The Ashes of Forgiveness

It was the summer of 1981 and as an immature eight-year-old I had been taken in by the opulent splendour of the royal wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana.

It was the only time I can remember our family getting up really early in the morning to watch an historical event unfold on our old second hand colour TV. I was awed by all of it. For days and weeks afterwards I dreamt and imagined what it would be like to ride in those carriages or live in those castles. I clipped the pictures from magazines and newspapers and imagined myself to be a member of the royal family. Every commemorative item I could find became a part of my ever growing collection of royal wedding memorabilia.

So it should not have been a surprise when I saw a ripped open box of commemorative match books in the local grocery store that I needed to have one.

I looked around, careful to make sure I was the only one in the aisle. And once I was sure no one could see me, I snatched up one of those finely decorated packs of matches and darted off, leaving the scene of my crime behind me.

I was barely out of the store with that stolen pack of matches when the reality of my crime began to sink into my eight-year-old mind. I knew what I had done was wrong. I hadn’t asked for the matches. I definitely hadn’t paid for them, even though the coins of my allowance were jingling in my pocket.

Taking that pack of matches home was even worse.

It was as though, one by one, each match was being lit and searing the pain of guilt on my conscience. At home I knew I couldn’t display the matches – what if my parents found them? So I concealed the spoils of my crime in a Lego house on top of my dresser. But even with the matches and the reality of my crime safely hidden away, a part of me was hoping someone would find those matches. I didn’t sleep well that night, nor the next. The flames of those matches burned ever brighter in my conscience – I knew I needed to confess, but I also wanted those matches.

The Psalmist writes in Psalm 32…

³ When I kept silent,
    my bones wasted away
    through my groaning all day long.
⁴ For day and night
    your hand was heavy on me;
my strength was sapped
    as in the heat of summer.

The stubborn silence of unacknowledged sin is a burden the Psalmist understood. We don’t know the nature of the sin or the ensuing suffering that brought on these words of confession. But we do learn a very important lesson in this Psalm of confession. There is an indivisible unity between our true confession and the complete forgiveness of God.

But what is a true confession?

What makes it true?

What makes it real?

The Psalmist offers a dialogue of confession…

³ When I kept silent,
    my bones wasted away
    through my groaning all day long.
⁴ For day and night
    your hand was heavy on me;
my strength was sapped
    as in the heat of summer.

⁵ Then I acknowledged my sin to you
    and did not cover up my iniquity.
I said, “I will confess
    my transgressions to the Lord.”
And you forgave
    the guilt of my sin.

⁶ Therefore let all the faithful pray to you
    while you may be found;
surely the rising of the mighty waters
    will not reach them.
⁷ You are my hiding place;
    you will protect me from trouble
    and surround me with songs of deliverance.

In the course of this confession the Psalmist contrasts “I kept silent” in v.3 with “I said” in v.5.

When you and I have wronged someone with whom we have a relationship...

Be that our parents, a spouse, a friend, even God…

And when we refuse to acknowledge the wrong by keeping silent…

Our silence only harms and even diminishes the value of that relationship. The Psalmist exemplifies our need to break our silence in a spoken confession of sin. Confession needs to be spoken to God and when possible our silence must be broken in the presence of the one we have wronged. When we remain silent out of stubborn pride or for fear of being found out – as I was with my matchbook…

It is the silence itself that can become the heavy hand of God’s judgement.

When the silence is broken in true confession the relief of forgiveness is the result

The Psalmist continues…

⁸ I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
    I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.
⁹ Do not be like the horse or the mule,
    which have no understanding
but must be controlled by bit and bridle
    or they will not come to you.
¹⁰ Many are the woes of the wicked,
    but the Lord’s unfailing love
    surrounds the one who trusts in him.

A word of godly instruction to trust and to be obedient to the Lord in the act of confession. The psalmist uses the metaphor of a horse or mule, being controlled by the bit and bridle, to show us that true confession is not idle words spoken without understanding or care.

True confession is an act of faith.

To confess is to proclaim in faith that I am a sinner and God is gracious.

But there is more…

Confession without integrity is no confession at all. When we confess only because we’ve been found out or caught in the act. When we confess only after we have been dragged to it unwillingly like a horse or a mule. God is not deceived by our empty words and so we shouldn’t deceive ourselves into thinking we are forgiven. However, as the psalmist proclaims in v.1-2, when confession is made with integrity, in a true act of faith, there is an indivisible unity between my true confession and the complete forgiveness of God.

After several sleepless nights, my mom found that pack of matches through my own purposeful carelessness. When I was confronted, I confessed willingly, feeling relieved of a tremendous burden. I expected my punishment to be swift, but to my surprise I did not receive the spanking I was due.

Rather mom took me back to the store…

On the way there she told me calmly and quietly why it was wrong to steal and how much I had hurt her and dad by what I had done. Then she opened her wallet and took out enough change to buy 10 of those match books. Giving me the change, mom told me I needed to go into the store, confess what I had done, and pay whatever they asked for that 1 pack of matches. As a naïve eight-year-old I had visions of being led away in handcuffs and of being put behind bars for good.

But my parents had already taught me such an important lesson in forgiveness…

That I could face the consequences of my actions whatever they might be.

This is the joyful celebration of forgiveness that the Psalmist understands…

⁵ Then I acknowledged my sin to you
    and did not cover up my iniquity.
I said, “I will confess
    my transgressions to the Lord.”
And you forgave
    the guilt of my sin.

It’s a celebration which recognizes the painful process of true confession.

Confession is not easy!

It can itself be a relationship straining event. But in confession a freedom is recognized that can only come through the complete forgiveness offered us by God. When I brought that pack of matches back into the store. The flames of my guilt became the ashes of forgiveness.

Today is Ash Wednesday.

Today we begin the 40-day journey of Lent that will take us to Holy Week. A journey that will take us to Palm Sunday and the triumphal entry of our Lord into Jerusalem.

Today we begin a journey to the cross of Calvary.

The cross on which our Saviour bled and died.

Proclaiming “It is finished” offering you and me the ashes of forgiveness. Offering you freedom from guilt and a reply to your true confession.

Confession isn’t easy, but the Psalmist models a way to freedom.

Forgiven and set free, we are invited to sing together with the psalmist…

⁷ You are my hiding place;
    you will protect me from trouble
    and surround me with songs of deliverance.

“Lord, teach us to pray”

In Matthew 6, the disciples of Jesus make the request, “Lord, teach us to pray.” Their request reveals something critical about prayer, namely that our practice of prayer comes out of the context of relationship. Prayer is conversation with God. Whether you’re praying on your own, with friends, or even in a large group, prayer remains primarily a vertical conversation between you and God. In prayer we enter into the intimacy of a relationship built over the course of our journey of faith and through the act of prayer that relationship grows ever deeper.

This is why I can’t/won’t mourn the loss of the Lord’s Prayer in our school system or engage in debates about keeping the Lord’s Prayer as part of government meetings. Prayer should sound strange or even weird in a society that worships individual autonomy, freedom, and detachment. Prayer should feel out of place in a culture that pressures us to live as though there is no tradition or larger narrative, and that we are accountable to nothing outside of the self. Does this mean that we shouldn’t pray for or even with government leaders, teachers, students, or even the general public? Of course not! In fact we should be bold in our prayer for the world around us fervently asking God to move. But in prayer we are ourselves undergoing change – being transformed as Paul says, “Into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” (2 Corinthians 3:18)

When we pray, we are making ourselves vulnerable before God and inviting the Holy Spirit to speak into our needs and also to bring change where needed. For example in the Lord’s Prayer – a prayer that many people, even people who know little about faith in Christ can likely pray – we keep being confronted by the oddness, the radical nature of learning to pray as Jesus taught us. When we speak the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples to pray and further begin to nurture a life of prayer, our lives are being bent towards God in a way that we are not naturally inclined to do.

So what if we would regularly take the posture of the disciples and ask, “Lord, teach us to pray”? Together, let’s allow the activity of prayer to bend us towards the Father and let’s be prepared for the how the Holy Spirit might challenge and change us along the way.

(Adapted from an article I wrote for the Listowel Banner, January 30, 2015)

The storm...

I think it makes a big difference in how we experience Jesus in Mark 4 by the way we read his words to the disciples and even to the storm. Jesus resting on a pillow in the stern of the boat as its rocked by crashing waves and the howling wind of a storm is at once a picture of peace in the middle of chaos.

In the beginning when God created the heavens and earth, Genesis gives us a powerful image of wind/Spirit of God hovering over the chaos that was pre-creation. The story of Jonah works with the theme of chaos to a new level in showing that God can even use the chaos of the sea to bring about his purposes. And here as the disciples battle against the wind and waves, their shouts of “Don’t you care?” betray the chaos the disciples are experiencing all around them. And maybe chaos is the right word to describe the reality of fear in our lives.

When the doctor invites us to take a seat and hear a diagnosis.

When a police officer knocks at the door late at night to share some horrible news.

When your boss/supervisor calls you into the office with news that cuts are being made or the company is moving in a new direction and it doesn’t include you.

As you are walking home alone, late at night, you hear the soft, crackling sound of someone or something stepping on dry leaves nearby. Your heart begins to race as you imagine who or what lurks in the shadows.

Each of these create their own sense of chaos (and of course there are others) within the order we try to create in our lives. Fear is a vital response to physical and emotional danger—if we didn't feel it, we couldn't protect ourselves or at least raise our defences when a legitimate threat appears. But we also may have a fear of the unknown:

Fear of death…

Fear of being contaminated by some obscure disease…

Fear of terrorism…

Fear of flying…

Fear of rejection…

Fear of impending catastrophe…

Fear of failure…

Even a fear of success…

Sometimes we fear situations that are far from life-or-death, and often these cause us hang back for no good reason. Traumas or bad experiences can trigger a fear response within us that is hard to shut down. When these fears take hold of us it can be crippling. It can ignite the “fight or flight” response within us. It could cause us to withdraw and refuse to take any risk whatsoever. Fear can curl us up into a tight ball that tries with all the strength possible to keep the world away

Fear can be terrifying. Fear is chaos…

So a question for your experience of chaos: when you read the words Jesus spoke to the storm in Mark 4:39, what is the tone of voice that you hear?

Do you hear Jesus standing there with all his muscular ferocity, with his long flowing hair blowing in the wind, yelling with a deep thunderous voice:

“QUIET! BE STILL!”

Is this the same deep thundering voice of power that stopped you in your tracks as a child when you knew you were doing something wrong?

Is this the voice you need to speak into your experience of fear?

Is this what God’s voice sounds like in your life?

I’ll admit there are times I want the warrior God to act – to bring justice; to right what I think is clearly wrong; to bring some sanity to an often messed up world. Maybe this is exactly the voice of God we need when our lives are spiraling into chaos. And maybe this is the voice that Jesus used to calm the storm.

But think about those words for a while “Quiet! Be still!”

A while ago I was listening to a parenting conversation on Focus on the Family (there’s always more to learn on this parenting journey and I’m happy to pick up wisdom along the way). The presenter in this parenting talk suggested that depending on the temperament of your child whispering might be the best way to get your wishes through to your child – when they expect you to yell and scream, get down to their level hold their face in your hands and whisper your exact instructions and get them to repeat what you’ve said.

This got me thinking about how Jesus interacted with his disciples.

Jesus – the Word become flesh; present at creation; active in creating the universe and yet fully man there with his disciples. The God who creates does not need to yell for his creation to hear him. In fact the most intimate moments of God’s interaction with humanity recorded in the Old Testament are moments of quiet. In Genesis 3, God comes for a stroll in the garden in the cool of the evening – it’s an image of a peaceful walk in the forest. In 1 Kings 19, after the great a powerful wind, followed by a bone rattling earthquake, followed by a scorching fire – after all of these came a gentle whisper and there was God.

How does this story of the disciples pushing against the oars, fighting the storm, crying out, “Don’t you care?” – how does this story change if you hear the voice of Jesus as a gentle whisper?

“Quiet! Be Still!”

Psalm 46 begins with strong words of assurance:
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.” (v.1-3)

And the Psalm continues by presenting the power of God over the nations and over creation itself. As the Psalm reaches its climax one would expect a noisy crescendo of power, but there in Psalm 46:10 the still, small voice rings out, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

After the storm had gone still, after the chaos of the waters had turned glassy smooth, Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, “Why are you afraid?” the NIV has, “Why are you SO afraid?”

I hear that question with a voice of compassion and the deep concern of a friend.

To be sure there are many things that bring fear and anxiety into our lives. Too often I think we have given the subtle message that as Christians we should have banished fear a long time ago, as through the waters of baptism not only washed us clean but scrubbed out all fear.

I think the disciples help to bring us back to reality.

Jesus – King of kings and Lord of lords was there in the boat with them.

Jesus – Saviour of the world was asleep in the stern of the boat.

And still they shook him awake over the noise of the storm and cried out, “Don’t you care?”

In Jesus’ words of rebuke to the storm and his question to the disciples is the assurance we read in Isaiah 44:1-2 – 

“But now hear, O Jacob my servant, Israel whom I have chosen! 

Thus says the Lord who made you, who formed you in the womb and will help you: 

Do not fear, O Jacob my servant, Jeshurun whom I have chosen.”

You belong.

I am holding you in my arms.

I have this crazy world under control.

God declares to the thunderous applause of heaven: “I am the first and I am the last; apart from me there is no God.”

Some days fear rears its ugly head and seeks to overwhelm us

Some days fear feels like an endless falling,

Like a deep threat,

Like rising water,

Like a ruthless wind.

But Jesus is there – Jesus is with you.

Christ walks this journey through fear with you rebuking and silencing and ordering. And in Christ we find again the place of rest even in the very eye of the storm. This is what it means to put Jesus at the centre of our lives – at the centre of who you are. This is about coming to a place of surrender – the place of faith.