One of the groups I've become interested in lately is the Society of the Holy Trinity (STS, or Societas Trinitate Sanctae-- http://www.societyholytrinity.org), a group of Lutheran pastors dedicated to renewal in the Church.

One example of such renewal is private confession and absolution. That this has fallen out of use in recent centuries would certainly disappoint Luther and company, as they never intended to abolish confession. In fact, in the Augsburg Confession, Melanchthon includes Absolution as a sacrament. Luther does, too, in the Babylonian Captivity of the Church, though he waffles a bit toward the end of this treatise. Too bad that this practice is not widely available for us today as protestants.

I think it might help with the issues of discipline in the Church that I've been thinking about lately, and want to write about in my final essay for the Pastoral care course I'm taking. It's also, as the reformers pointed out, a sure evangelical word to those who are burdened by their sin. Absolution brings the word of forgiveness right to our doorstep, and is a valuable step toward the transformation that the Holy Spirit is working in us as the baptized.

My friends and I are trying to encourage one another to do this more regularly with our campus pastor. It takes gumption, but is worth it, I think.

One hurdle to get over is the disgusting notion that we have to wait until we have some really juicy sins to confess for it to be worthwhile. I confess that this probably, for me, comes from reading Augustine. I want to have some really deep and interesting reason for sinning. Just like Augustine's pears, I want to be able to say something really dark and poetic like The reason why I stole the pears and threw them away is because I am in love with destruction.

With all due respect to our venerable father St. Augustine, I think that usually our reasons for sinning are decidedly less cool. Usually, I just don't know why I do these things that destroy myself and others, these things that turn deliberately away from God and his intentions. Or else, the reasons are obviously dumb-- I wanted pleasure for myself.

Perhaps even a part of my life was spent trying to create cool sins to confess later so that at least I could have an interesting life and know, at least in part, what life is like outside the fold. This is what makes the prodigal life so prosaic and banal. Hanah Arendt, of course, writes about this very well in her essay on Eichmann in Jerusalem, "The Banality of Evil." The holocaust was not manufactured by evil megalomaniacs as much as it was by button-pushers and bricklayers and paper-pushers. Who built the death camps, anyway?

How much more exciting is the beautiful. The curve of sunlight refracted in the dew-slung tree-limb outside my window. The old woman shuffling around the altar to hold the bread before my mouth, whispering clearly, reminding me that I'm taking the Body of Christ. The wonders of marriage. The story of redemption is located here, in these things and we get to hear about them, and better yet, live them out in the Church. Thus, what a joy to confess: to turn away from what is ugly & stunted in my life, and towards that which is beautiful and full of meaning.

One of these days, hopefully this summer, I'm going to get around to reading David Bentley Hart's book The Beauty of the Infinite. Not only do I hear great raves, but this book delves into the relationship (indentity?) between beauty and truth, and locates both squarely in the Christian narrative. This book is an aesthetics of truth. As excited as I am about literature, I think it will be right up my alley. Of course, there's also Von Balthasar, and his eight volume Glory of the Lord. Whew. Maybe at some point I'll have the time and discipline!

Prayers for those who doubt-- and that includes all of us. Listen closely to the gospel lesson in the lectionary for this Sunday, the story of Thomas, our patron saint (also the confirmation name of my good friend Daniel).

Blessings.