Our observance of Lent at St. James brings sin to the forefront of our consciousness. We begin each service with the Penitential Order and in one of our Lenten programs we are studying Dante’s Divine Comedy. Last night in our discussion, we noted that Dante has a very different hierarchy of sins than ours. In our culture, sexual immorality seems to be the most offensive, while for Dante, the lustful were confined to the third of nine circles. Below them suffered (among others) misers and spendthrifts (in the fourth), flatterers (in the eighth), traitors (in the ninth). One of the fun things about reading The Inferno is noticing Dante’s changing attitude toward the suffering he is observing. Initially he sympathizes with the sinners; over time he comes to detest them and even occasionally add to their suffering. As his guide, Vergil tells him “piety lives when pity dies.”

It’s easy for us to say the words of the confession of sin and conclude, from the priest’s absolution, that we are OK. But sin isn’t only about acts we commit; sin is also about who we are. We are fallen human beings in need of God’s grace. This week I saw Little Children, a movie presented by the Upstate Film Society. Among the most deeply moving and disturbing films I’ve seen in quite some time, it is an examination of the emptiness of suburban life, in which lonely people seek meaning in broken relationships. One of the most poignant scenes is of a date between a convicted sex offender and a woman who suffers from mental illness. The two make a profound connection through their brokenness but the date ends in catastrophe. The film depicts raw humanity at its bleakest with no hint of redemption. Sarah, the leading character who sought release from the prison of suburbia through a desperate affair and planned to escape with her lover, in the end abandons her plan and returns to her suburban existence. Her only hope for survival seems to be in the love she shares with her daughter.

One of the great benefits of communal worship is the shared experience of confession, forgiveness, and grace. At the altar, we see ourselves and each other as we are, fallen human beings in need of, and receiving God’s grace. As I’ve reflected about the sinners I read about in The Inferno and in Little Children, and as I reflect on my own existence this Lent, I realize how very little separates me from them. It isn’t the gravity of the sins that sets me apart, but the fact that I ask God’s forgiveness.