notes (4th Sunday of Advent, 12/22/2024)

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There’s a double dose of good news in today’s readings: God is indeed coming to set things right, and God generously invites us to be part of this. We’ll start with the invitation, then move to the setting things right.

The Gospel reading starts out “In those days…” If we ask “which days?” we need to go back a few verses and hear the angel Gabriel saying to Mary: “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

“Do not be afraid…” first, probably, because angels are powerful creatures. Gabriel’s one of the more powerful and he’s standing right there in the living room. But “Do not be afraid…” also because Mary’s a Jew, whose people have been colonized by a series of pagan empires for over five hundred years, Rome simply being the latest. Mary has to think back over 500 years to remember a time when the Jews were free—if only in theory. If we had to think that far back it’d put us before Columbus. After all that time, can the God of King David, who many think has been conspicuously absent for the last 500 years, be trusted?

Mary trusts, and at the end of the conversation responds “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” God gives Mary—gives us—the quite amazing dignity of being agents in this story. Recalling our reading from Hebrews, Jesus is able to say “See, I have come to do your will” because Mary has given her “Here am I.” Jesus offers up his body because Mary has offered hers up: “let it be with me according to your word.”

Mary’s response brings us up to today’s reading, in which Mary heads for the one person who might understand what she’s just gotten herself into. Elizabeth, her relative, is also pregnant, despite being “advanced in years” and previously judged barren. An angel had been involved in that one also. A year before all this happened, neither Elizabeth nor Mary would have had any thought of being part of a divine project of this magnitude. But here they are.

Elizabeth greets Mary, and her speech takes up most of the Gospel reading. We read Mary’s reply, “The Song of Mary,” between the first two lessons. It’s one conversation.

Why did Luke include this scene? It doesn’t particularly advance the action. But it shows us something we almost never see elsewhere in the Gospels, and never at this length: two disciples talking to each other. And what comes through in both their speeches is a combination of “Oh, good, I’m not crazy,” wonder at being in the story at all, and a fierce joy at what God is doing.

“Oh, good, I’m not crazy.” Neither of them say that; I suspect both were thinking it: Elizabeth, preparing to be a mother when most of her friends are enjoying being grandmothers, Mary, with the angel’s voice—it was an angel, wasn’t it?—ringing in her ears. When you get caught up in God’s projects it helps to have someone with whom to run a sanity check. This is why God puts us into congregations.

Both are a little dazed at being in the story at all. “[W]hy has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?” “[F]or he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.” And the joy: present in Elizabeth’s “the mother of my Lord” and developed throughout Mary’s song.

Repentance, about which we’ve been speaking these last weeks, is not the focus of the Christian life. That would be like a photographer spending all her time cleaning her lenses. But it’s necessary so that something interesting can happen. And in the encounter between Elizabeth and Mary, we have an image of what that “something interesting” might look like. Two strong women, dreaming dreams and seeing visions, supported by and rejoicing in each other’s friendship, rejoicing in the first stirrings—quite literally—of what God is doing in their midst.

God’s generous invitation to be part of God’s good news, extended not just to Elizabeth and Mary, but to each one of us. Recall Paul’s absurdly mixed metaphor: “My children, I am going through the pain of giving birth to you all over again, until Christ is formed in you” (Gal. 4:19 NJB). Until Christ is formed in you.

Now, what about this business of God coming to set things right? Here we might focus on these lines from Mary’s song:

He has shown the strength of his arm,
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.

Mary’s channeling pretty much the entire biblical witness here: we as a race have turned away from God and as a result regularly commit atrocities against our neighbors, all of whom bear God’s image. So “setting things right” is more than a bit of reform here or there. The status quo is inhuman. No wonder that the British banned the singing of Mary’s song in India during their rule, or that in the 1980’s the Guatemalan government banned its public recitation, or the military junta in Argentina banned its public display.[1]

Is God’s coming good news? If my status and riches depend on oppression and violence, not so much. So, not surprisingly, some of the most pointed prayers in the Book of Common Prayer are assigned to these four weeks of Advent:

Week 1: …give us grace to cast away the works of darkness…

Week 2: …Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins…

Week 3: …because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us;

Week 4: Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation…

So, in one of our prayers of confession, we acknowledge “the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”Is God’s coming good news? Depends on which side I’m on, the sheep or the goats, and the Advent season pleads with us to take this seriously.

OK, preacher, how do we witness to this? If the status quo is inhumane, what do we do? A good chunk of the New Testament is devoted to this question; consider these snapshots:

Jesus’ instruction: “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” (Mk. 10:42-44)

Philemon is a slave-owner and Onesimus a slave: Paul tells Philemon they need to treat each other as brothers in Christ. That plants the seed that eventually results in many countries abolishing slavery.

The first witnesses to the resurrection are women, and Junia is recognized among the apostles (Rom 16:7). Things like these plant the seed that eventually results in women winning civil rights and, in some parts of the Christian Church, the barriers falling to ordination.

“Honor the emperor” (1 Peter 2:17)—and hold the empire accountable for the pretty language it uses to describe its values (Acts 16:35-40).

In short, the default strategy is consenting to God transforming our life together in the church (“let it be with me according to your word.”) and that acting as a catalyst—as leaven—for the whole loaf. And, when it comes to it (“We must obey God rather than any human authority.” ([Acts 5:29]), not being afraid to cause “good trouble.”

God is coming to set things right and—wonder of wonders—we’re invited to be a part of that. How might that play out in the week ahead?

[1] See http://enemylove.com/subversive-magnificat-mary-expected-messiah-to-be-like/, accessed 12/7/2021.

Repentance (2nd Sunday of Advent, December 8, 2024)

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Readings

In our second reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians we heard: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians is known as Paul’s joyful epistle: God is powerfully at work in Philippi; Paul and the Philippians get to be part of it. But Paul’s words caution: there’s been a good beginning; there’s still a good way to go for the completion. And in between the beginning and completion he calls even the Philippians to repentance.

Paul, we might say, is happy to channel Malachi and John the Baptist—also when addressing the baptized!

Last Sunday we entered Advent praying “Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness…” Casting away the works of darkness is, of course, not simply what we do the first week of Advent, but what we do continually as Christians. We learn—and it is a lifelong task—how to recognize ourselves as sinners. It is like peeling an onion: layer after layer, and sometimes involving tears. As Luther put it in the first of his 95 theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent” (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

Repentance, of course, is not a stand-alone project. The “entire life of believers” revolves around loving God and neighbor. Repentance is about what gets in the way of that love.

Repentance, the core of our work in Advent. The classic treatment of repentance is in one of the homilies Queen Elizabeth sent to us clergy in 1562. This sermon is simply a summary and contextualization of that homily. Repentance: a process involving four steps: contrition, confession, faith, and amendment of life.

Contrition Contrition is expressed chiefly in the confession itself: “We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, / which we from time to time most grievously have committed, / by thought, word, and deed… / We do earnestly repent, / and are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; / the remembrance of them is grievous unto us, / the burden of them is intolerable.” A great deal of Scripture’s testimony is condensed in these words. God loves us—yes. We’re created in God’s image—yes. But we’ve responded to that love rather badly and marred that image. And so we return again and again to these words. They may or may not match my current self-image. If there’s a disconnect between the words and my self-image, the problem isn’t with the words.

Contrition involves both awareness of sin and sorrow for sin. Sometimes this comes easily. We screw up royally, we know it, we do what’s necessary so that it doesn’t happen again. There are some mistakes we only have to make once. That’s how contrition is supposed to work.

Often awareness of sin and sorrow for sin don’t come quite so easily. The minority party within us is aware; the majority is all for blurring the issue, changing the subject. We lack the imagination to see the effects of our sin on us and those around us.

Here’s one test. I should be able to talk about everything I do with someone. If I’m doing things that I can’t talk to anyone about, that isn’t simply a red flag. That’s all the klaxons going off and all the red lights flashing.

Sometimes the contrition we need has to do with sins we’re completely unaware of, but which those around us are quite aware of. So here’s the question: am I listening for what they might be telling me? Most of us do not like criticism, and our neighbors know that. So they’d be crazy to give a direct answer to “Tell me what you really think.” But if we’re trying to listen to both what is said and to the silences—with minimal filtering from our own fears and agendas we might pick up what we need to hear.

But whether it takes a short time or a long time to get to awareness of and sorrow for sin, in all cases it’s a matter of keeping the eye on the goal, love of God and neighbor. What’s making that harder? What’s eroding my desire to even achieve that goal?

And when for a particular sin we get to awareness and sorrow, it’s time to move on to the next step. There’s no value in wallowing in contrition (“Oh, what a terrible person I am!”), and it can quickly become counterproductive.

Confession Confession,expressed chiefly in the confession itself, is a matter of taking responsibility for these manifold sins and wickedness. Of course, none of these happened in a vacuum, but however much nature or nurture made these easier, they are still our acts, and we remain trapped by them until we acknowledge them as ours, until we confess.

Faith Here we’re not talking about faith in general, but the faith or trust that God will in fact forgive my sins, be merciful to me. There’s an important circle here that can spiral either upwards or downwards. If I feel little need for God’s mercy, I don’t need much faith in God’s mercy. I may not dare open myself to knowledge of that need without some of that faith. As I learn how much I need that mercy, the faith needs to keep up with the knowledge, or I end up in denial, spiral downwards. To assist that faith, in Rite I itself, after the absolution there is the option of reading one or more sentences that emphasize God’s mercy (page 332). To the degree that I’ve let myself acknowledge my need, I may really need to hear those! And, hearing those, I can continue to grow in self knowledge, and in faith in God’s mercy, and the spiral can continue upward.

By the way, sometimes believing that God will forgive my sins, be merciful to me, is difficult enough that it’s worth scheduling private confession with a priest. Sometimes hearing “The Lord has put away all your sins” face to face is exactly what I need to hear.

Amendment of life The invitation to confession already points us toward amendment of life: “and intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy ways” Toward the end of the confession we pray “and grant that we may ever hereafter / serve and please thee in newness of life, / to the honor and glory of thy Name.” In the Absolution: “confirm and strengthen you in all goodness”: this is not going to be easy. Were it easy, “strengthen you” would be an unnecessary petition.

Amendment of life isn’t easy. It involves change. It can be painful. The good news is that we don’t have to do it alone. It helps to have a friend with whom you can share your journey and get some accountability. You have a deacon and will soon have a regular priest: make use of them!

In our tradition we don’t expect to reach perfection in this life—but that’s no reason not to work towards it. We might work towards it for the sake of better loving God and neighbor, but few of us are far enough along spiritually for that to be a reliably sustainable motive. So here’s a more sustainable motive: the alternatives to amendment of life are even more painful. Recall M Scott Peck’s opening argument in his book The Road Less Traveled: “Life is difficult.… What makes life difficult is that the process of confronting and solving problems is a painful one.… Fearing the pain involved, almost all of us, to a greater or lesser degree, attempt to avoid problems” And, finally, this attempt “becomes more painful than the legitimate suffering it was designed to avoid.” So, amendment of life, the less painful option.

“And I am sure that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” We live between the beginning and the completion, and repentance is an ongoing part of our commitment to love God and neighbor. Repentance: Contrition, confession, faith, amendment of life. Sustained and empowered by Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, let us renew our dedication to this work as we continue in Advent.

That Rendezvous at the Jordan (The 2nd Sunday of Advent)

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Readings

Good morning, and welcome to the second Sunday of Advent. The prof in one of my undergraduate philosophy classes explained his lectures this way: I’m pretty much talking to myself; you all are free to listen and to expand the conversation. Not a bad description of this sermon.

This sermon will be on the short side. The challenges today’s texts pose are more behavioral than conceptual.

“And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to [John], and were baptized by him in the river Jordan.” Jerusalem to Jericho: I walked the middle stretch of that route the last time I was on an excavation in Israel. The first stretch is the more or less flat stretch from Jerusalem to the edge of the plateau; the last stretch is the flat bit once you reach the Jordan valley. The middle stretch: a narrow path that drops 3,500 feet.

I don’t go down to John—I don’t seriously enter Advent—if my world is working, if I can say “We’re doing OK.” Later in Mark we’ll hear Jesus say “Healthy people don’t need a doctor, but sick people do” (2:17 CEB). If I think I’m healthy I don’t make an appointment with a doctor, much less trudge down, then up from the Jordan.

If I say “We’re doing OK” our second reading has two things for me to think about. First, the new heavens and the new earth are coming, which will mean a sharp devaluation in our current currency. Even a wheelbarrow load won’t be enough to purchase even a slice of the bread of life. So how’s my balance of the new currency—love—doing? When Paul says “Owe no one anything, except to love one another” (Rom. 13:8) it’s that new currency he’s talking about.

Second, my “We’re doing OK” tells me I’m working with a really impoverished referent for “we.” What “you shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev 19:18) tells me is that my neighbor is part of my “we.” The divine patience Peter describes is also the patience so that this penny can drop.

No, we’re not doing OK. So, down to the Jordan…

Down at the Jordan, John “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Repentance. This Advent I’m finding this question uncomfortably useful: “Do I spend more time and energy angry at the sins of others or at my own sins?” As that famous Pogo cartoon put it “We have met the enemy, and he is us” (Earth Day, 1971). Not that the others are sinless, but focusing on their sins is unlikely to be productive either for them or for me.

I’ll risk an example. As Katherine Cramer, professor of political science at the UW Madison explored in her book The Politics of Resentment (2016), there’s a lot of resentment in rural Wisconsin directed at urban Wisconsin, a good part of it unjustified. But not all: Back in 1959 Ezra Taft Benson, Secretary of Agriculture in the Eisenhower administration, told farmers “get big or get out.” We like cheap groceries, and pay insufficient attention to the folk who foot the bill.

“Do I spend more time and energy angry at the sins of others or at my own sins?” Since I don’t know how soon I’ll have an answer I like to that question, here’s my backup question: “Do I spend more time angry at the sins of others or praying for these others?”

Watching the news, reading the newspaper, scrolling through the internet: these are spiritual activities, whether we do them in a disciplined fashion or not.

“And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to [John], and were baptized by him in the river Jordan.” Let’s join them.

The Second Sunday of Advent: A Sermon

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Readings

In our second reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians we heard: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians is known as Paul’s joyful epistle: God is powerfully at work in Philippi; Paul and the Philippians get to be part of it. But Paul’s words caution: there’s been a good beginning; there’s still a good way to go for the completion. And in between the beginning and completion he calls even the Philippians to repentance.

Paul, we might say, is happy to channel Malachi and John the Baptist—also when addressing the baptized!

Last Sunday we entered Advent praying “Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness…” Casting away the works of darkness is, of course, not simply what we do the first week of Advent, but what we do continually as Christians. We learn—and it is a lifelong task—how to recognize ourselves as sinners. It is like peeling an onion: layer after layer, and sometimes involving tears. As Luther put it in the first of his 95 theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent” (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

Repentance, of course, is not a stand-alone project. The “entire life of believers” revolves around loving God and neighbor. Repentance is about what gets in the way of that love.

Repentance, the core of our work in Advent. The classic treatment of repentance is in one of the homilies Queen Elizabeth sent to us clergy in 1562. This sermon is simply a summary and contextualization of that homily. Repentance: a process involving four steps: contrition, confession, faith, and amendment of life.

Contrition Contrition is expressed chiefly in the confession itself: “We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, / which we from time to time most grievously have committed, / by thought, word, and deed… / We do earnestly repent, / and are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; / the remembrance of them is grievous unto us, / the burden of them is intolerable.” A great deal of Scripture’s testimony is condensed in these words. God loves us—yes. We’re created in God’s image—yes. But we’ve responded to that love rather badly and marred that image. And so we return again and again to these words. They may or may not match my current self-image. If there’s a disconnect between the words and my self-image, the problem isn’t with the words.

Contrition involves both awareness of sin and sorrow for sin. Sometimes this comes easily. We screw up royally, we know it, we do what’s necessary so that it doesn’t happen again. There are some mistakes we only have to make once. That’s how contrition is supposed to work.

Often awareness of sin and sorrow for sin don’t come quite so easily. The minority party within us is aware; the majority is all for blurring the issue, changing the subject. We lack the imagination to see the effects of our sin on us and those around us.

Here’s one test. I should be able to talk about everything I do with someone. If I’m doing things that I can’t talk to anyone about, that isn’t simply a red flag. That’s all the klaxons going off and all the red lights flashing.

Sometimes the contrition we need has to do with sins we’re completely unaware of, but which those around us are quite aware of. So here’s the question: am I listening for what they might be telling me? Most of us do not like criticism, and our neighbors know that. So they’d be crazy to give a direct answer to “Tell me what you really think.” But if we’re trying to listen to both what is said and to the silences—with minimal filtering from our own fears and agendas we might pick up what we need to hear.

But whether it takes a short time or a long time to get to awareness of and sorrow for sin, in all cases it’s a matter of keeping the eye on the goal, love of God and neighbor. What’s making that harder? What’s eroding my desire to even achieve that goal?

And when for a particular sin we get to awareness and sorrow, it’s time to move on to the next step. There’s no value in wallowing in contrition (“Oh, what a terrible person I am!”), and it can quickly become counterproductive.

Confession Confession,expressed chiefly in the confession itself, is a matter of taking responsibility for these manifold sins and wickedness. Of course, none of these happened in a vacuum, but however much nature or nurture made these easier, they are still our acts, and we remain trapped by them until we acknowledge them as ours, until we confess.

Faith Here we’re not talking about faith in general, but the faith or trust that God will in fact forgive my sins, be merciful to me. There’s an important circle here that can spiral either upwards or downwards. If I feel little need for God’s mercy, I don’t need much faith in God’s mercy. I may not dare open myself to knowledge of that need without some of that faith. As I learn how much I need that mercy, the faith needs to keep up with the knowledge, or I end up in denial, spiral downwards. To assist that faith, in Rite I itself, after the absolution there is the option of reading one or more sentences that emphasize God’s mercy (page 332). To the degree that I’ve let myself acknowledge my need, I may really need to hear those! And, hearing those, I can continue to grow in self knowledge, and in faith in God’s mercy, and the spiral can continue upward.

By the way, sometimes believing that God will forgive my sins, be merciful to me, is difficult enough that it’s worth scheduling private confession with a priest. Sometimes hearing “The Lord has put away all your sins” face to face is exactly what I need to hear.

Amendment of life The invitation to confession already points us toward amendment of life: “and intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy ways” Toward the end of the confession we pray “and grant that we may ever hereafter / serve and please thee in newness of life, / to the honor and glory of thy Name.” In the Absolution: “confirm and strengthen you in all goodness”: this is not going to be easy. Were it easy, “strengthen you” would be an unnecessary petition.

Amendment of life isn’t easy. It involves change. It can be painful. The good news is that we don’t have to do it alone. It helps to have a friend with whom you can share your journey and get some accountability. You have a deacon and will soon have a regular priest: make use of them!

In our tradition we don’t expect to reach perfection in this life—but that’s no reason not to work towards it. We might work towards it for the sake of better loving God and neighbor, but few of us are far enough along spiritually for that to be a reliably sustainable motive. So here’s a more sustainable motive: the alternatives to amendment of life are even more painful. Recall M Scott Peck’s opening argument in his book The Road Less Traveled: “Life is difficult.… What makes life difficult is that the process of confronting and solving problems is a painful one.… Fearing the pain involved, almost all of us, to a greater or lesser degree, attempt to avoid problems” And, finally, this attempt “becomes more painful than the legitimate suffering it was designed to avoid.” So, amendment of life, the less painful option.

“And I am sure that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” We live between the beginning and the completion, and repentance is an ongoing part of our commitment to love God and neighbor. Repentance: Contrition, confession, faith, amendment of life. Sustained and empowered by Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, let us renew our dedication to this work as we continue in Advent.

Holy Saturday

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The Readings: Lamentations 3:37-58; Hebrews 4:1-16; Romans 8:1-11

The Lectionary readings bridge from the pain of Good Friday to the joy of the Jesus’ resurrection. On both sides of the bridge, the perhaps unexpected call to repentance and self-awareness:

Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the LORD. (Lam. 3:40)

Let us therefore make every effort to enter that rest, so that no one may
fall through such disobedience as theirs. (Heb. 4:11)

Even here, it appears to remain true that

  • Nothing is foolproof.
  • The line between wisdom and folly is often razor-thin. (See particularly Proverbs 26:1-12, particularly vv.4-5.)

Repentance itself is tricky. On the corporate level, C. S. Lewis’ “Dangers of National Repentance” warns “The first and fatal charm of national repentance is, therefore, the encouragement it gives to turn from the bitter task of repenting our own sins to the congenial one of bewailing—but, first, of denouncing—the conduct of others” (reprinted in God in the Dock; for a longer excerpt, Ken Symes’ blog).

In this election year the sins of our opponents are important; the challenge is to not let awareness and amendment of our own sins get lost in the shuffle.

“Indeed, the word of God is living and active.” In the tradition in which I received my early formation this was the go-to text regarding the Bible. Reading it today: it’s not about the power of God’s word as we choose to deploy it, but as God is already deploying it for/against us. To be wise is to recognize the deployment, to be a fool, to ignore it—like the wilderness generation of whom the epistle’s author is speaking.

Still speaking of our salvation, hard to say whether it’s Jesus or the Spirit doing the really heavy lifting. Jesus’ victory brings the Spirit onstage in a new way (Romans 8); it’s the Spirit that deploys the word for/against us (Heb 3:7—hat tip to Koester’s commentary). So, already in Holy Week: “Come, Holy Spirit.”