One of the first lessons you learn as a child is how to say "I’m sorry", usually because you hit someone for behavior you considered offensive. You would be forced to mutter the words, extend a hand or give a hug to seal the deal. Forgiveness was a done deal in spite of the feelings of the two parties concerned, the hitter and the "hittee". For most folks, this view of "I’m sorry" carries over into adulthood. Saying the words is enough. No wonder apologies have become popular. Everyone... Paris Hilton, Mel Gibson, churches, governments, politicians and sports heroes... are offering public apologies for all sorts of behavior, past and present. This process of public apologies intrigues me.
Formal public apologies have their place. Churches can apologize for destruction of indigenous peoples religion by well intentioned missionaries. Governments can apologize for past behavior to ethnic groups like African Americans, Japanese and Native Americans in our country. Public figures of all kinds can apologize for offensive public behavior. This is all well and good but it is not enough.
I was taught in church that the words "I’m sorry" should be accompanied by another word not heard much any more... repentance. This word carries more weight, implies a process of recognition of wrong done and promise of change in the future. The only way an apology can have any meaning that one can count on is for repentance to take place. The twelve step folks have it right. First you say you are sorry, then you prove it... repentance in action.
John the Baptizer believed in repentance. His trademark was "Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand". Matthew 3:2 I like the eighth verse better. "Bear fruit that befits repentance". How can I bear that fruit in my daily living?
Old time churches had a mourners bench set aside up front. When you felt the need for public confession and repentance, you could go to the mourners bench and sit. If you needed to, you could say something, or you could just sit there and pray. Often the preacher or a deacon would come sit with you, pray with you and be present for you in your time of trouble. Confession is more than just saying "I’m sorry". Confession is a soulful process that recognizes the damage done to oneself as well as to the souls of others by our behavior. It is painful, honest, awkward, and difficult. Often I envy the Catholic ritual of confession. The rules are clear and the response is immediate. There is a place and a person to hear you, a pattern to follow for repentance and forgiveness. Our Protestant model, the priesthood of the believer, puts the responsibility for this on each person. Some of us do better than others with this job.
It seems to me that I must have a ritual that suits my need for confession and forgiveness. Sometimes this ritual comes in corporate worship but not always and hardly ever when I need it the most. Public worship these days for me, in most churches I attend, is good at naming the peace and social justice sins but doesn’t offer much help with how I repair my relationship with someone I have offended... how to name the places where I have caused hurt... what to do when I want to say I’m sorry and mean it.
Perhaps I need to have a mourners bench and ask some friends to sit with me... hear my confession and I will hear theirs...offer words of forgiveness and accountability. We could sit together at church, during the offertory write our confessions and share them with one another, be priests for one another in our daily lives. What a scary prospect... would they still love me when they really know me? I would need to start with the smallest sins on my own personal Seven Deadly Sins list. I wouldn’t want to blow myself or my friends out of the water the first time. And I wonder what the fruits of our repentance would be? Kindness, long suffering( another way to say patience), love, Christian community? I’ll be on the right front, third row down, if you want to join me Sunday. Here goes...
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
Revivals and Reunions... Homecoming for the Soul
My little country church, which did not follow the liturgical calendar, had two annual events that along with Christmas and Easter, shaped our church year... Homecoming and Revival. Only now am I coming to appreciate their importance in my spiritual life.
Revivals were held in the fall. Crops were in. The new school year had begun. There was a sense of new beginnings, an expectancy for what was to come along with the recognition of all that had been left undone or done wrong the year before. Our revivals began on a Sunday morning with the visiting preacher holding forth in the pulpit followed by "dinner on the grounds". Some preachers were better than others. Some were long winded. Some were loud and long winded. Some were really good. Some were awful. Some loved hellfire and damnation preaching and others were loving kindness. It didn’t much matter. We came anyway, sat in our pews, brought friends, prayed for those who needed to find God, sang "Just As I Am"for the invitation hymn, hummed "Just As I Am" with our eyes closed and heads bowed while the preacher exhorted those laggards to come, shook hands and hugged, welcomed new believers, shared our lives with each other. Women in the church volunteered to provide meals for the visiting preacher and the revival team ( our preacher and the music director). Dinner and supper were provided...fried chicken and gravy, ham, mashed potatoes, potato salad, deviled eggs, home grown green beans and creamed corn and sliced tomatoes, pickled peaches and cucumbers, homemade coconut cake and lemon meringue pie, yeast rolls and biscuits. At the end of the revival, regardless of the preacher’s competence or lack thereof, we felt renewed. If we had taken the revival process seriously, we had done a spiritual inventory and seen our souls as honestly as possible. Some of us may have been moved to re-dedicate our lives publicly. Some of us had made halting confessions in front of the congregation and asked for prayers and support as we moved in a new direction. We were given the grace of a second or fortieth chance. Lent and Easter in the space of one week...
Now, after sixty plus years of mistakes, I know how important revival is for the soul. We grow covered over with our daily living, our souls get crusty and tough. Revival was an in-your-face, kick your butt, don’t ignore me experience. By showing up we were forced to examine and consider our own shortcomings, our gifts, the state of our relationship with God through Jesus, the condition of our souls. I can laugh and tease about the form and sound and rituals of those revivals then. But revival is a necessity for me now.
The second tradition was Homecoming in the summer. Everyone came that Sunday. Even if you had left the church mad, you came. If you had moved to town and changed church membership, you came. Children came home with grandchildren in tow and folks you hadn’t seen since Easter showed up that Sunday. There was special music... duets and trios and quartets, choir specials... testimonies and prayers of thanksgiving, a church house packed full of church family with food waiting for the celebration feast afterward.(see list above).Worship was always fun and spontaneous with surprises lurking everywhere. Laughter, tears, hugs, noisy children, courting teenagers, new babies, vacant spaces in families death had visited since the last homecoming...all of life showed up for homecoming. For one glorious day, all the cares of church life were laid aside and we simply celebrated our connections to one another and to God. At the end of the meal, we would sometimes gather back in the church for a "sing". Led by our music director, sometimes with a visiting gospel quartet, we sang our souls out. Late afternoon would see us leaving the church grounds, sleepy children in tow, with full stomachs and hearts overflowing with joy and gratitude.
No wonder the old timers called death "homecoming". What a beautiful image for life after death. For one day, one small slice of time, all cares and angers and worries and fears laid to one side. All that has been done and is yet undone left behind as you enter the doors of the church. And what waits for you is an extravagant welcome home, even if you were just there last Sunday or if you haven’t been in years or if you were mad the last time you came. All that matters is that you are present and home... home for hugs and messy red lipstick kisses and hearty handshakes and food for the stomach and the soul... "My life flows on through endless song; Above earth’s lamentation I hear the sweet though far off hymn that hails a new creation: Through all the tumult and the strife I hear the music ringing; It finds an echo in my soul. How can I keep from singing?’
Revivals were held in the fall. Crops were in. The new school year had begun. There was a sense of new beginnings, an expectancy for what was to come along with the recognition of all that had been left undone or done wrong the year before. Our revivals began on a Sunday morning with the visiting preacher holding forth in the pulpit followed by "dinner on the grounds". Some preachers were better than others. Some were long winded. Some were loud and long winded. Some were really good. Some were awful. Some loved hellfire and damnation preaching and others were loving kindness. It didn’t much matter. We came anyway, sat in our pews, brought friends, prayed for those who needed to find God, sang "Just As I Am"for the invitation hymn, hummed "Just As I Am" with our eyes closed and heads bowed while the preacher exhorted those laggards to come, shook hands and hugged, welcomed new believers, shared our lives with each other. Women in the church volunteered to provide meals for the visiting preacher and the revival team ( our preacher and the music director). Dinner and supper were provided...fried chicken and gravy, ham, mashed potatoes, potato salad, deviled eggs, home grown green beans and creamed corn and sliced tomatoes, pickled peaches and cucumbers, homemade coconut cake and lemon meringue pie, yeast rolls and biscuits. At the end of the revival, regardless of the preacher’s competence or lack thereof, we felt renewed. If we had taken the revival process seriously, we had done a spiritual inventory and seen our souls as honestly as possible. Some of us may have been moved to re-dedicate our lives publicly. Some of us had made halting confessions in front of the congregation and asked for prayers and support as we moved in a new direction. We were given the grace of a second or fortieth chance. Lent and Easter in the space of one week...
Now, after sixty plus years of mistakes, I know how important revival is for the soul. We grow covered over with our daily living, our souls get crusty and tough. Revival was an in-your-face, kick your butt, don’t ignore me experience. By showing up we were forced to examine and consider our own shortcomings, our gifts, the state of our relationship with God through Jesus, the condition of our souls. I can laugh and tease about the form and sound and rituals of those revivals then. But revival is a necessity for me now.
The second tradition was Homecoming in the summer. Everyone came that Sunday. Even if you had left the church mad, you came. If you had moved to town and changed church membership, you came. Children came home with grandchildren in tow and folks you hadn’t seen since Easter showed up that Sunday. There was special music... duets and trios and quartets, choir specials... testimonies and prayers of thanksgiving, a church house packed full of church family with food waiting for the celebration feast afterward.(see list above).Worship was always fun and spontaneous with surprises lurking everywhere. Laughter, tears, hugs, noisy children, courting teenagers, new babies, vacant spaces in families death had visited since the last homecoming...all of life showed up for homecoming. For one glorious day, all the cares of church life were laid aside and we simply celebrated our connections to one another and to God. At the end of the meal, we would sometimes gather back in the church for a "sing". Led by our music director, sometimes with a visiting gospel quartet, we sang our souls out. Late afternoon would see us leaving the church grounds, sleepy children in tow, with full stomachs and hearts overflowing with joy and gratitude.
No wonder the old timers called death "homecoming". What a beautiful image for life after death. For one day, one small slice of time, all cares and angers and worries and fears laid to one side. All that has been done and is yet undone left behind as you enter the doors of the church. And what waits for you is an extravagant welcome home, even if you were just there last Sunday or if you haven’t been in years or if you were mad the last time you came. All that matters is that you are present and home... home for hugs and messy red lipstick kisses and hearty handshakes and food for the stomach and the soul... "My life flows on through endless song; Above earth’s lamentation I hear the sweet though far off hymn that hails a new creation: Through all the tumult and the strife I hear the music ringing; It finds an echo in my soul. How can I keep from singing?’
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