Thoughts from St. Andrew's Episcopal Church • Birmingham, AL

Monday, March 09, 2020

Old Testament: Daniel 9:3–10

Gospel: Luke 6:27–38

Psalm 79:1–9

“Remember not our past sins;

let your compassion be swift to meet us;

for we have been brought very low.” Psalm 79:8

Today’s readings would not let me get away from sin. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about sin over the past year, since I was asked to give my personal definition of sin. On the spot, I said something about how, as part of the condition of being humans in the world, we all trespass and transgress, adding that we’re also trespassed upon. I explained it mostly a matter of proximity: the nature of living close to one another. My answer sounded a lot like describing a rush hour ride on the Metro when I lived in D.C.

I got the chance to test the working definition of sin I’d offered very soon after, when I said something mean I wish I hadn’t said to someone I loved. I transgressed and trespassed, before I even realized it. My words hadn’t reflected how much I cared about the person. But now sin felt more painful and immediate than my easy, theoretical answer. Having come face to face with sin in my own life, I felt like Daniel in today’s reading, ready to don my sackcloth and ashes. His prayer of confession reminded me how painful sin is, no matter which side of it you find yourself on.

Jesus teaches, in today’s Gospel from Luke, the kind of forgiveness I hope all my transgressions will be met with: “Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.” I want to be part of a community like the one Jesus describes, where forgiveness is practiced in abundance. 

I’m lucky in that I’ve known forgiveness, and that when I work through problems like sin in my own life, I have a great community of people in my life who remind me of grace, of who I am. I’m also grateful for Mary Oliver, whose “Wild Geese” is was a comfort to me, and a perfect poem for Lent. I wish I could share the whole poem with you now, but as I close, I’ll just get us started:

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert repenting.” 

Whitney Williams