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forgiveness

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April 20, 2014 10:10 pm

Liturgy Month: Peace be with you

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by    in Liturgy,Sermons

My strongest memory of a Catholic church I once visited was the sharing of The Peace. At the time, it was the warmth and the sense of community that exuded from it that struck me. In that one moment, church stopped being a bunch of individuals following the pulpit, and it became an assembly that cared visibly for one another, including the rather uninterested visitor that I was. As I then went to more charismatic churches, it was a long time until I followed any traditional liturgy, but I still reminisced upon that Sharing of The Peace fondly. I was very pleased when I found it again in an Anglican church, but, unbeknownst to me, it wasn’t done “properly”: The Peace was shared right at the end of the service, before tea and coffee; and so it felt just like a greeting.

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Photo: Charles Clegg, reused under CC License

There is definitely a social function to the Sharing of The Peace; and it would be a mistake to downplay it. Through it, we are bonding with one another, using the strongest bond possible: the Peace of Christ (which, as we know, passes all understanding). And that is true regardless of where in the service this handshaking happens. For that reason, all forms of greeting are appropriate: it does not have to be a handshake; it can most definitely be a hug. Hugs are cool.

But, normally, the Sharing of The Peace happens right before communion – in preparation towards it. Obviously, this reduces the social function, as it is not quite as easy to remain chatting then as it would at the end of the service; so why put it there? Is it somehow necessary to be at peace before receiving communion? In that case, the sharing of the peace is making us worthy to approach the table… er… yeah, maybe not. As, even when we approach it, we are not worthy to do so in our own strength, regardless of our feeling the peace of God.

Therefore, the Sharing of The Peace is gearing towards the same thing as communion. It is (at least symbolically) an expiatory moment, linked with the recognition and conviction of our own sins before our acceptance at Christ’s table, not as people who are worthy of coming into His presence, yet as people who can do so without hiding their baggage.

When we say to others “Peace be with you”, at least in the context of communion, it’s  not merely a greeting: it is a prayer that, much like Zacchaeus or the woman at the well, we would find our eyes open to our own sin and be ready to confront them, dismiss them and find peace.

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This time, the recorded sermon below is not a perfect match with the “summary” above, although there is significant overlap.

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Download link (right click, hit download) – Notes

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January 12, 2014 4:57 pm

The Double Decker of Awesomeness

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by    in Identity

Cadbury’s make an amazing range of chocolatey goodness. Among their products, the Double Decker is a particular favourite of mine. Whenever they’re available in a meal deal, I go for them. The only thing is –  they’re not easily available in France (like most of Cadbury’s range).

doubledecker

Photo: Evan-Amos (Wikimedia), reused under CC license

So when I last went to England, I took a couple of Double Deckers back with me. And now I have a lone Double Decker left. And no matter how many times I’ve felt like eating it, I’ve always refrained. There are two reasons for this:

  1. I know that if I eat it now, I won’t have a chance to get another one for quite a long time – maybe not ever. I want to save it for when I really need it.
  2. I don’t deserve it. I haven’t achieved something that means I can have such a good treat. (That’s probably what stops me from eating too many Double Deckers when I’m in England)

These reasons are related, yet different: the former implies that the moment of eating should be special (as in, rare), whereas the latter simply implies that the Double Decker is special (as in, awesomely yummy).

On a small timescale, this behaviour kind of makes sense: rationing what’s in limited supply; avoiding to gorge on something special to the point that it would lose its specialness – but I think you’ll agree that dragging it on for months (as I have done) is perhaps a tad ridiculous.

And that it would be even more ridiculous if I were in England, with a near endless supply of Double Deckers if I just could nip down the shop to buy some.

Yet this is how we tend to treat Jesus’s forgiveness. We try to make amends for our own small failures, thinking we can get back into God’s good books through our own actions. When we do confess our sins, it has to be big enough to be worth it, you see. Otherwise, it’ll all be wasted. When we think like that, we are utterly wrong: we realise our sin, but:

So we try to sort out our problems on our own. Maybe it’s because we think that if we go and ask forgiveness too often, it’ll lose its awesomeness; or it’s because we think we don’t deserve it. The thing is: we don’t. Forgiveness is special, and completely undeserved. But that doesn’t mean the occasions where forgiveness is expressed should be special or rare.

So let’s fall into neither of these traps. Let’s not consider God’s forgiveness in the way I consider Double Deckers – as something that should be saved for when we have extra need of it; but let’s not consider it as a worthless thing that doesn’t merit our attention either.

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October 21, 2012 5:03 pm

Judge, that you may be judged

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by    in Bible

The other week, I got assaulted on the street in France (from behind, of course). There was no discernible purpose behind the attack: nothing was stolen; I did not know the guy who did it, and was not doing anything particularly provocative. To this day, I am puzzled as to why the incident happened.

Once the shock had gone, my initial reaction was that I should forgive him. I found it quite difficult to do. There is a reason for that: forgiveness can only happen after judgement. Otherwise, the sin that we forgive is trivialised; and our behaviour becomes an open invitation for  repeated offences. And us Christians have grown, it seems, shy of judging others.

Photo: Colin Smith, reused under CC license

“Judge not, that you be not judged” has become a mantra that gets brought up whenever we are tempted to rebuke someone. Yes, it is Biblical. But when we do restrain ourselves using only that verse, we:

  • are still judging; we are simply refusing to voice that judgement.
  • are distancing ourselves from our neighbour, by adding that screen of hypocritical non-judgementalism between us. We, in a way, refuse to accept our neighbour holistically, that is, as their entire person.
  • are turning a blind eye on sin, which ultimately makes it easier to turn a blind eye on our own sin.
  • are making real forgiveness impossible. And yet, we should “forgive, that we may be forgiven.”

Far, far more importantly, if we aren’t judged and convicted of our sin, we cannot experience the liberating feeling of forgiveness, from which we can grow. That’s why in other parts of the Bible, we are instructed to rebuke.

From that perspective, and with the assurance of forgiveness, I do want to be judged. If I’m “doing it wrong”; or if I have some ink on my forehead (from someone stamping it…) and I haven’t noticed it is still there, I would like someone to tell me. I would like someone to judge me.

That’s why the use of finality (for Hellenists out there, the fact ἵνα μὴ is used rather than καὶ μὴ … καὶ μὴ, as in Luke) puzzles me. Why would I want to not be judged? And Luke’s distinction between judging and condemning indicates that it isn’t just about sentencing (which would preclude forgiveness). But that very distinction also suggests that the key to that verse may be in what we mean by “judge”.

The Greek used here is κρίνω. It is associated with notions of separating (e.g., the wheat from the chaff), of arranging and ordering. This form of judgement is one that divides, and one that is objective rather than interpersonal. When criticising others, we are placing ourselves above them, and indeed forgetting that we cannot throw the first stone. But there is a different form of judgement: a form of rebuking which stems from love. That form of judgement we should not shun, because only through it can we reach forgiveness.

But if we are passing that judgement, then we should allow the process to come to its complete end, with forgiveness; rather than stopping halfway through judgement in shyness because we “should not judge”.

Judgement without forgiveness is sterile.
Forgiveness without judgement is futile. 

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September 23, 2012 7:27 pm

Are you a shoes off church?

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by    in Leadership

The other day, a friend came over to watch a film. As he got in, he saw a shoe rack, and naturally took off his shoes. Our house doesn’t operate a shoes off policy, but seeing all these led him to, naturally, take his shoes off.

Every place has its own set of rules as to what is acceptable or not. And that’s fine – Biblical, even. But if we’re trying to be welcoming to people wherever they are, we have to also let them feel that they can be themselves. That they can, if they wish to, keep their shoes on – within the limitations we have had to put in place for everyone to be able to enjoy church and fellowship. To do that, we need to make sure that we don’t look like a sanitised, sterile place, where mud is to be kept out at all cost.

That means that churches and chaplaincies alike have to be places where people are comfortable with the more personal aspects of sin, and visibly so. And for that to happen, it means that those at the top should show themselves as people who sometimes struggle (without, of course, exalting sin!) and that the congregation should do the same (without, of course, turning the competition for who’s the holiest into a competition for who’s the most sinful!)

That is important in order to be welcoming – in order to offer people a place where they can embark on their own process of sanctification from the place that they are at, rather than having to double their own efforts to catch up with the rest of the congregation in order to come fully into the church. In order for their whole persons, sins, warts and all, to embark on that process of sanctification, rather than leaving that muddy shoe on the doorstep.

It is also important even for someone like me who already feels welcome in the church or the chaplaincy, because if I leave that muddy shoe on the doorstep and then pray for forgiveness, am washed clean, and then go back out the doors of the church, I will put that muddy shoe back on. Only by taking full stock of my own sin can I feel the liberation of redemption. And I can’t do that if I’ve left my sin at the door of the church – whether willingly or not.

But it feels like, although we know we can come with our muddy shoes, and that anyone is welcome to come and worship, regardless of where they’re at – although we know this really well, we are complacent in how we make that known to others. Our first message should not be “You are forgiven”; it should be “Come as you are.” The exhilarating feeling of forgiveness can only come afterwards.

What are you doing to reassure people they can keep their shoes on, regardless of how muddy they are?

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September 9, 2012 9:07 pm

The conundrum of seeking forgiveness

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by    in Bible,Prayer

Forgiveness is at the heart of much Christian practice. Communion liturgy mentions it, as the blood of Christ washes our sin away. Some widespread evangelism strategies give it a prominent place, going something like this*:

  1. We are all sinners and deserve the wrath of God.
  2. Jesus took on our sin on the cross and bore the penalty for our sins.
  3. We therefore stand justified and forgiven in the eyes of God.

The direct link between sin and justification makes it sound easy. It looks as though repentance automatically leads to forgiveness. And in a way, it does – because God’s nature is always to have mercy. But it makes it look silly too. On its own, it’s petty. Arrogant. Why would God want us to say sorry for our sins in order for them to be forgiven?

Photo: Roger Davies, reused under CC License

Behind this question, there is a double misconception: firstly, about the place of forgiveness in Christianity: we cannot think of sin or forgiveness without placing them in the context of God’s incredible love for us – lest we make that forgiveness a mechanical thing. Secondly, a misconception as to what being sorry actually means.

When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.

(Luke 7:37-38 NIV)

Is that the attitude we take when we pray for forgiveness? When I realise my sin, I sometimes say “oops! Sorry God”. The assurance of forgiveness makes me treat the grave matter of forgiveness and repentance very lightly. It is actually very rare for me to have that broken and contrite heart. But where that happens – when I do feel contrite, it feels too big to bring to God. Too big to be forgiven. This is the true conundrum of seeking Jesus’s forgiveness: either the guarantee of forgiveness makes it so I don’t come forward with a contrite spirit, or my contrite spirit stops me from coming forward. This is why the sinner in Luke 7 is weeping. This is why the prodigal son goes back to his father’s as a hired servant. This is why the tax collector cries out in the temple: because they have all grasped the grave matter of their sin, and seek forgiveness without thinking they will get it. The reaction is overwhelming. The relief is great. From that relief, comes the joy of dwelling in Christ and true repentance.

I’m not arguing that we should make a show of being contrite. I don’t think we have to weep to show true anguish or sorrow. I don’t even think we should feel much anguish or sorrow. But we should not trivialise sin by making it commonplace (yes, we all do sin, in word thought or deed, but should we lump all our sin together?). In the same way that God is not a vending machine when it comes to petitionary prayer, He is not a vending machine when it comes to asking for forgiveness. Approach asking for forgiveness with humility and with a contrite heart, but also with the wisdom of the Psalmist who said

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

(Psalm 51:17 ESV)

How do we do that? To be honest, I don’t really know, and would be grateful for any pointers. All I can do is to turn to Jesus (rather than, as I often do, my own mind) as the convictor of my sin, and pray that the Holy Spirit create in me a contrite heart. Not for the sake of being sad – that would be stupid – but for the joy of being truly forgiven.

How do you seek God’s forgiveness?

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* It’s easy to criticise any evangelism strategy; but that is not the point of this post. It would, after all, be too easy if I didn’t offer anything to replace this approach (which I may attempt in a future post). The main purpose of this post is to reflect on forgiveness of sins – and even then, I only scratch the surface. What about our commission to forgive sins? What about sinning against the Holy Spirit? Sin and forgiveness are vast subjects which could (and do) fill up books! If you’ve got some to recommend, please let me know!

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