I’d make a terrible career criminal. I have major qualms about taking more than one sample cup of salsa at Costco. I always follow up if I’ve been under-charged for something, and never fail to make good on the transaction. I still burn with shame as I recall my one-and only venture into attempted shoplifting—a tiny rubber ball from Woolworth’s when I was in third grade. Needless to say, that little ball bounced right back onto the rack, un-stolen. I don’t kid myself that I am Ms. Wonderful. I just have an extremely noisy, guilty conscience. It’s not worth the emotional squirming to be on the wrong side of the law.
In addition to avoiding a life of larceny, I am perhaps a bit overzealous with my apologies. Even when the mistake is not mine, I respond as if it is. Whenever someone bumps into me or spills something on me or cuts me off in traffic, I’m usually the one who says, “I’m sorry.” It just seems to make life go more smoothly when I take responsibility for everyone’s actions (or inactions). And honestly? I’ve never been sorry about being sorry.
So naturally I have always been drawn to the spiritual concept of repentance. Going to confession in a booth, with a priest there to listen, was very meaningful to me as a young Catholic child. I’d unburden myself after fighting with my sisters and disobedience to my parents. As I said my Hail Marys afterwards, I’d feel so good, so free, so right with God. As a Lutheran, I know that I am forgiven. But sometimes I still feel as if I should be doing something more than the prayers of confession I recite together with other worshippers in church. It’s taken decades to understand that God does not keep score of how many “Glory Be’s” I pray, and that I don’t have to earn a pardon from God.
The season of Lent appeals to me because it’s a whole 40 days of repenting, literally “turning back” to the Lord. Lent is our North Star, leading us once more out of the woods and onto a better path. I can express my regret, be absolved, and get that second (or two millionth) chance to do the right thing. From Ash Wednesday on, I am reminded daily that, while I can be foolish, and am very flawed, Jesus is a loving, forgiving Lord.
Times of penitence are an important part of most faith traditions. Hindus observe Maha Shivaratri, when they meditate and focus on all the darkness and ignorance in the world. They re-dedicate themselves to generosity and kindness. For our Jewish sisters and brothers, there is Yom Kippur, an annual Day of Atonement. During Yom Kippur, they acknowledge their wrongdoings and ask God and one another for forgiveness. In the month of Ramadan, our Muslim neighbors go without food most of each day as they pray and reflect on their lives. They show solidarity with those living in poverty, for whom hunger is a constant companion. All these faith traditions include an element of fasting as sacrifice, and to some extent, so does the Christian season of Lent.
Lent is our time to pause and contemplate our lives. We are given many chances to turn around, express sincere sorrow, and be absolved by God, who loves us and wants to welcome us back after we have strayed. By turning around, we join the worldwide community of faith. Together, for all our differences, we honor the divine, recognize our shortcomings and vow to do better in the future.
In our day-to-day modern world, “I’m sorry” rarely leaves the lips of a large percentage of the population. Apologizing is seen as a sign of weakness. Admitting you were mistaken leaves you vulnerable (even legally vulnerable). At the site of a car accident, drivers are discouraged from admitting fault, lest they jeopardize an insurance settlement or court case). Politicians who repent, who change their ways, are called flip-floppers. In the name of consistency, they can feel forced to continue holding old opinions, even when those opinions cause harm. Wars are fought and people die because those in power stubbornly will not admit they were wrong. And when there is some acknowledgement of responsibility, I notice that the heartfelt “I’m sorry” of yesteryear has frequently become a flippant “oops, my bad” or “I’m sorry if you were offended.” Those hardly sound like apologies at all, and more like lip service paid to the pain we caused. Worst of all is when we’re sorry not because we did it, but because we got caught.
Times have changed. We don’t see penitent people donning sackcloth and ashes anymore. Except for faith communities, it’s unusual for groups to set aside time for repentance, reflection and reparation. But how greatly such a tradition might benefit society at large! We all hurt one another. We all do regrettable things. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to admit this and lay down the burdens of guilt and shame we are carrying through life? Wouldn’t it be a relief and a respite from the exhausting pretense that we’re perfect? Wouldn’t it be amazing to confess and be absolved, feeling that forgiving love from God and those we have hurt?
This Lent, I pray that we all can own up when we fall short, get back to self-awareness, and return to apologies offered and accepted. Contrary to current popular opinion, “I’m sorry” is not weakness. Saying “I’m sorry” shows strength of character. Best of all, it opens the door to a fresh start. Do we have the courage to be vulnerable? Because it does take courage. We risk being rejected and condemned by other people. As people of faith, though, we should be reassured that we are never condemned or rejected by God. Our sins are forgiven— every single one of them. We just need to turn back to the One who is all mercy, who will never, ever turn away from us.
And when we forgive our fellow humans? We give a great gift to them and ourselves. We help bring peace and joy back into the world. And we model God’s open-hearted forgiveness at the same time.
Someone needs to go first, to say the words. Why not you? Why not me?
I’m sorry I caused you pain. I care about you. I promise to try harder, to do better. There.
That wasn’t so hard. Welcome to Lent, child of God, and the incredible lightness of being sorry.
Elise Seyfried is the author of five books of humorous spiritual essays. Elise recently retired after 20 years as director of spiritual formation at Christ’s Lutheran Church in Oreland, Pennsylvania.
This article appears in the March/April/May 2025 issue of Gather. To read more like it, subscribe to Gather.