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(Editor's note: Pastor Allison Zbicz Michael of St. John Zion Lutheran Church in Seward, N.Y., delivered this homily during an ecumenical prayer service in January at St. Thomas the Apostle parish in Cherry Valley for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.)

It has been nearly impossible to avoid the news of Lance Armstrong's so-called "confession" to Oprah Winfrey about doping in the sport of cycling.

I do not fault him for the desire to confess; all of our denominations carve out a sacred space for souls to confess sins.

But there's something a bit strange about confessing to what everybody already knew, with the plainly-stated, self-interested goal that he will one day be allowed to compete again. Confession to Oprah, apart from the self-giving, reconciling love of God, is a type of confession that, sadly, is not grounded in much hope for true grace, forgiveness and reconciliation. Without grace, regret alone is not enough.

Christians are no strangers to using, "I'm sorry," in such a superficial way. Sometimes, we mean it when we ask for forgiveness from God and neighbor. But sometimes, "I'm sorry," means, "I don't want to face the consequences." Sometimes, it means, "What happened was regrettable, but there's nothing that can be done about it now."

Which was it when we just read a confession together at this ecumenical gathering?

When we read the confession, did we really remember that Sunday mornings are still the most segregated time of the week in America? We have white churches, black churches, rich churches, poor churches, German churches, Irish churches, Korean churches, Reformed, Methodist, Catholic, Lutheran.

If there is anything to sincerely grieve and repent of, it is our place in the broken body of Christ, torn apart, limb from limb by our own pride.

When we confess "our sins of disunity," do we really mean that we want to own up to our brokenness and seek reconciliation with one another? That's messy work which will require sacrifice, humility, unceasing prayer, patience and perseverance, confession and forgiveness; and above all, the grace of God. Or do we want to pat ourselves on the back because at least we can come together for an occasional prayer service or service project?

Are we like the couple that splits up because of "irreconcilable differences," giving up on one another because we cannot always agree on matters of grave importance, but still maintaining amicable, distant relationships for the sake of the kids? Or are we the family that truly believes that as long as we dwell in Christ, forgiveness and healing is always possible?

Too often, we are neither interested in the hard work of reconciliation nor faith-filled enough to trust that Christ can redeem our schisms and brokenness.

When Jesus appeared to disciples on the road to Emmaus, they despaired of Christ's absence. "We had hoped that He was the one who was going to redeem Israel!" they protested. They were ready to go their separate ways; some, back to their old jobs.

"It was fun while it lasted, but it is over," they said to themselves. "Apart from our shared grief and fear, there's no reason to stick together, no uniting cause that sets us apart from anyone else."

None of them had put on a very good show at the crucifixion, and their fear and cowardice hadn't diminished much three days later. Things didn't look like they had hoped, so they'd stopped believing that Jesus could redeem Israel. "We're sorry about how things turned out, but hey, there's nothing we can do about it now."

They had lost faith in the possibility of healing and redemption. Theirs was a confession of regret, for their error of judgment. It was not a confession that had faith in the Lord of grace.

You and I both know what happens next: The risen Lord shows up in their midst, transforming them in the Scriptures and the breaking of bread. Their eyes are opened to see the truth in their midst.

What do we do with this whole ecumenism thing? Do we really believe in the power of confession and forgiveness, of reconciliation with God and with our sisters and brothers? Do we really believe that Jesus is the one who can redeem our broken churches? Or do we, like the disciples, speak about it in the past tense: "We had hoped that He was the one."

Are we sorry about our sins, or do we just think it regrettable that things have turned out the way they have? We had hoped He was going to be the one to heal our churches; for a while there, the ecumenical movement was rolling along. But my sense is that people are less optimistic these days. The project is dead, some say. There's no point in wasting our time on it. "We had hoped He was the one...."

Then Jesus shows up in our midst. He shows up at the Reformed church, the Catholic church, the Methodist church, the Lutheran church, the Episcopal church, the Assemblies of God church. I wonder what our relationships with one another would look like if the first thing we thought about each other wasn't, "They have a different belief about holy communion," or, "They're too liberal," or, "They're too conservative," or, "They're heretics," or, "They're too snobby," or whatever our prejudices or theological disagreements are.

What if, at least for a moment, we sidelined those disputes so that our first thought about our brothers and sisters is this: "Christ is in their midst."

What if we looked at our charismatic brothers and sisters and the first thing we saw was this: "Jesus is in their midst, and they have something to teach us about unfettered joy." What if the first thing that non-Catholics saw when they looked at Catholics was this: "Jesus shows up here, and they have something to teach us about ritual and beauty and the transcendent holy mysteries of God." What if we looked at our mainline Protestant brothers and sisters and said: "Jesus is with them, and they have something to teach us about love of the Word of God, and the importance of grace."

What if we looked at one another and gave thanks that God helps others do things well that we ourselves do not do so well? What if we looked at one another and saw not the places where we thought God was absent, but instead said: "God is in their midst."

Maybe then our hearts will truly burn within us - not with anger or resentment or jealousy, but with the peace and love of Christ. Maybe then we will hear and understand when Jesus stands in our midst, as He stood among the gathered disciples that day, and says, "Shalom, peace and wholeness and unity be with you." Maybe then we'll stop saying, "We had hoped He was the one," and we'll see clearly that He has been the one drawing us into one body all along.[[In-content Ad]]

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