For fourteen years beginning in
the mid-70s I was privileged to serve as part-time vicar of the nearly 200 year
old St. Paul's Parish in rural Bantam, Connecticut. An advantage to such a
small setting of 145 parishioners was that I came to know every individual by
name and had been in most of their homes at one time or another. In those days
I had the inclination and energy to be with the junior and senior high young
people regularly.
One family with whom I was
especially close included four sons, the youngest of whom was Kenneth. With him
and many others I valued a candor uninhibited by ordination. On one
never-to-be-forgotten Sunday during Morning Prayer I led the monthly forum. I
don't remember the announced topic. I do recall that, for whatever reason, I
was ill-prepared.
Have you ever had the
experience of talking with someone while realizing that you had lost focus, but
you babbled on - wishing you could regain clarity and finish up with some
degree of sense? While leading that forum, which became rather one-sided, I
rambled on - lost and unfocused. I remember trying to cover my disarray by
throwing in a few scholarly words - with the arrogant hope that most
worshippers would assume they just didn't to grasp my profound thoughts. After
torturing the congregation for about 20 minutes, I concluded with an irrelevant
prayer to sanctify my chaos. Relieved by the offertory music, I returned to my
seat. At the acolyte's bench beside me, 13-year-old Ken was also relieved -
though rightly annoyed and characteristically candid. Turning toward me, he
looked directly into my eyes and whispered gently, "I thought you'd never stop.
You didn't make any sense. Just a lot of words." I could feel my face redden.
He was right. I had been going through the motions of a forum that had little,
if any, substance. Caught by a young teenager, I was confronted with my
superficiality: "just a lot of words." I was also touched by a fellowship that
allowed for such uncomfortable honesty.
Why hadn't I just told the
congregation that I wasn't prepared to offer the forum? Why did I attempt to
offer a surface form of a forum, even if substance would be
lacking? I probably believed that if I provided what was labeled as a forum,
then it would indeed be a forum. Well, the bare form of a forum
was there, albeit with minimal substance.
So often in our lives you and I
yield to form with little or no substance. Considering today's
secular calendar and the Gospel, I'd like to reflect with you now on form and
substance as related to both fatherhood and forgiveness.
In most dictionary definitions
of "father" only the barest biological meaning is provided. A male is qualified
as a father if he was a partner in the procreative process. Many laws about
fatherhood seem limited to this understanding, which could apply to dogs as
well. Reducing fatherhood to this form neglects the profound
substance of fatherhood. Listen to a summary of the entry for "father"
in a Bible dictionary!
In the Bible "father" is used in three
ways, none reduced to the mere biological.
First, in ancient Israel the
father occupied the authoritative position, particularly in matters of property
and inheritance, and together with the mother was to be honored and respected
within the family. The father in turn was to communicate to his children the
story of God's grace to Israel and together with the mother to provide a
general education. Likewise, in the households of the early church children
were to obey their parents. Fathers were to avoid undue pressures on their
children and were to bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the
Lord.
Second, "father" is used of persons like Abraham, "the father of all
who believe," as a title of respect for honored persons.
Third, "father" is
used or implied as a designation for God, the caring parent who agonizes over
disobedient and wayward Israel. Jesus used "father" as an unprecedented address
for God, indicating both a deepened intimacy and a faithful obedience. It
should be understood that the biblical language of God as Father is
metaphorical, transcending gender; there are a number of biblical images that
relate God's action and nature to a mother.
When we envision fatherhood, we
should not settle for mere biological forms or even crass models of an economic
provider! As Christians, we move more significantly to godly substance,
including intimate caring, active religious nurturing, the exercise of
responsible authority, and deserved honor.
Forgiveness is another aspect
of our lives that should entail substance rather than mere form. Some of us
have been told that we have a duty to automatically forgive others, regardless
of their attitudes toward their transgressions. Our Christian duty, some would
say, is to excuse and absolve, whether or not the wrongdoer is contrite. Even
if one does not feel genuinely forgiving, we should stick to form, and declare,
"I forgive you." Allowing for some unique situations, I believe that the
automatic, lightly given, impersonal dispensation of forgiveness is superficial
and inadequate. That one is doomed to interior festering, if one does not
quickly forgive is not true; one can let go of those emotions. Furthermore, a
trivial form of forgiveness fails to take seriously the wrongdoer's
deliberate choice. As one New Testament commentator observes, "Man's
forgiveness is not expected any more than God's to be based on an overlooking
of evil. ... A wrong-doer must repent of his wrong before he can expect
reconciliation." I would add that mechanical forgiveness is a cowardly
cover-up; it is an evasion by those who prefer not to face unpleasant realities
and awkward confrontations. If I have wronged you, and your hasty response is,
"I forgive you," you have robbed me of my responsibility and accountability. A
pretense of peace at the price of facing up to what has happened is delusional.
Mere words of pardon without the anguish of sorrow and, where fitting, an
attempt at restitution is cheap "niceness," not a true healing process.
In today's Gospel Jesus forgave
a sinful woman who, uninvited, came to a dinner party. Facing the realities of
whatever idolatries had poisoned her relationships with God and others, she
grieved, full of faith in the Word of God whose feet she humbly bathed.
Although some of the words in this Gospel are puzzling to me, I am struck by
her remorse, by her repentance accompanied by Christ's declaration of
forgiveness. I am also aware that if she sinned again seventy times seven and
was sincerely repentant as often, Jesus would assure her of forgiveness. In the
context of real penitence, we often pray, "...forgive us our trespasses, as we
forgive those who trespass against us."
Some of us were taught to go to
weekly, private Confession, list our sins of the week, say a memorized "Act of
Contrition" and a few other prayers, and receive absolution. We learned well
the words and the postures. However, I do not recall an emphasis on the
substance of Confession, which would certainly include felt, not merely
uttered, sorrow. How different from the grace-filled contrition of the forgiven
woman in the Gospel!
When we think about it, every
aspect of our lives can be reduced to mere form with little or no substance. In
our worship we Episcopalians can get caught up easily in wonderful words and
splendid music, the proper rubrics and grand form of it all, but go no deeper.
In all things sacred and secular, as we go through satisfying motions, we might
ignore their deeper dimensions, including our love for God and for each other.
Perhaps today's image of the
woman washing Jesus' feet with her tears will at the very least remind us of
this truth: In all we do - in our worship, in our family roles, as forgiven and
forgiving - mere form is insufficient. Instead, you and I are called in every
instance to embrace a fitting substance that is deeper, more profound, more
graceful, and more godly than a teenager's discernment of "just a lot of
words."