“Prone to Wander, Lord, I feel it.”

A Reflection on the Comfortable Words, Confession, and the Promise of Grace

There is an old Anglican phrase that says, “The Prayer Book teaches us how to pray, and in teaching us how to pray, it teaches us what to believe.” Few places in the Book of Common Prayer demonstrate that more beautifully than the Comfortable Words found on page 332 in the midst of Rite I’s traditional Eucharistic Language.

Many Episcopalians know these sentences by heart, even if they could not immediately tell you where they are located. For generations across the Anglican Communion, these verses have been spoken immediately after confession and absolution in the Holy Eucharist. They are short. Simple. Direct. And profoundly powerful:

“Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.”  Matthew 11:28

“God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, to the end that all that believe in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  John 3:16

“This is a true saying, and worthy of all to be received, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” 1 Timothy 1:15

“If any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the perfect offering for our sins…”  1 John 2:1–2

Beginning this Pentecost (with the permission and blessing of Bishop Wright) we will begin using these Comfortable Words in our Rite II principal liturgy at Christ Church following the confession and absolution. That may seem like a small liturgical addition. But in truth, it says something very large about who we believe God to be. To understand why these words matter, we have to begin where all good things begin: with Jesus Himself.

In John 20, the resurrected Christ appears to the disciples while they are locked in fear behind closed doors. The crucifixion has shattered them. Rome still looms outside. The future is uncertain. And into that fear, Jesus speaks the words: “Peace be with you” (John 20:19).

But then John’s Gospel contains a fascinating theological detail. For John, resurrection and Pentecost become intertwined. On that very evening of resurrection, Jesus breathes on the disciples and says: “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them…” (John 20:22–23) In John’s telling, the giving of the Holy Spirit is not delayed until fifty days later in Acts. Resurrection itself becomes the beginning of Pentecost life. The risen Christ breathes the Spirit into the Church and entrusts to the apostles a ministry of reconciliation, pardon, and forgiveness.

This matters deeply for Anglican Christians because our tradition has always understood ministry sacramentally and incarnationally. Anglicans, alongside Roman Catholics and the Eastern Orthodox, maintain the historic concept of apostolic succession: that bishops stand in a continuing line of ordination stretching back through the centuries to the apostles themselves, who were commissioned by Christ.

Now, entire libraries have been written about apostolic succession. Christians have debated its history, theology, and meaning for centuries. But at its simplest, apostolic succession is the Church’s way of saying that ministry is not invented anew every generation. It is handed down, prayed over, entrusted, and received.

So when a priest pronounces absolution and says: “Almighty God have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ…” the priest is not acting as a spiritual gatekeeper deciding who deserves forgiveness and who does not. Quite the opposite. The priest stands as an outward and visible sign of something God is already doing.

Just as water becomes the outward and visible sign of baptism, bread and wine become outward and visible signs of Christ’s Body and Blood, so too the priestly absolution becomes an outward and visible sign of God’s pardon and reconciliation. The priest does not invent forgiveness. The priest proclaims it.

And that is precisely why the Comfortable Words matter so much. Because immediately after absolution, the Church speaks not the opinions of clergy, nor the emotional whims of the congregation, but the promises of Scripture itself. The Comfortable Words remind us that forgiveness rests securely in the character of God revealed in Jesus Christ.

Not in our worthiness. Not in our performance. Not in our ability to “feel forgiven.” But in Christ.

These verses anchor absolution in the Gospel itself. They reassure weary souls that forgiveness is not a clerical invention or institutional mechanism, but the very heart of God revealed through Jesus.

The Anglican Reformers called these verses “comfortable” not because they are sentimental, but because the old English meaning of comfort meant to strengthen, encourage, and uphold. These are words meant to steady trembling hearts. And perhaps we need them now more than ever.

We live in an anxious age. People carry grief, exhaustion, loneliness, addiction, shame, anger, uncertainty, and fear into church every single Sunday. Many quietly wonder whether they are truly forgivable. Many fear they are too broken, too far gone, or too weary for grace.

The Church answers not with vague positivity, but with the Gospel:

“Christ came to save sinners...”

“God so loved the world…”

“Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden…”

So beginning this Pentecost Sunday, these ancient words will become part of our weekly life together at Christ Church. They will follow confession and absolution each Sunday as a reminder that the forgiveness proclaimed in the liturgy belongs not to the priest, but to God.

Our liturgy is living tradition. It is rich, joyful, beautiful, and deeply theological. And by restoring these historic Comfortable Words into our Rite II liturgy, we join our voices more fully to generations of Anglicans across the Communion who have heard, week after week, the promises of God spoken over them.

Not condemnation or fear. But mercy.

Not rejection. But reconciliation.

Not despair. But resurrection hope.

Pax et Bonum!

Fr. Ben