This post begins a series that explores praying with the Mass from an LGBTQ perspective. The Outreach contributor Ariell Watson Simon considers various components of Catholic liturgy and how they connect with LGBTQ life.
“I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned….” If you have habitually attended an English-language Mass at any point in your life, these words likely roll off your tongue automatically. Catholics recite this prayerknown by the Latin name Confiteorearly in the liturgy as an act of penance. Like other forms of the Penitential Act, it gives congregants the opportunity to check in with ourselves, examine our consciences and ensure that we are approaching God with a clean heart.
My first experiences with the Confiteor came while attending Mass in my college chapel at Loyola University Maryland. My friends and I would crowd into the pews at the 5 p.m. student Mass, still shaking off the weekend’s partying and mentally buckling down for the week ahead. I remember standing shoulder to shoulder with roommates, friends, love interests and rivals, as I recited these words: “I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned.” It felt like a cleansing, to acknowledge that we didn’t have it all together. We were young people, fumbling our way into adulthood. We were experimenting with love, friendship, loyalty and boundaries. All too often, we hurt each other along the way. Through our thoughts, words, actions and failures, our most grievous faults had affected one another.
Each time we say the Confiteor, we publicly admit our transgressions. Thankfully, our sins are not itemized aloud (save that for the confessional!). Instead of focusing on specifics, the Confiteor sweeps them all up in a broad characterization that applies to us all: “I have greatly sinned.”
LGBTQ people are no more sinful than our straight and cis-gender counterparts, but we all have shortcomings, and our faith prompts us to recognize and address them.
When I first came out as an LGBTQ Catholic, this statement felt fraught. My interior monologue ran something like this: Do the people around me think queerness is a great sin? They’re probably thinking “of course, we all know she is a big sinner.” But I don’t believe that my sexuality is wrong. I’m proud of who I am; why should I say “I have greatly sinned?” Is this self-shaming?
Due to the overemphasis on sexual morality in our tradition, many Catholics jump to sexual conduct in our examination of conscience. Pope Leo recently observed “We tend to think that when the church is talking about morality, that the only issue of morality is sexual…. I believe there are much greater, more important issues, such as justice, equality, [and] freedom….” Indeed, my internal struggle over my sexuality was a distraction from examining my conscience on other important topics. My queerness doesn’t make me sinful, but my humanity does. LGBTQ people are no more sinful than our straight and cis-gender counterparts, but we are not exempt from the foibles of human character either. We all have shortcomings, and our faith prompts us to recognize and address them.
Reciting the Confiteor, I admit to sin “in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do.” This is an expansive definition of sin. It’s not just my actions that have failed to measure up—it’s also my inactions, my thoughts and my words. When I confess that I have sinned, that includes the uncharitable thoughts I have about the homeless man I pass on the way to work; the gossip I indulge in about my right-wing neighbor; and even the failure to make that advocacy call to my senator that I never got around to.
Sometimes sin is as straightforward as breaking one of the 10 Commandments. Usually, however, it creeps up on us through small, seemingly innocuous choices. When I think, speak and act in unjust ways, I participate in structural sins like racism, xenophobia and transphobia. Through my action and my inaction, I unwittingly cooperate in systemic injustice.
When I think, speak and act in unjust ways, I participate in structural sins like racism, xenophobia and transphobia. Through my action and my inaction, I unwittingly cooperate in systemic injustice.
The Penitential Act asks me to open my eyes to the evils around me and to recognize my role in them. How am I complicit when I participate in systems that exploit the earth? How do I benefit from privilege born of others’ oppression? In order to repent and do better, I have to acknowledge my share in these structural sins. Hence the words of the Confiteor: “I confess….”
The Confiteor is a public and communal admission of guilt. Unlike many of the words we recite in Mass, it is addressed not only to God, but also to one another. It guides us to turn toward each other and admit our imperfections. In doing so, we are formed as a community of authenticity.
The Confiteor not only invites us to confess, but it prompts us to ask for help: “Therefore I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin, all the Angels and Saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.” I think back to times, like in college, when I have recited these words in unison with people who were part of my day-to-day life. As friends, family members, colleagues and classmates, we acknowledged that if we were going to do better, we would need to do it as a community, with one another’s prayer and support.
The shame surrounding homosexuality, coupled with a culture of individualism, has left many of us thinking of sin and redemption as solitary experiences. The Confiteor serves as a powerful reminder that sin is social. It usually happens in the context of relationships, and it inevitably affects the people around us. Every time we recite the Confiteor, we have the opportunity to remember that the solution is likewise communal: We must lift each other up in order to heal. We need each other’s accountability, strength and cooperation to build a world in which it is easier to be good.
The Confiteor is addressed not only to God, but also to one another. It guides us to turn toward each other and admit our imperfections.
The next time you recite the Confiteor in Mass, say it like you mean it. Listen to your neighbors as they confess to you and ask for your prayers. Hear it as a call for mutual aid in the project of healing and growth. I offer this adaptation of the familiar words, as a Confiteor for LGBTQ Catholics:
I confess to our Loving God
and to you, my siblings,
That I have fallen short
in my prejudiced thoughts and my biased judgements
in my careless words and my degrading self-talk
in what I have done to cooperate with injustice
and in what I have failed to do to resist it;
Through my fear, through my complacency, through my worst errors.
Therefore I ask all my spiritual ancestors, queer saints,
and you, the human family,
to pray with me,
that together we might build a better tomorrow.
Amen.
