Today’s the day of grief, of waiting. The day of losing faith and hope in what was believed to be true. Forgive me for my rage in times of grief, for impatience in times of waiting. Forgive me for the times I lose faith–entirely–and let go of hope. Forgive me for not believing your promises, for trusting you. Forgive me for forgetting that “Sunday’s coming,” as they say. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
Forgive me. Forgive me. For not looking into your face enough. For not paying attention the sins that nailed you to the cross. Forgive me for my flippancy toward sin. And grace.
And now…just left Maundy Thursday services with Peter on my mind. The denials that come in the night. Forgive me, Jesus, for the times I’ve denied you–denied knowing you, denied loving you, denied sharing the story of what you–who broke your body for me–have done in my life. Forgive me.
Thinking about Judas today, in his negotiations over how much he’d sell you out for. It’s easy to judge him, blame him. But really, I’ve sold you out lots of times, I’m sure. For more. For less. Doesn’t matter. Forgive me for the times I’ve traded you for the things of this world.
Each day is a step closer to the cross. As I imagine it–your building fear, your knowing what was to come–I’m both sickened and heartened. Sickened for what you went through for me, for us; heartened for the same. But I ask your forgiveness for my own unwillingness to follow you to that cross, at least most of the time. Forgive me for how often I refuse to walk with you, beside you, to lay my junk down at the foot of the cross, to die to myself and my wants and my blech right alongside you. Forgive me.
We’re in the Lenten home stretch and now I’m looking back at this practice–kind of sick of it, kind of tired–wondering, hoping it was even okay to do. It’s been good: exploring the sins of my soul. But also as an exercise in what I will share in writing (in the moment) and what I won’t. Because although I’ve taken some sins–broad, wide–public, I’ve shared lots just in private. Some not even thought. Just sort of groaned. Either way, thank you for forgiving me. For your grace.
But it’s not been “fun,” the way I describe the confessional practice in Broke. When my kids and I write our sins on paper and toss them into the fireplace flames, when we smirk at the thought of parishioners wearing the ashes of our sins, striped and smudged in a cross on their foreheads.
And yet, it’s been good.
Anyway, today, forgive me for my environmental sins. So, so many here. But today I’m thinking of the waste. Forgive me for being too lazy to run back in the house and grab my reusable bags, thinking it’s “no big deal” to get plastic ones just this one time. Forgive me for the waste in products and packaging, for my over-consumption. Forgive me for driving when I could walk, for not remembering all I needed and having to drive back.
Amen for now… I think I’ll just add my other confessions right into this space….