Making Good Confession (Oct 26)

Readings, Psalm 8 and Luke 18:9-14
Image, Salvador Dali, Confession (1960) Woodcut 
 
We could make the case that, at least at first, the Pharisee in the parable does little wrong. His first line of the prayer, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, could, resemble a common refrain in the life of faith: “there but for the grace of God go I.” At the heart of our prayer life – particularly for those of us who have some material comfort, who are not looked at with derision by the pious and the privileged – ought to be a humility born of our understanding that should we have been dealt a different hand, it would be very easy for our life to be otherwise. If we had been born into a warzone. If we had been raised in a household of neglect. If we had been born into a marginalised community. If we had a bit more bad luck, a few less opportunities, a bit less positive reinforcement, a few less positive role models, a few more burdens laid on us too young. Any number of things, we admit, could have left us a lot less stability in the self and comfort in life, facing instead one ripe with struggles and sparse with choice. Such an admission is essential to our self-understanding and prayer, less we confuse and conflate worldly comfort and esteem with moral purity, and material struggle with character flaw and immorality. When we see neighbours and strangers struggling against the forces of the world, struggling with addiction, poverty, violence, and trauma, one could be like the Pharisee and pray, I thank thee God, that I am not as others are… not because we were so wise and goo, but because we got lucky.
 
Unfortunately, it seems this is not the way the Pharisee intends it. For in uttering the following: I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess – the Pharisee is claiming that the reason he is not like others is because of his piety, moral strength, religious devotion. He looks at what good has befallen him not as something which leads him to gratitude and humility, but as that which justifies himself before God (and in spite of others).   
 
In contrast, the tax collector benefits from brevity; a simple, true statement. Striking his chest, as many Christians still do today in the mea culpa, he says only: God be merciful to me a sinner. He considers no one else, nor seeks to evoke comparison with someone worse.
 
Clearly, this gets it right, he is the one who goes down to his house justified. Obviously, we would like to locate ourselves in his camp. But it is perhaps not so easily done – or, full admission – I do not find it easy. It takes a lot of trust to let this be the first, and perhaps only thing we say of ourselves. To resist all impulses to justify and equivocate, to slip in an addendum to our confession. Yes, Lord, I have sinned… of course, yes, a sinner I… but remember I didn’t do that thing, and this week I did less of the other… oh, and remember that good deed, that kind thought… and also, well I’m not like them.
 
It's not easy, we might say it is hardly natural. After all we’ve been taught to make a good impression – that even asked about our weaknesses in a job interview our answers are best couched as hidden strengths (work too hard, care too much, I can be a perfectionist, perhaps too ready to allow middle managers to take credit for my work). Are we willing to let this be the first, and perhaps the final thing said about ourselves in front of the mercy seat of God? To not seek judgment on a curve against the ‘real’ sinners but stand in the stark, unflattering light and recognise our absolute dependence on God? Not easy indeed.
 
And are we willing and ready to let this be the first and perhaps final word that is said of other things we would like to justify, those we would like to offer a few words to their credit to hopefully balance the scales or improve them by comparison? Because when we come to speak of Christians of the past, or the church in other times, there can be a real nervousness to let the sin be spoken, to name their misdeeds and attitudes as sinful. We can be quick to reach for those justifications again – yes, they did that, or yes, they were participants in that, or no, they didn’t speak against it, or sure, they profited from it, but they at least didn’t do… or they weren’t as bad as others… or how could they have known that it was bad?
 
But like ourselves standing in the courts of God, the church is first and foremost the church in confession. The church which understands all too well its propensity for falling prey to worldly value systems and the lure for power. The church is community seeking to turn back, to resemble more, to follow closer. And to be that we need to be willing to confess without reserve that while those before us handed on the beauty, wonder, and meaning of the message, they also fumbled, harmed, erred and require the mercy of God. 
 
Now, maybe you’ve been finding this a little bleak. A little morose to press again and again that, like the tax collector, we need to be ready to let the first and perhaps final word said about us (or the church) before God be have mercy on me, a sinner. Yes, we might recognise that this is vital in fostering humility, in keeping us from judging and condemning our neighbour, in reminding us of our dependence on the grace and mercy of God, and need to restore what has been broken. All that’s good, but is it good news? Well, this is a sermon, and what kind of sermon would it be if we did not proclaim some good news, and we begin to proclaim some good news with the words of Jesus that close out this parable: for every one that exalteth themself shall be abased; and they that humbleth themself shall be exalted.
 
You might have found yourself in a conversation at work, church, school, even around a family table, and there’s an opening for you to share something you’ve done of which you are proud, some achievement or milestone. You’re thinking about blurting it out, but are worried how it might come across, and then someone else says, “you know, Liam just did this cool thing…” “or Liam’s great at that, ask him.” And while there is nothing wrong with speaking up for ourself in a moment like this, sharing something we’re proud of or worked hard for, it feels great when someone does it for us, when someone else says more about us than we would have hazarded to say for ourself. And that’s where we come to the good news, because when, like the tax collector, we only hazard to say of ourselves, have mercy on me a sinner, this is not all that is said about us: for those who humble themselves will be exalted.
 
Christ has determined to be for us and for our freedom. Christ has chosen in grace to share with us all that was his by righteousness. In Christ’s victory we have not been given a spirit of fear in order to fall back into shame, but a spirit of adoption: we have been made children of God, siblings with Christ, co-heirs with the Son. We, who have been taught to pray for forgiveness, taught to seek mercy, are also those the psalmist reminds us have been made but a little lower than God, crowned with glory and honour.
 
In so many ways this sermon has gone in the wrong direction, speaking first about the need to confess with simplicity and brute honesty, and then only now about all that makes it possible. The better way to go is to say, because God has already said of us: beloved, child, redeemed, cherished, honoured, we are able to say: have mercy on me a sinner. Confession is only truly possible in the full reality of Christ’s generosity, grace, and love. Confession takes its proper place within the unfailing, unending love of God, amidst the delight and kindness of God. That is to say, if you are struggling with confession they trick isn’t to focus more on your sin, or wallow in your guilt. Rather if you are struggling with confession that fix comes through delighting further in God’s love and grace, focusing more on Christ's abundant care. For it is when we grasp that we have already received the spirit of adoption, already been brought in under the umbrella of grace, then we are able to come in freedom, trust, and confidence to the courts of God and offer our confession. Only in the knowledge that in Christ we have already been justified, can we resist the impulse to try and justify ourselves. We are able to offer the word of confession because we are already assured of forgiveness, we are able to be humble because we are exalted in Christ’s word of grace. We can say sinner, because Christ has already and will always say so much more wonderful and divine things about us, than we could ever possibly hope to muster.