confessions

ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father; We have erred, and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We have offended against thy holy laws. We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; And we have done those things which we ought not to have done; And there is no health in us. But thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders. Spare thou those, O God, who confess their faults. Restore thou those who are penitent; According to thy promises declared unto mankind in Christ Jesus our Lord. And grant, O most merciful Father, for his sake; That we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life, To the glory of thy holy Name. Amen.

When we went to church (almost all Sundays until Dad got horses as a religion), we attended services at a small, "low church" Episcopalian congregation called St. Paul's (I think about half of Episcopalian churches are called St. Paul's). I was not an enthusiastic church-goer at any age (nor was I enthusiastic about going to school, ironic in the extreme given the 22 years I ultimately devoted to the task of being a student--never mind the 27 I devoted to being a professor). Maybe "devoted" is a little strong, then. If you know me well enough, you might feel entitled to substitute "endured." Otherwise just go along with the premise here--we'll get to the punchline before too long, I hope.

There were some positives, though. The priest (we would never have called him that), John Norman, was brilliant. He had an artificial leg, the result of a war injury (I don't remember whether it was from Korea or WWII), but I didn't know about it until I saw him at the bowling alley. Because of the prosthesis, he had a truly distinctive bowling style, but I think he was the best bowler on the St. Paul's team (I suspect "having a bowling team" is sufficient to make a congregation low church,  but if not, the fact that the one-legged Reverend is the best bowler on the team should seal the deal). He had a lovely singing voice (at least in comparison to the rest of the congregation), a liberal world view, and a good sense of humor.

I could never buy the cosmology. I didn't like Sunday School. I never felt that anyone could justify the extremism of Heaven vs. Hell in a way that was at all consistent with Jesus' message about loving neighbors and enemies. There was almost something racist about it, although I didn't see that at the time. I was not reassured that God (who sent people to Hell!) would be great company for eternity.

But I did love a puzzle. I was especially puzzled by "turn the other cheek." I was bullied a bit in school, although I wasn't small enough at prime bullying ages to be a great target (I was a lousy fighter, though, if they only knew). I'm still unsure about TTOC as a tactic, but I am certain about it as an ethical principle. You could see it, and many do, as a justification for cowardice, but I think the key distinction is that TTOC applies when you yourself are attacked; heroism and cowardice apply when others are attacked and you are called to defend them. 

We have left undone those things which we ought to have done

The General Confession is one of the great committee-written passages in the English language. Properly executed, it's also one of the great pieces of theater. I've done no research on this, but I suspect it was really written by one or maybe two talented poets or playwrights. The whole congregation (and the priest, as I remember it) recites this in unison. It's general enough to cover all the cases, but certainly made me feel personally responsible for "the devices and desires of my own heart" and it still does--almost as if Jean-Paul Sartre had written it.

As I approach the end of my life, I am not worried about Heaven or Hell (they are fiction, people!), but I do feel a need to come to the aid of those who have been attacked for no reason. There are so many, and it's not at all clear how to sort them. Also, it's not clear to me how I can help. Confusion is the first stage of cowardice. No one plans to be a coward--they simply freeze when confronted by decisions that range from difficult to impossible.

My wife has been attacked, repeatedly. So has my son. I'm sure that many people I know have been attacked in many ways, but haven't told me about it. And so many people I have never met and never will have been attacked in so many awful ways. What am I to do? It's a little late to grow a superpower (BTW why no cancer-based superheroes, Marvel? I think it's at least as plausible as Spider Man), so speech is probably all I've got. Gonna keep speaking, and I'll take suggestions.