Confessing Sin

Confessing sin is not a question of morals. Abigaïl Bassac sheds light on this part of the worship service. She sees in it a time for personal reflection and for coming closer to God. Man, caught between faith and doubt, can understand that he has to give up his personal constructions and accept God’s plan for him : life.

By Abigaïl Bassac

Translation Louise Thunin

Some liberal theologians consider that confessing sin has no place in a weekly service, because confessing sin makes no sense, if God grants His grace no matter what. I do not share this idea. Confession of sin is that part of the liturgy during which I most feel called upon to take my relationship with God seriously.

Even if I don’t claim as my own the conclusions that some others draw when it comes to confession, I hear their question : what does it mean to confess sin each Sunday ? Let’s begin by pointing out certain distinctions. Sin must be distinguished from sins. When we say ˝sins,˝ we tend to imagine acts. It is limiting to consider sin this way and leaves too wide a space for human morality in our relationship with God. The Gospel is not a set of moral lessons, and sin has nothing to do with morality. Paul Tillich (1886-1965) wrote in one of the volumes of his systematic theology that ˝sin˝ is the state in which we find ourselves alienated from what we belong to : God, our own self, the world.  Sin is that state in which I have turned my back on God, on myself and on others. We can, if we want, call sins those acts that turn us away from God, ourselves and others. The first of these is surely our will to ˝make˝ ourselves.

The liturgical moment we speak of here is also referred to as ˝the prayer of repentance .˝ We may have the impression that it’s a moment when we ask God’s forgiveness, all the more as the liturgical moment that follows is often called ˝ the announcement of forgiveness.˝ I am not saying that confessing sin doesn’t carry this kind of meaning, but it’s not the main one. First, it’s a question of confessing something to oneself. And we address this prayer to God, because we recognize that we belong to Him. It’s He who sets the bearings in our lives and is the framework in which we can confess sin. Being a sinner describes a state of relationship. I can’t consider myself a sinner unless I feel that I have a relationship with God. And what does this God expect of me ? A short excerpt from Deuteronomy, where the Almighty speaks just before the people enter the promised land, tells us: ˝I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse ; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live.˝ (Dt. 30 : 19)

If I take seriously the statement that God grants me His grace whatever happens, and if I believe that He is with me wherever I go, as He promises Jacob (Genesis 28 :15), I believe that I will find Him in my life. Or rather that He will find me. It’s up to me to let Him. But often, I don’t want what the Divine gives me, because it doesn’t correspond to what I would like, to what I have begun to build with my own hands. It’s too different, too complicated, I don’t feel ready for an experience which will force me to face something I had conscientiously hidden under the rug. The Almighty, who is a God of liberation, insists that I confront what I have been running away from. Sin, at times when the Divine offers me the unexpected, is what keeps me from saying yes, as I hang on to my project, the one I planned on fitting to my own measurements. God is beyond measure. He is the center of my life, that which founds it and gives it its meaning. I am as I should be when I give up resisting and accept that I belong to Him. As the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews writes, ˝It is a terrrible thing to fall into the hands of the living God. ˝ (10 :31) God calls me incessantly away from comfort, and what He gives me to experience requires my full commitment. If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that the source of my obstinacy in turning away from that is often to be found in fears, dislikes, old chagrin, in everything that lies hidden in my depths, slows my footsteps, reins in my bursts of enthusiasm and condemns me to the same things again, whereas He makes all things new.

But why should we confess our sin every week ? I’ll give two reasons. The first, a practical one, is that we can hope that each week a new person will cross the threshold of the church and will hear this evocation of the human condition in Christan language. What may seem repetitive to some of us may be, for another, a discovery. The second is that the liturgy concerning the confession of sin is potentially that part which speaks about us the most accurately. When the text chosen by the minister doesn’t tell me about myself, I have the feeling that something’s missing from the service. And I feel disappointment. And if the chosen text is used as a moral lesson, as an encouragement to progress in a virtuous life, then I feel annoyance. If I react so strongly, it’s because what I expect from the confession of sin is for it to express in words mankind’ s inner tension, between faith and doubt, life and death.

The service, as Rapahaël Picon explained, has a narrative dimension. One of its functions is to tell about ourselves. And to narrate our lives without reference to what weighs on us would make no sense. Every Sunday, the confession of sin can be a privileged moment for entering inner selves and daring to look at what holds us back. After hearing that God gives His grace unconditionally, we are better able to face our inner obscurity. The German theologian, Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768-1834) wrote in his dogmatics that ˝ the soul of a Chrisian cannot ever know sin without knowing, at the same time, the power of redemption. ˝ Yes, we all are or have been damaged, we are filled with fears that lead us to refuse a relationship with others or to hurt them. We want to control everything, to be strong, to be the best, to be well considered ; we are full of pride ; we want to give ourselves our own lives, because we are anguished in the face of indifference, of nothingness, of death. Our relationships, sometimes, are not so nice to look at. In spite of that, God wants us. We need, over and over, to look at ourselves before Him just as we are, lacking, and to hear that He is working so that we may choose life instead of death, blessing instead of curses. Confessing sin expresses the human condition better than all the other liturgical texts : we are loved but hindered, loving but frightened, desirous of drinking in life but afraid of death. We have a tendency to turn our backs on what gives life yet frightens us, to choose what anesthetizes our existence but keeps it tranquil.

Our liturgy doesn’t end with the confession of sin, just as, if we have faith in God, we cannot stop there. God assures us that he still wants us, that our faith has saved us from lethargy and we confess our faith in Him. So we are rendered capable of confronting our anxiety, the obstinacy of our anger, of turning towards the living God who wants us alive. In His image.

O Lord, You who are the living God, You who are the God of the living, continue to be my God. I am overcome with anxiety. I withdraw from myself and from You and from those others whom You have placed on my path as so many reasons to arise and rejoice. I persevere in my anger, my hatred, while You call me to love. What You offer me frightens me, instead of giving me wings. You created me for joy, and I am stuck in my regrets and my remorse. You made me for the present, and I am tied to past torment. You made me for life, and I let myself go toward death. You made me, and I forget You. Almighty, You who are the living God, you who are the God of the living, you who are my God, draw me unto You yet again.

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