A sermon on the sacrament of confession.
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This sermon was preached at St Philip the Apostle Tottenham where I was a lenten guest preacher, 31March 2019.
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One weekday morning I was in church and the doors were open. Someone - a stranger I had never met before - wandered into the church. I am not going to tell you if they were a man or a woman because you don’t need to know. They sat down in a chair in the empty church, about three rows from the front, bowed their head and began to pray. I gave them some space and then after a while came and stood next to them to see if She or He would like to talk. She or He did want to talk. They had made a mess of their life. I am not going to tell you the details, because again you don’t need to know - suffice to say that if you let your imagination run wild, at least some of you won’t be that far from the truth. He or she told me how they had done some stuff they really regretted doing over quite a long period of time. This destructive pattern of behaviour broken their connections with the people who were closest to them, perhaps irreparably. She or he told me how they felt guilty, broken and alone.
I asked this person if they would like to make their confession. And this broken child of God almost bit my hand off to do so. We went up to the sacrament chapel - this was the first time my visitor had ever done so, but they knelt down and made their formal confession, going into more detail, telling me (and more importantly God) all the things they wanted to say sorry for, hearing briefly my advice and the prayer task, the penance I gave them, and then, more importantly hearing the words that God forgave them.
After what she or he had done, this person’s loved ones had not yet and might never forgive them. She or he certainly couldn’t forgive themself yet. And yet this prodigal child of God, emerging from the pig stye of life that they had got into - heard the words that someone forgave them. That, despite everything they had done over such a long period of time, someone still loved them. God forgave them, God loved them. This prodigal had bared their soul. They hadn’t tried to hide the bad stuff. And yet God, hearing the tearful words, rushes out to put is arms around them, to tell this broken sinner the words they need to hear - “you are forgiven,” To put the cloak on them and to bring them to the feast with the fatted calf.
I can’t tell you to make your confession - well I can, until I am blue in my face, but unless Fr Lee kindly passes me a submachine to point in your face, I can’t make you confess your sins, and even then submachine in hand I can’t make you tell the truth - you could say anything. So yes I can’t make you make your confession…
But I can tell you of the tears in the eyes of those I have heard make their confession from teenagers to pensioners as they unburdened and the look of Joy as they heard that they were forgiven.
At the heart of Christianity is this story of the prodigal son. Or rather the story of the prodigal father. The son has shamed the father. He has said in effect “I wish you were dead - all I want from you is your money” - and he takes it ...and it’s gone…. He’s treated his dad like dirt, wasted money on hookers and drugs until he has to take a job any Jew would have found worst of all. Not just living among animals - but among unclean pigs. “Perhaps my dad would forgive me enough to give me a job as a servant?” he asks himself. But when he gets back to the farm before he can get any words out - there is the Father running down the path to meet him - not caring what anyone thinks of him, but running down the path to meet him.
That’s what God is like with you. Nothing you can do can make him turn his face from you, nothing you can do can stop God from running down the road and welcoming you home.
As Pope Francis puts it “The church is called to be a house of the Father with doors always wide open…. Frequently we act as arbiters of grace rather than it’s facilitators. But the church is not tollhouse; it is a house of the father, where there is a place for everyone, with all their problems” (1)
I have heard some amazing stories from people whose lives have turned around by Jesus. There’s Paul. In his fifties, ethnically West Indian but with the most amazing wolverhampton accent. Paul describes how as a teenager he got involved in gangs and then alcohol and drugs and dealing drugs and some very nasty violence. In prison he gave his life to Jesus, and he was turned around. Don’t think a quick fix. After he came out he spent two years in a Christian rehab getting off the addictions. But Jesus changed his life, and now he works in a charity getting youngsters out of gangs. In the midst of our knife crime epidemic, Paul is able to bring hope, not because he turned his life around, but because God turned his life around.
I can tell you lots of dramatic stories like that - they make good sermons. You like hearing them. I like telling them.
But most of our sins are much more respectable than that. We can commit them in our hearts or behind lace curtains. For example I am not going to tell you what I said when I last went to confession, not just because it is private, but because it would probably bore. But I still needed to hear that I was forgiven.
And the thing about our “respectable” sins is that we can become afraid of showing ourselves up. What will other people think of us if they see that we have gone to make our confession. So we hang back, pretending “I’m alright Jack” “I don’t need to do this” or perhaps coming up with some quick-fix false theological justification which is really about us looking for any excuse not to make ourselves vulnerable before God or a priest.
Fr Henri Nouwen, reflecting on Rembrant’s painting of the prodigal son, noticed three figures standing in the background just looking on. He writes “I became more and more aware of how long I had played the role of an observer. For years I had instructed students in different aspects of Spiritual life, trying to help them see the importance of living it. But had I, myself, ever dared to step into the centre, kneel down and let myself be held by a forgiving God” (2)
We can stand back- encouraging outsiders of their need - but we are respectable churchgoers - do we really need to “step into the centre” - and the answer is “YES”.
As a preacher put it, “the Church is museum for saints but a hospital for sinners”.(3) If we want our church to grow, if we want other people to feel comfortable in here, then we need to stop pretending that we are more respectable than we are, we need to stop being lace curtain christians, we need to stop pretending to be a museum for saints.
But there is a way more important reason than that for you having the courage, perhaps for the first time, to make your confession. You need to say your sins out loud - your perhaps boring parochial selfish sins - so you can’t hide it from yourself. And then you need to see that neither the priest nor God turn away and reject you. And hear through the mouth of the priest, God running up, throwing his arms around you and telling you, “You are forgiven”. And everything you say will be totally confidential.
Now I don’t want us to lose momentum. Some of you will be thinking “I could do this”. If you leave it until Monday you might wimp out and then you would miss out. So during communion, I will be distributing the sacrament, and Fr Lee will be available in the Lady chapel to hear you. If someone else is ahead of you - there is no rush. Form a queue, stand just far enough back that you can’t hear what is being said, and the wait will be worth it.
A man who was commissioned to paint a picture of the Prodigal Son. He went into his work fervently, laboring to produce a picture worthy of telling the story. Finally, the day came when the picture was complete, and he unveiled the finished painting. The scene was set outside the father’s house, and showed the open arms of each as they were just about to meet and embrace. The man who commissioned the work was well pleased, and was prepared to pay the painter for his work, when he suddenly noticed a detail that he had missed.
Standing out in the painting above everything else in the scene, was the starkly apparent fact that the father was wearing one red shoe and one blue shoe. He was incredulous. How could this be, that the painter could make such an error? He asked the painter, and the man simply smiled and nodded, assuring the man, “Yes, this is a beautiful representation of the love of God for His children.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.
“The father in this picture was not interested in being color-coordinated or fashion-conscious when he went out to meet his son. In fact, he was in such a hurry to show his love to his son, he simply reached and grabbed the nearest two shoes that he could find.
“He is the God of the Unmatched Shoes.” (4)
That is how much God loves you!
(1) Evangelii Gaudium chapter 1:V:47, Encyclical of Pope Francis
(2) P.12 The Return of the Prodigal Son. Henri Nouwen
(3) Nicky Gumbel
(4) From a sermon on this site by Wayne Major
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