Leviticus meditations: Sin and Mercy

So, I had a hard time with Leviticus month. For about thirty days and eighteen hours, I groused and complained. My postings were progressively getting darker and darker. I was talking to a friend about the month and after I referred to the Law as "unremitting suckitude" he asked if he should be gathering stones. A while ago, I mentioned my childhood pastor describing God's giving the Law as "'I'm going to be your God and you're going to be my people and this is how we're going to live.' Then they shook hands and had a party." I forgot the handshake and forgot the party. It wasn't going well.

Early in the month I had been reading through the sacrificial section and was convinced that the modern-day, post Jesus equivalent is sacramental confession.

(Actual classification as "sacrament" is largely beside the point. Another friend agrees this is certainly a good thing to do, but is not convinced that "sacrament" is an appropriate label. OK, whatever.)

This is something I knew about from my Catholic days, but had never been part of my life. I had "gone to confession"/"received the sacrament"/whatever you want to call it a grand total of once, when I was ten years old. I was not interested in doing this again -- but the way I was not wanting to do this made me think that I really ought to. So I borrowed a Book of Common Prayer to look up the Episcopal liturgy, made arrangements with an incredibly accommodating confessor, who, not being Catholic, had really not signed up for this, took a very deep breath and jumped in.

I don't know what I was expecting, but this was not what I was expecting. This was Large. This was a Major Life Event. I spent hours dredging up the muck in my life and preparing my list -- and then it was all washed away. Gone. I was walking on air.

And all of a sudden I knew that I was in a really good place and I did not want to muck it up. "OK God, this is fantastic. I want to stay here. Whaddya want me to do?" And at the same time, I knew that I was going to muck it up, and that was OK. Well, no, it wasn't OK -- but it was going to happen, and I could keep coming back. The door would always be open.

Everything had changed.