Last night at the Good Friday liturgy I noticed something odd: no confession.
On a day that is one of only two major fast days in the Church's calendar, it is entirely counterintuitive. On this day, surely, we should be confessing our sins, acknowledging how our sinfulness led Christ to the cross and how our sin works to destroy us.
Nope. No confession unless you are receiving communion from the reserved sacrament of Maundy Thursday. No communion, no confession, and that was how it was last night.
Good Friday is too late to be sorrowful for sin and is far too late for confession. The wheels had been set in motion; the crucifixion was inevitable once the table for the Last Supper was set. Wheels slowly, slowly turning during the meal, moving hesitantly throughout the night as Christ prayed for the disciples he was soon going to be leaving behind.
In the hour of crisis, confession is too late. There is little to be done to set things right; films make it seem to us like it's never too late because something can always be done. Sometimes our sins will be too much for us to make amends.
I'm sure the disciples wanted to confess their wrongdoings as Jesus was led to the cross and executed. "Lord, forgive me, just let Jesus go!" their lips might have mumbled as they tried to bargain with the God who seemed so hidden at the moment.
Too late for confession. Nothing to be done. The wheels of sin and death are in motion, crushing the innocent and guilty.
But Christ set in motion something else. Something that would break the wheels of sin and death.
Confession might come too late, but salvation still stands firmly before us, even before the brink.
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