I was well on my way to Orthodoxy, convicted of and committed to the whole faith and all dimensions of its piety, not least of all the sacramental life. And yet, I couldn’t make sense of Confession. For so long, this sacrament of forgiveness remained a perplexing dimension of the spiritual life despite the fact that the other mysteries of the Church made sense to me — both in their derivation and in their meaning.
My great dilemma was understanding the sacrament’s climactic end: the priestly absolution of my sins. This final act seemed redundant, decorative, cinematic — a culinary garnish, if you will, adding tangential appeal but no essential substance. Had not forgiveness been extended to me already? Had absolution not been effected by the person and work of Christ? What need was there, then, to receive absolution (again?) by means of the Church’s sacramental ministration?
With the wisdom of my previous (Protestant) spiritual mentors written on my heart, I attempted to make sense of this act of the Church as an aid and encouragement in the spiritual life. Indeed, my sins had been forgiven I’d say to myself, but in Confession, I hear it tangibly for added assurance. I knew that wasn’t the answer — it couldn’t be, lest the sacrament become an empty shell — but I could procure no other answer. Surely, I was on my way out of Protestantism, but in this one respect I still couldn’t shake the Protestant in me and see the Orthodox clearly.
It turns out I was facing a simple hurdle all along — simpler in the clarity of hindsight, no doubt, but true nonetheless. I had overlooked the fact that the Scriptures bear witness to a God who forgives, but nowhere proclaims to me that I am forgiven.
How many times had I been told otherwise? Time and time again I was told to open up the Scriptures and read for myself the good news: that if I believed in the Lord Jesus I — Agustin — would be forgiven of my all sin. I had every reason to believe this audacious claim. After all, the Scriptures tell me the Lord abounds in mercy and has a love that covers an endless multitude of sin. It was clear that God had all the intention, power, and means of forgiveness, and he offered it to mankind with a graciously outstretched arm. But when was I ever called by name in the Scriptures?
Did Christ call out in the Holy Scripture to Agustin Fajardo and declare him absolved of every sin and transgression? Of course not. It bears witness only to the fact that I can be forgiven. So where did I get the silly notion that I was forgiven and could declare myself so? By whose power, and in whose name did I have the audacity to claim the grace of God as my own when he had never declared that it was?
I am forgiven when Christ says I’m forgiven. Therein lies the need of the mystery.
I am in need of forgiveness effected, not merely offered. And what is Confession if not that? It is in this very mystery that God turns to the cries of this guilty beggar, poor and needy, unworthy of both heaven and earth and of this transitory life, and extends his merciful hand, full of grace, by the sacramental ministry of his priests. And hiding me under the shadow of his stole, Christ himself releases the riches of his grace to me by his saving right hand and the power of the Cross.
And therein lies the beauty of the sacrament. Forgiveness — true and unimaginable.