Buttoning buttons and tying shoelaces consumed my Sunday morning, focused on the moment, or the next ten minutes more than the day ahead.
In the second pew, I tried to settle my heart with scripture, but random conversations drew me from the real reason I was there. I needed something, not quite sure what it was, but in the right place to find it.
Preprinted congregational confessions and absolution blew by like a South Texas thunderstorm, its living water falling too fast for the parched ground to absorb it, flowing instead into the side ditches. An affirmation of baptism flew by seemingly more like an annoyance than a blessing. I hope the others didn’t see it that way because it was very important. Perhaps it was just my brain moving at a slower pace.
Two pages flipped over to show a separate order of confession, so I spent a few moments drinking in the words.
In Your compassion, Lord, forgive us our sins, known and unknown.
Some sin is clearly black and white, easily counted and likewise should be easily avoided, (if only). The dangerous ones are those in the gray. Not as well defined but still draws me away from a God Who wants to be part of every moment. Some of those I recall, others I do not.
If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:9
Then the Pastor said, “Grace is freely given. There’s nothing we need to do.”
Now, there’s nothing I could possibly do to earn God’s Grace, but I still needed to surrender my failures, this darkness, at His feet. Otherwise, the bread and wine before me would be no more than flour and grape juice, an insult to the Body and Blood of Christ, offered as atonement for my sin.
For me, confession is necessary. Not as a condition of forgiveness, but as an acknowledgment of my need for it.
Like falling into the arms of the Father
Who already holds me.
Amen …
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