They didn't believe anyone would still care.

But people did.

Now they're busted.

I'm talking about fugitives. One of them is Howard Mechanic, a man who was convicted in 1970 for antiwar activity and then spent 30 years in hiding. Calling himself "Gary Tredway," he lived a quiet life in the classy and conservative town of Scottsdale, Arizona. Then Tredway decided to make a run for city council. When a local reporter came asking questions for a standard candidate profile, he told her his secrets -- and then asked her not to tell them to anyone else.

This was not too bright. He thought that after 30 years he was safe. He had even forgotten how to spell his real middle name. He sort of hoped that the government wouldn't care.

Now he's doing five years in a federal lockup. But Howard Mechanic is not the only fugitive fool. The New York Times reminds us that:

-- Abbie Hoffman surrendered after six years of posing as an environmentalist named Barry Freed.

-- Black Panther accomplice Katherine Ann Power turned up as Alice Metzinger.

-- Symbionese Liberation Army member Kathleen Soliah was found living as a doctor's wife named Sara Jane Olsen.

-- Bernardine Dohrn emerged from nowhere after a decade underground (Lisa Belkin, The New York Times Magazine, April 30, 2000, 61ff).

It's like no one knows how to be a fugitive anymore. Again and again, people fail in their attempts to completely discard one life and dress themselves in another. Of course, maybe such fugitives secretly hope that their sins will surface, so they pull a self-destructive move like telling their story to a reporter. Or perhaps they find it impossible to live a life without a past, so they let their current identities link up with their former selves.

Fugitives may hope that after 10, 20, or 30 years, people won't care any more. But people do. And so does God.

Ash Wednesday is the day each year on which we come clean with our Lord. "I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me," writes David (Psalm 51:3). My sin is ever before me, whether it is the lobbing of a cherry bomb at firefighters in 1970 -- Howard Mechanic's crime -- or the losing of one's temper at a friend in the year 2001. Sin is sin, and it isn't going to go away if we take it underground like a fugitive fool.

King David knew this, long before campus protests over Vietnam turned to chaos -- and crime. Tired of running, and weary from being away from the presence of God, David is ready to turn himself in. "Create in me a clean heart," he prays, "and put a new and right spirit within me" (v. 10).

It is so important to come clean. For yourself, and also for the people around you. The movie Running on Empty -- which picked up a couple of Academy Award nominations -- tells the story of a family who bombed a napalm factory in California in 1971, and accidentally left a person blind. Ever since, they have been fleeing from the FBI, frequently changing their identities and their residences. The story focuses on Danny, their oldest son, and on the difficulties he and his family face when he approaches adulthood. He is torn between staying with his fugitive parents and pursuing a career in music.

Sin is not just between you and God, you see. It has social dimensions, reaching out and wrapping itself around relationships with children, relatives, friends and neighbors.

The only way to get untangled is through confession. By coming clean with God and with the community. Otherwise, you'll be a fugitive fool.

Howard Mechanic lived such a bizarre life during his thirty years on the lam. He married a woman in 1980, and together they had a son. When she asked him which last name they should give the child -- hers or his -- he said the child should take hers. This perplexed the wife, since she knew nothing about his real identity. It was only later, after they divorced, that she realized his fake name "Gary Tredway" meant nothing good to him.

Later, he fell in love with a woman who was a social activist, and the two became a couple. She loved everything about Gary Tredway from the start, except for one thing: His name. She recalls that she phoned a friend after the two first met and said, "I really don't like the name Gary."

If only she knew!

The tangles get tighter and tighter as a fugitive is forced to live a lie. When Tredway decided to run for city council, a newspaper reporter was given the job of writing a candidate profile.

"Tell me about your family," she asked. "Where did you grow up?" Tredway said he was an orphan, adding that he didn't want to talk about it.

"Tell me three stories, then, about your life," she probed. Tredway, now sweating through his shirt, told only one -- about a business trip to China.

A few days later, he broke down and said, "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not Gary Tredway."

Finally!

At the moment of confession, a fugitive begins to break free. As the word of truth is spoken, the many tangles of long-lived lies and tortured logic begin to fall away. When a sinner makes a sacrifice acceptable to God -- a broken spirit, and a broken and contrite heart (v. 17) -- then the process of divine blotting and washing and cleansing and purging gets underway, a process that leads quickly and completely to a clean heart and a right spirit.

Nothing can happen without the truth. No cleansing can occur unless you put aside your fugitive foolishness and confess the truth about your life. No inner wisdom or joy or gladness can really be experienced until you admit that you are in need of forgiveness.

You've got to say, "I'm not who you think I am. I'm really AM a sinner."

But maybe you don't believe that anyone will care. After all, some sins are old -- 10, 20, 30 years old -- and you've adapted pretty well to living with them. Maybe you're the "Gary Tredway" of sinners, living a fairly satisfying and successful life in the middle of an enormous lie.

But people do care. And so does God. It matters a great deal to the community and to the Creator that you find a way to get free of the tangles that tie you down. Remember, sin is not just some private concern -- it has social dimensions, reaching out and wrapping itself around all your relationships.

So break free -- through confession. You won't be busted, you'll be forgiven.

Our Lord is not a federal lawman, looking to slap the cuffs on us. While the FBI wants to lock criminals up, God desires to set sinners free. God isn't out to bust us, but instead to blot us -- to blot out our transgressions, wash us thoroughly from our iniquity, and cleanse us from our sin (vv. 1-2). The Lord wants us free of all sinful entanglements and life-sapping lies, so that we can enjoy the liberty and honesty of life as a child of God.

There's a group of people on the road today that is always moving, town to town, city to city. No, they're not fugitives, running from the law. They're musicians -- guys in the popular Christian singing group 4Him. But their nomadic life has had its share of problems.

"Put a bunch of people together on a packed tour bus, and you've got a situation that's ripe for conflict," says group member Marty Magehee.

To resolve those conflicts, 4Him meets regularly with an "accountability board" of friends and pastors, where they're free to vent their feelings. It's a place where confession can happen, and the truth can be told.

Says the group's Mark Harris, "One of the most important things we're learning is to say, 'I'm wrong! I'm wrong!'"

"That's hard for me," admits the group's Andy Chrisman. "But I'm learning to let go of my need to always be right" (Chris Lutes, "That's Hard for Me," Men of Integrity, July-August 1998, www.christianityonline.com/menofintegrity/8k4/july1998/8k4016.html, August 12, 2000).

Each of us needs to find a kind of "accountability board" as well. A group where we can admit to friends and family when we've made mistakes. Where we can learn to say, "I'm wrong! I'm wrong!" Where we can discover how to let go of our need to always be right. Where we can get untangled from our self-spun web of lies. Where we can confess our sins to God and neighbor, and receive the gift of forgiveness.

Accountability is key. Accountability to the community, and to the Creator. Without such an accountability board -- made up of friends or family or church members -- you may find yourself in a life of fugitive foolishness, lying to God and to the people closest to you.

So take this Ash Wednesday moment to account for yourself. To say to the Lord God, "I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are justified in your sentence" (v. 3-4).

God knows exactly what you've done, even after years of running and hiding, and he's justified in his sentence. But he's not interested in locking you up.

No, God wants only to free you up.

Free you through forgiveness. Amen.