The fourth week of Lent--it's not too late to go to confession

 

“In those days, there was no king in Israel,

and everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”

--Judges 17:6

 

There are two excuses I hear Catholics use when it comes time to go to confession. First is the excuse that they cannot think of what to confess, as far as they can tell they haven’t committed any real sins; i.e. Nothing to see here, so what’s the point? This excuse implies either a willful blindness or a saint-like innocence.  Second is the somewhat more reasonable excuse: What’s the point? I’m just going to sin again.  I will go confess, get absolved, have a good day or two, then fall right back into my old habits. Again, what’s the point?

 

If you are like me and you find yourself falling into both of these camps, spend a little time this Lent reading the Book of Judges.  It is a book of sin and failing, a book of broken promises and wasted opportunities.  It is a book of God’s mercy and man’s repeated efforts to turn (even flee) from it. It is a disheartening book in many ways, but reading it in the midst of Lent it seems a bitter reminder that no matter how hard we try, we cannot escape the power of sin, the weakness of the flesh; that regardless of our efforts, and despite our best intentions, we will stumble and fall again, and again.

 

This is a truth sadly confirmed in my own life; blessed by the grace of God with friends, family, work that I love, a roof over my head, food on the table, a bed to sleep in, I still find myself envying others, still find my eye wandering, appraising, objectifying others—not only lusting in my heart, but envying their gifts, coveting their achievements, bearing false witness against them (at least in my imagination), desiring not only their homes and their lives but even their asses!! In general,  making of my own desires a false god and making of my own stomach an altar for his offerings... And sadly, this is on a good day!

 

Before lunch...

 

But the Book of Judges bears witness to the truth that this is part of the human condition. In Judges we get the story of how God’s chosen people kept straying from God’s will and losing the Promised Land. No matter how many times God rescued them, forgave them, brought them back... they kept turning away from the grace of God’s love and toward the desires of their hearts. We are a people born into a sinful world, and shaped by that world, even the best of us may find ourselves falling into the habit (the excuse) of “doing what is right in his own eyes.”

 

And that is the barrier behind that first excuse: nothing to confess. Many of us may feel we truly have nothing to confess, nothing to ask forgiveness for, because we were always only doing what seemed right at the time, at least in our eyes.  How often every day do we justify and rationalize our choices, for some of us we turn our every desire into a “need,” and our every need into a right. Until we find that we are owed everything we want. As a teenager, I stole a pair of sneakers from a store I worked at. I justified it by telling myself I wasn’t being paid enough. I wasn’t receiving a fair wage! They owed it to me. I convinced myself that stealing those shoes wasn’t a sin, it was my right.  I walked in those shoes for weeks thinking I had nothing to confess.  Because, in my eyes, I had only done what was right.  But clearly—I was wrong, and luckily when I bragged about it to a friend, he set me straight.

 

The other excuse, that going to confession could be pointless because regardless of my intentions ----I’m just going to sin again; that is the truth lurking beneath every chapter of Judges. No matter what God does for them, no matter how often God rescues them, the Israelites stumble into sin again and again.  They set up altars to false gods, they make alliances with pagan kings, they glorify themselves instead of God, celebrating their own power and cleverness and courage until something happens and they realize how helpless they are and once again cry out to God for mercy and help—for a savior.

 

They repent, they get saved, then—after a while—they fall back into their old ways, old habits, their sin.  For me, it is a quite familiar pattern, one I know all too well. And yes, there is some value in facing up to the truth of our story, patterns of behavior that seem to guide us through life—as if a kind of auto-pilot.  Yes, we should be honest about our habits and our weaknesses.  But we mustn’t let ourselves be discouraged. Though we stumble—again and again—we must never fall into despair. 

 

For me, going to confession, isn’t a quick-fix solution to a lifetime of bad habits and half-hearted struggles with sin; it is more like the forming of a new habit.  A habit that will—I hope—one day replace the old ones. A habit of contemplating my choices, my patterns of behavior not with judgment and finger waving, but with honesty and compassion.  Am I addicted to certain pleasures? Have I been self-centered or prideful? Mean-spirited or cold-hearted? How can I change those patterns? Well, the first thing I need to do, the first step in any twelve-step program, is admitting that I need help. And for me, that is what confession is—a chance to come before God and admit that I need help.  That the same sins of lust and avarice and envy and pride that I struggled with in college are still with me.  That fear of want still drives me to dreams of gluttony and greed... And those fears too often drive my every decision.  Bless me Father, for I have sinned... Hello, my name is Herman and I am a sinner...

 

One last word here: the other day, sitting in mass, I looked up for the first time and noticed that the pew we were in was right next to the sixth Station of the Cross: Jesus falls a second time.  Looking at that image, I realized something I had never noticed before: that He fell a second time.  Think of that:  Jesus on His way to the cross, stumbled and fell a second time.  That means He had already fallen once before.  And that He fell again.  And, He got back up again.  He took up His cross and continued on the way to Calvary.  And, I realized something else, that He would fall again. Tradition has it that Jesus fell three times on the way to His death.  Sitting there at the edge of the pew, looking up at that image, I had a kind of epiphany.  Jesus fell a second time. He had already fallen once before and He knew He would fall again.  But He still got back up, took up His cross and, even knowing how it would end, He kept going.

 

The next time you are thinking –what’s the point of going to confession? I’m just going to make the same mistakes, I’m just going to fall again.  Think about that image of Christ, falling under the weight of our sin, a second time... Meditate on that image, and ask yourself if it isn’t time to get back up and try again. 

 

Because we do have a King, a King who took the form of a slave and died on a cross--for us.  Confession is a way of asking myself: What do my choices look like through His eyes?

The Book of Judges: the oddness of scripture

“In those days there was no king in Israel

and everyone did as he saw fit.” –Judges 21:25

            This morning, I finally had a little time alone and just as I sat down to write, our kitten brought me a ball. She loves to play fetch, but most of the time she doesn’t bring the ball right to you. She drops it somewhere nearby and then watches to see if you will pick it up.  Today, the house to myself, I sit down at the counter with my Bible and my notebook and pen and suddenly there is a little gray and white cat, with her favorite green ball in her mouth, perched on the stool next to me.  She put the ball down on the stool and waited, watching me.

            And 15 minutes later I find myself still not reading or writing, but throwing the ball into the hall, again and again and watching her chase after it. Delighting in her oddness.  That is a gift, a blessing. And on a Sunday morning after church and biscuits and reading the funnies, what more should I hope for than to be given a few minutes of joy by one of God’s goofier creations. 

Ask for a sign, let it be high as the heaven or the depths below (cf. Is. 7:11).  

That’s what I did. And this is what I got. (And so much more…)

            What does that cute kitten have to do with the book of Judges? Well, I am still trying to figure that out. But, for now, let’s see where this blessing takes us.

One of the lessons I think I am learning from reading and contemplating scripture is this:  God is not out to get us!  God is not sitting on high judging our every move.  Like a good shepherd, He is always seeking us, trying to bring us always closer to Him, into the fold where we will be loved and cared for. 

How often do we ask: how do I know if this is God’s will for me? How do I know if this is the right choice?  Whether we are trying to discern a new vocation (or job), or where to go to college, or whether we should sell the house and move to the woods, many of us get tripped up by the fear that if we choose wrong God will hold it against us.  But that doesn’t seem to be the God we meet in scripture. Or the God I meet in life.   

             In the book of Judges we get a picture of Israel falling apart. They have followed Moses through the wilderness, followed Joshua into war to claim the Promised Land, and it seems that almost immediately after divvying it up amongst themselves they begin to collapse into selfishness and discord. Again and again in Judges we read: “The Israelites did what is evil in the eyes of the Lord” (cf. 2:13; 3:7; 4:1, etc).  This is a book about making bad choices.  But throughout this book –these often horrible choices-- God never abandons His people.  He keeps reaching out to them, sending help, lovingly guiding them, protecting them. This book is pretty short (only 21 chapters) and can easily be read in a couple of sittings.  There are several famous tales in it: Samson and Delilah being the most famous, but also the story of Gideon and the 300, Jotham’s allegory of the trees who want a king, and the tragic tale of Jephthah’s vow.  Yet regardless how heroic or painful the tales, over and over again the author returns to that same theme: Because everyone did as he saw fit, Israel began to do what was evil in the eyes of the Lord.

            This theme comes to a horrifying climax toward the end of the book (ch. 17-21), in two tales involving Levites (the priestly tribe of Israel).  The first is a tale of priestly corruption; a Levite agrees to serve as priest before a household idol in the home of a man named Micah. Basically, he becomes a priest for hire. Someone asks him what he is doing there, and he responds:

Micah pays me a wage and I act as his priest. (18:4)

There are several clues that something is terribly wrong here. First, this a clearly not what God intended for the Levites.  They were set apart to be His priests. Second, way back in Exodus we saw what happened when God’s people made idols.  Third, in Joshua we saw the trouble that arises when people set up strange altars (cf. 22:11ff). Last, consider the name Micah. It means: one who is like God.  A man who is like God hires a Levite to be his personal priest.  This is definitely not what God intended for His priestly people.

A few verses later this Levite is kidnapped by warriors from the tribe of Dan (still in search of a better piece of Promised Land).  These warriors want the Levite to now be their priest.  And like Micah, they seem to imagine that having a priest (regardless of how they got him) will gain them God’s blessing. But after marching against “a peaceful and trusting people” (18:27) whom they put to the sword and destroy, they rebuild their new town, and immediately erect Micah’s stolen idol for their own use (and set their new priest to work before it).  This is what happens to God’s people when they do whatever they like.

            After this tale, there is a second vision of priestly corruption that reveals greater societal corruption. It is the tale of Gibeah (ch.19) and contains echoes of the story of Sodom. In this tale a Levite and his concubine stay the night in Gibeah (an Israelite town) and while there some of the men of the town come and demand that their host send the Levite out for them to rape and have their way with him.  The host, unwilling to surrender his guest, offers the crowd his virgin daughter (like Lot in Genesis 19:8), but the men refuse his offer. So, the Levite “took hold of his concubine and brought her out to them.” (Judges 19:25) She is abused and raped and left for dead.  Though the host’s offer and the Levite’s act are both monstrous, the results are even more fearful. In the morning, scripture tells us, as the Levite leaves the house he finds the woman on the doorstep. He tells her to get up, but she makes no answer.  Which our clue that she has been killed. And yet the priest gathers her up, puts her on his donkey and takes her home.  What we see in the priest, this Levite, is a man devoid of humanity.  He cares only for himself. He does whatever he wills and has no fear of doing any evil in the sight of God. What he does next is even more frightening and strange.  He takes a knife and cuts his concubine limb from limb into twelve pieces and sends the pieces “throughout the territory of Israel.” (19:29)

            I read this story and asked myself –why is it here? Why would anyone include this in their sacred text?  If this is God’s word, then what is God telling us through it? 

When we make ourselves into gods, we lose our humanity.  We lose our place. We lose our Promised Land. Yes, we can do whatever we like –but in the end we won’t like what we do.

Judges is a vision of Israel collapsing almost as soon as it enters into the Promised Land.  And that makes me wonder if the promised land isn’t a place –it’s a way of life. Is it possible that the promised land is wherever we are as long as we are walking with the Lord –when and where we make Him our King, that is the promised land!

Again, I ask--what does this have to do with the goofiness of a kitten?

I’m not sure… But it got me writing.  For a few minutes I wasn’t living in my own ego. I stepped outside myself and just played. Present to the gift of the moment, I was set free from “ambition’s derelict dreams.” For a few minutes I was laughing and unconcerned about anything; maybe for a few minutes I was just present to the promise and the presence. Maybe. But I was certainly present to the cat.