I’m Sorry

Given by James Covington on October 2nd, 2005

For those of you in our sanctuary who are perfect, who have your act together, I really don’t have anything to say to you this morning. I’m sorry. So, you may be excused, if you like. Sorry.

Hmmm, nobody is leaving! Well, I feel better already. Like the man looking for a good church to attend. He entered one in which the congregation and the preacher were reading from their prayer book. They were saying, “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.” The man dropped into a seat and sighed with relief as he said to himself “Thank goodness, I’ve found my crowd at last.”

So, for all of you imperfect mortals sitting in front of me, this sermon is for you. My remarks this morning begin with a paradox. At once, you and I are originally, magnificently blessed - as it is said in Genesis, creatures made from dust, in divine image–poetically speaking–miracle gifts of the creation. At the same time, we are markedly flawed, far removed from the ideal to which we aspire. Humans are a curious puzzle: half-angel and half-beast. We are incredibly beautiful and yet cursed with an immense capacity to mess up. We are each other’s saving grace. And, we are a problem unto ourselves and to one another.

The chasm between the ideal, perfect self we would like to be and the real inept self we are is so frustrating. Try as we might, we never quite seem to get it right. About a hundred years ago, one of my professors argued, “A horse never fails to be a horse; a human, on the other hand, never quite succeeds at being fully human.” Or as St. Paul famously put it, “the good I would do, I do not; the evil I abhor, that I do.” Or as Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote: “the line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either, but right through every human heart.” Sobering words, indeed! So, sometimes, when I pray or meditate or silently reflect, I often think, “Well, here I am, Life, Lord, Spirit, still a mess after all these years. I’m sorry.”

We’re talking about sin and redemption this morning. The reason we are doing that is because we are approaching the High Holy Days of Judaism, which end with Yom Kippur, or a Day of Atonement, when one asks forgiveness for his or her sins. Now, we all know how difficult it is for UUs, humanists, atheists, secularists, among others to talk about sin. WE associate sin with being scolded as children, or being born sinners, self flagellation, or being harshly judged for breaking some cockamamie religious rule and proven unworthy!

Well, ok. But in my advancing maturity, I find myself thinking, man, humans really do mean things to one another. Hmmm. I try to explain that away with psychological, sociological mumbo jumbo. And some of it is accurate. Human beings who are oppressed, disadvantaged, abused, are more likely to do harm. But, that doesn’t explain everything. Human beings who are not oppressed, abused, or disadvantaged, also do bad things. So let’s think about this, more seriously for a while.

In western religious tradition, sin is best understood as separation from all that is blessed and good. In that sense, we’re all sinners. For each of us, many is the slip between our cup and our lip. That’s the paradox: We are inescapably split apart, one part wise and good, another, well less so. That gap! Mind the Gap brothers and sisters! Mind the Gap is not just a warning message for the London subway system. It’s about our lives. Mind the gap lest it grow wider and more dangerous.

Happily, we yearn to be whole. The angelic side of us hates being a house divided. Thus, we feel a pull toward health and goodness, and integration. Another meaning of the word sin is “to miss the mark.” I put it to you this way: I believe the concept of sin remind us of our human finitude and our innate capacity to do harm. I believe UUs need to take seriously those tendencies in human nature that historically have been called sin. This is one of the things I was trying to say last Sunday when I talked about Reinhold Niebuhr’s refusal to romanticize humankind.

Judaism and Christianity have differing interpretations as to why we sin and differing prescriptions for dealing with it. Christianity views humans as fallen creatures to begin with. Sinfulness is inevitable to our nature. UUs have difficulty with this one, true as it may be. We prefer to emphasize the innate goodness of human beings. Actually, we Unitarian Universalists are more like the Jews: we think of sin - not as inevitable to our nature - but as the result of freedom. To be a moral being, you must be able to choose between right and wrong. In our frailty and anxiety or sometimes just plain laziness, whatever, we often choose poorly. As with the Jews, we Unitarian Universalists don’t expect any one to come down from on high to fix things. We see atonement as a matter of getting back on the right path. It is our personal responsibility - although we often need help to get there. But we do believe it possible, even if we have to start over many times. As William Ellery Channing (founder of American Unitarianism,early 19th ct.) once put it, “I learned the right way by first having tried every wrong one.”

In his writings, Emerson (Unitarian minister, poet) speaks of our yearning for a “world elsewhere.” The world elsewhere is where our the gap is ever smaller, where the light in our soul prevails and guides us, not the petty needs of our ego or the anxieties of our fears. To be restored to grace—loved, accepted, forgiven– is like arriving at a new world, with a new life.

The Buddhists have a similar view: After recognising misgivings, one makes resolutions to be as mindful as one can, so as to never repeat them under any circumstances. In this sense, repentance is about forgiving oneself through expressing regret and turning over a new leaf, absolving oneself of unhealthy guilt while renewing determination to further avoid evil, do good and purify the mind with greater diligence.

To get there, we begin with confession. That’s hard, as I’ve said.

In this regard, Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, has something to offer to Unitarian Universalists. To atone is to close the gap between the human and the divine and enter the stage of at-one-ment.

Judaism is quite candid about the disconnect between what we say and do. Sin is our choice. The Hebrew Bible is filled with tales of people worshiping false gods, the idols of power, greed, or lust—all the things humans still do today. Human nature hasn’t changed much. Yet, it also teaches that it is possible to heal broken relationships, to forgive and re-covenant with one another. But we have to make the effort. We have to say, “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

Is there any doubt in your heart of the need to wrestle with our dual nature, hoping to be more angel, less beast? Is there any doubt that sin means both separation from all that is good and missing the mark of your good intention? If not, then the need for atonement is yours as well as mine.

The way to atone has three very clear steps: Confession, Repentance, and Re-commitment. Here’s the good news: it is possible to become whole. Here’s the bad news: first we have to lay it out, all the ways we fall short. Confession finally may be good for the soul, but initially it’s hell on our egos. Or as Lucy put it when advised by Charlie Brown to tell her mother she was sorry for misbehaving, “I’d rather die.”

Actually there are a variety of ways of saying “I’m sorry.” The most curious is the one in which someone will say, “I’m sorry,” when they haven’t understood something you have said to them. I remember the first time this happened to me. I was in college, and there was a fellow in my dorm who would say to me, when he hadn’t heard me clearly when said something to him, “Sorry?” Where I grew up, if you didn’t understand something someone said, you responded with a “What!? What d’you say? Huh?” Never, “Sorry.” The first time that fellow said that to me, I was offended, because I thought he was telling me I was a sorry fellow! I said, “Who’s sorry! You telling me I’m sorry? You’re the sorry one!”

Well, I learned a new meaning, so now I may utter it when I don’t understand someone: “Sorry?”

But of course, I offer the word differently to you now. I read somewhere that there are four general approaches a person can use to express contrition. They are presented as rungs on a ladder. It turns out that not all ways of saying “I’m sorry” are created equal. The lowest rung on the ladder of contrition is the form of confession made popular by Richard Nixon during the Watergate years. In the wake of serious wrongdoing, Nixon simply acknowledged that, in his words, “mistakes were made.” The use of the passive voice—never a good idea—meant that the mistake-makers remained unidentified. This implied that, however regrettable their mistakes may have been, they should not be held individually responsible. Their errors may have been the result of poor judgment or bad luck, but they would never have done what they did on purpose. “The devil made me do it.” As a way of saying “I’m sorry,” this form of contrition barely makes the ladder at all.

The next rung on the ladder of contrition uses the active voice and thereby personalizes the offense, but in a way that also implicates the person who was wronged. It goes like this: “If what I said offended you, I apologize.” The unspoken subtext here is that you shouldn’t have been offended in the first place, and therefore I really have nothing to apologize for. “Ah, people shouldn’t be so thin-skinned, and besides, she is a jerk.” “I didn’t do it, besides he had it coming. “But I will apologize anyway—just to show how admirable I am.

The third rung on the ladder is especially popular with children, but also with politicians. Here the wrongdoer admits “I was wrong,” but then adds, “So was everybody else.” This is the algebraic apology, which suggests that each error be divided up among the number of people who made it, leaving each person barely responsible at all. This approach, like the first and second, trivializes both past action and future opportunity.

To say “I’m sorry,” and mean it, requires taking responsibility for the past and taking charge of the future. This brings us to the top rung on the ladder: the full-fledged, no-holds-barred form of contrition known as repentance.

We begin by acknowledging that the past—our past as individuals, our past as a nation—can never be undone. This reality is what makes time and history so decisive; it is what makes the process of repentance during these Days of Awe so difficult. The past can never be undone. History is not a cycle we can repeat until we get it right. Nor is it an ephemeral charade which is full of sound and fury but signifying nothing in the end.

Our actions have eternal consequences, for good or for ill; they cannot be undone. Harsh words, selfish actions, thoughtless omissions, hateful thoughts: these will endure always. Repentance is the sober process of recognizing this fact, and so of taking our lives and our actions with ultimate seriousness. True repentance comes when I see how my words and actions have caused others to suffer.

A good example of this is the comment this week by William Bennett, author of The Book of Virtues and past Secretary of Education, that if we aborted all black babies, the crime rate would go down. He qualified that statement by saying that it would be a reprehensible thing to do, but nevertheless, the crime yet would go down. I think Bennett should apologize for making such an irresponsible comment and acknowledge that what he said was wrong, hurtful, and regrettable—and ask for forgiveness.

You see, in its deepest sense, repentance is more about the future than it is about the past.

In the 51st Psalm in the Hebrew Bible, the psalmist demonstrates this move from the past to the future:

I acknowledge my transgressions,
And my sin is always before me

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
And renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
And do not take Your Holy Spirit from me
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
And uphold me by your generous Spirit

For you do not desire sacrifice, or else I would give it;
You do not delight in burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,
A broken and a contrite heart–

These, O God, You will not despise.

The Hebrew faith is exacting, challenging, and daunting. It does not treat life like a movie that can re-edited, or a game that can be played again with different rules, or a trial that can be conducted again with a different jury. The faith of Abraham and Sarah invite us to make our choices in life and, when we choose unwisely, to acknowledge it and ask for forgiveness. As the psalmist says, “I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is always before me.” The key to repentance is acknowledging that the consequences of our actions endure.

But the message of Yom Kippur is not one of despair or resignation. It is true that the past cannot be undone. But it is also true that the future always stands open before us. Renewal of the spirit is always possible. The Psalmist prays, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” A steadfast spirit—this is what we need in times like these.

So yes, do say “I’m sorry” when your words or actions make an apology necessary. These words are two of the most powerful words in the English language. They are also two of the most demanding. They are your pledge to take responsibility for what was wrong about the past, to ask for forgiveness and to take charge of making the future different.