Confessions

Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

While I was here for the parade yesterday, enjoying the humidity and getting to see many of you lovely people, I was asked a question that I think is an important one: what are your thoughts on confession? The question was less about confession in general, and more about the concept of the sacrament of confession as it exists in the Roman Catholic tradition—where you slip into a small booth, knock on the wall, and have a priest there behind the screen ready to hear about all the things you’ve done wrong since the last time you confessed. At least that’s how it happens in the movies and on TV. I’ve never been before. But I know that there are those in this community whose background is in the Catholic tradition. Is there anyone here who’s been to confession? Does it happen more or less like it does on TV? Confession is often dramatized and played up, especially in media. I’m a big fan of the British detective show “Father Brown,” which is about a Catholic priest in the post-World War Two English countryside who solves murder mysteries—as one does. Most of the confessions that he receives in this show are from people who have had affairs or from the murderers themselves. Of course, that always complicates things since Father Brown can’t break the seal of the confessional, so it’s still up to the killer to turn themselves in. Tricky stuff. 

In the real world, the concept of confession is one that makes many of us uneasy or even righteously indignant. Confession has long been used as a means of policing behavior, and is often employed as a weapon against queer and trans individuals, whose very existence is still considered sinful in many Christian traditions. Confession has also been used to inflict public shame and to coerce people into conforming to a particular way of being that is, often, rigid and demanding. During the Salem Witch Trials, men and women who were accused of witchcraft were pressured, by physical torture and by religious coercion, to make false confessions and to throw others under the bus with their confessions—especially unmarried women, unskilled brick- layers, and unpopular neighbors. Those who were accused were expected not only to confess, but also to repent and make a public statement of faith in weekly worship before being re-admitted fully to the fold. Today, and for centuries, the seal of the confessional, which prevents clergy from sharing publicly things that are said in confession, has been a barrier to those seeking justice for abuse by members of the clergy and members of congregations. In fact, New York is one of the states in the U.S. where clergy are still not listed as mandatory reporters of child abuse, though there is legislation in the state senate that would change this.

Confession is, like so many parts of various Christian traditions, a complicated thing. It has been weaponized, used as an instrument of hate, and made into a tool of shame and conformity. It has been used as a shield for those who seek to avoid accountability, both from the church and from other institutions. It has become the epitome of the guilt and repression that has become, in the popular conscience, the foundation of the Christian faith. I can acknowledge all of this, and still, you might notice, we continue to share in a prayer of confession week after week. This is because I believe that confession, even if it’s just corporate confession, can be a tool of liberation. When used appropriately, confession can be a means of looking honestly at the harm we have caused, the times when we have not done good, and laying down the burdens that we bear. It is a means of seeing our lives not as perfectly as we might like to present them, but as messy and flawed and complex. Confession can, and should be, about finding humility to know that we are not perfect and that we make mistakes—sometimes a lot of mistakes—but that no matter how many mistakes we make, God’s mercy is bigger than all of it. Confession is an admission that we are not yet perfect, that we hurt and cause hurt, and that we trust that God will not leave us behind in spite of it all. Above all, though, confession is—or must be—not a means of avoiding accountability, but of embracing it.

In the Roman Catholic tradition, confession isn’t simply saying out loud all the things that you did wrong. In fact, the sacrament that we call “confession” is actually the sacrament of reconciliation. Confession is only one part. What follows is a tangible response to the harm that we have caused. Reconciliation is about admitting where we fall short, and readjusting how we live our lives so that we’re less likely to cause the same harm again. When this church adopted our reconciling statement back in 2012, the statement that we typically call a “welcome statement” and that we think of as our way of saying that all are welcome here, that statement included a confession. Not the most direct confession, but it acknowledges that the church has caused pain by its exclusion and discrimination. With that confession, though, comes a commitment to turning away from that tradition of harm, and working with those who have known the pain of that exclusion and discrimination. It is a commitment to living differently, and moving onward towards being made perfect in love. And we still have a long way to go. And that’s not to say that we haven’t made the same mistakes, nor is it to say that we definitely won’t make the same mistakes again. It is a commitment to doing the work, though, and to working each day to carry that work forward. Confession, then, is a part of reminding us that we are not superior or exceptional or special, simply because we are privileged in certain ways. It is a reminder of our constant need for God’s grace, and our need to listen to those who are hurt by us, so that we might work towards reconciliation and true justice.

You may have heard that yesterday was the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. While there are always festivities and ways in which we celebrate this historic holiday, there were many who admitted to me yesterday that they didn’t feel much like celebrating. I didn’t either, but if I’m being honest the 4th of July isn’t a holiday that I tend to go all out for. Part of this less-than-joyful feeling, I believe, comes from the weightiness that its celebration brings for many. How can we celebrate this day when so much of what we see about America is the corruption of its government? How can we celebrate when there are masked individuals kidnapping neighbors in the streets? How can we celebrate when the Supreme Court hands down rulings that limit how our children live into who God has created them to be, and that expand the ability of states to discriminate against transgender athletes? How can we celebrate when migrants are stripped of what little protections they might have had? How can we celebrate knowing that our tax dollars continue to fund endless wars and unrestrained bloodshed? How can we celebrate knowing that none of this is new, but that it has come back to us in cycles of extremism again and again? I can’t speak for you, but the cheeseburger and sparklers I enjoyed yesterday didn’t really cut it. 

Confession, it is said, is good for the soul. It can help us to truly see the burdens that we carry, the burdens that we place on others, and the ways in which our souls and bodies need to heal. Confession, though, the acknowledgement of the ways in which we, as individuals and as a collective, have fallen short, is not the end. What comes next is a turning towards the restoration of wholeness. What comes next is the work of finding liberation and justice for all the world, not merely for the 340 million we call “American.” What comes next is living into the call that Christ places on each of us to turn away from the burden of all the harm we have done and all the ways in which we have failed to live into the liberating love of God’s kin-dom. May we hear this call, to lay down the burdens of sin and oppression that we carry—as individuals and as a people. May we hear this call, to open wide our embrace to the “huddled masses, yearning to breathe free,” those who have felt the weight of the burdens that we have placed on their backs. May we hear this call, and turn towards the work of true justice and reconciliation. May it begin with looking honestly at where we are and where we have been. Only then may we look towards the future where that bright star is cast. Amen.