WLSU: Repentance at the Gym

“Are you willing just to acknowledge your part in what went wrong, to be accountable and then move on?”

I was taken aback by the direct and simple nature of the question. We don’t often hear people speak this plainly. I actually stopped listening at that point, both because I was trying to lift a very heavy thing, and also because this stranger’s question sent me deep within myself. It was as if she had asked me the question just as directly and simply. Phil, are you willing just to acknowledge your part in what went wrong, to be accountable and then move on?

I delicately put the heavy thing on the ground, and then silently prayed for this person on her phone. I’m very religious, after all. I prayed with thanksgiving for her courage - because saying that to anyone takes courage. Then I prayed for, I guess you’d call it a happy ending, a resolution or reconciliation or whatever those two needed. I put the weights back on the rack, walked off and finished my workout. But that question stuck with me.

It’s the heart of Lent, really. We use fancy words to describe this Christian season that leads up to Easter. We talk about penitence and fasting and reflection and devotion. But the lifeblood of Lent is repentance. And if repentance is itself too fancy a word, just imagine my unwitting workout buddy asking you the same question: Are you willing just to acknowledge your part in what went wrong, to be accountable, and then move on? That question is about repentance. If you are able to hear that question, ask it of yourself, and move towards answering yes, then you understand repentance.

Repentance is not about being ashamed. It’s not about beating yourself up. It’s about acknowledgment, accountability, and moving on.

Every one of those steps matter, and the process of repentance doesn’t quite work without all three.

Acknowledgement, on its face, seems to be the most difficult. Simply admitting I’m wrong, I was wrong, I did a wrong thing, I hurt you, I didn’t do enough. We get stuck right here so often. This goes way back to the genesis of wrongdoing. In the story of the first sin, when God confronts Adam and Eve about their transgression, they simply can’t admit their part in what went wrong. The man points to the woman, the woman points to the serpent – neither person will acknowledge their part.

Sometimes I’m scared of acknowledging I did something wrong because I’m afraid of what it will mean about me. I work hard to present myself as a good person, as an intelligent person, as thoughtful and kind and all the nice words. Acknowledging my wrongdoing contradicts the narrative I am trying to tell about myself. Sometimes we think people don’t acknowledge their part because they’re afraid of the consequences. And sure, I suppose that’s part of it. But I think a larger part of it is just that we don’t like how such an acknowledgment would change the story of us. I know that’s the case for me.

Once I was telling a group of priests a story about a ministry initiative of mine that failed grandly. I mean, it was ugly and devastating. And I ended my presentation with a reflection on the things I got wrong throughout the process. Sure, other people also did things that caused its failure. But I wanted to acknowledge and name my part in what went wrong. One priest in the group couldn’t take it. He kept raising his hand and explaining how I had done my best and how it was the congregation’s fault and the neighborhood’s fault, and the local government’s fault. And even then I could tell he wasn’t trying to make me feel better – he was trying to make himself feel better. He had a narrative he was telling about what it means to be a priest. He was scared of what my acknowledgment meant for his story.

The woman on the phone said be accountable, and this too feels very painful. I tend only to like consequences when they are positive. When negative consequences come my way, I immediately become fixated on grace and forgiveness. I don’t want to deal with the fallout. I want a mulligan. When Cain kills Abel, God does not kill Cain. Instead God leaves a mark on Cain’s face and sends him off to wander the world. Cain, whose life is spared, does not see grace in God’s decision to spare his life. He complains. He does not want to be held accountable. He wants to move on.

We hear this refrain a lot when we seek to hold people accountable: Just move on. Why harp on it? A few years ago the Episcopal Church launched an initiative called Becoming Beloved Community. Its purpose is to lead the church into the work of racial justice, healing, and reconciliation. I remember one of the authors introducing this initiative and saying we needed to say justice and healing first, because when it comes to race, a lot of White people want to jump straight to reconciliation without actually working for justice or healing. The acknowledgment and the accountability are not attractive. They make us change the story we are telling about ourselves, and we are afraid of what justice and healing will demand of us. Can’t we just skip to the part where we are all friends?

Christians love the resurrection of Jesus but don’t want to reflect too long on his death. We are often not interested in paying attention to what killed him, to our part in it.

The woman at the gym did end her question with moving on though. And this matters. I think I shy away from repentance because I think I will somehow get trapped in the acknowledgment and accountability. But this truly is not the point of repentance. Jesus is not interested in me feeling bad. Seriously. God’s primary motivation is not my guilt and shame. God is much more interested in empowering me to walk towards the love for which I’m made. There is little I know about the woman at the gym and I know even less about the person to whom she was speaking – but she was still on the phone with them, still trying, still holding on, still seeking understanding.

There are consequences for all of us to the things we do wrong. It’s not even punishment, just a natural result of what we’ve done, the fracturing of trust, the distance between us widening, the grief of loss. But there can be a holding on and a moving forward as well. Adam and Eve must leave the safety of the Garden of Eden, but the story goes that God literally clothed them for their journey into the world. And Cain may have been sent to wander, but it is said that the mark God gave him was meant to keep him safe from those who would harm him. God doesn’t hang up. God holds on. There is a way forward.

This is the trick of Lent: This season is based on the belief that repentance ends with Easter, not Good Friday. Acknowledgment of our sin is a gift. It frees us from pretending we are always right. It liberates us from the false narrative that we are good people. Because we are not always good people, but we are always loved. God isn’t hanging up on us.