It's a stout-bodied mammal. Short legs. Cloven hoofs. Bristly hair. A snout made of cartilage, used for rooting.

What do you call it?

On the Rosebud Sioux Reservation in South Dakota, they're not sure. There is no word for "pig" in Lakota, the ancient language of these Native Americans. The closest is kukuse, which means "large stinking animal."

You might assume that they don't NEED a word for "pig." Kind of like Eskimos don't need a word for "beach ball."

But you'd be wrong. Over the past year, hogs have come to outnumber members of the Rosebud tribe by more than 2-to-1. Introduced by an outside farming group, there are now about 50,000 animals on the reservation, and the group plans to expand the facility and raise nearly a million hogs a year -- making it the country's third-largest hog farm. Executives of the farming group see it as "an opportunity to help the Indian people."

But many members of the tribe don't like the smell of this economic development project. Literally. They see it as another attempt to dump a high-polluting industry on Indian land. According to Mother Jones magazine, the facility would require nearly 1.7 million gallons of water PER DAY, and the hogs would generate about three times as much waste as the entire human population of South Dakota.

Worst of all, the tribe members would have to deal with the particularly pungent problem of THE SMELL. Odor is considered to be the most widespread and controversial environmental effect caused by pork facilities.

How would YOU like to have 1 million pigs as your next-door neighbors? (Judith Reitman, "Hog Heaven?" Mother Jones, March/April 2001, www.motherjones.com)

This is the first Sunday in Lent. In today's Scripture lesson, Psalm 32, the psalmist is aware of his own kukuse problem, the moral stench of his own sins. He knows that his transgressions give him a scent more appropriate to a "large stinking animal." That's why he says, "Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered" (Psalm 32:1). Without confession and forgiveness, his "body wasted away through [his] groaning all day long," and his "strength was dried up as by the heat of summer" (vv. 3-4).

In our more honest moments, we know that we all make a stink through our selfish and sinful actions. We rebel against God, defying the directions he gives us in the Bible. We run and hide from our Lord, refusing to use the energy and talent and ability he gives us to do his work in the world. We violate the image of the Creator in ourselves and others -- abusing ourselves through drinking and drugging, and abusing others through manipulation and deception and violence. We spin the truth to our own advantage, grab whatever we can in a selfish quest for pleasure, and thoughtlessly ravage the precious planet that God has given us to enjoy and preserve.

We've got a real kukuse problem.

So what are we going to do about it? Some choose to respond to this serious situation by focusing on the sins of others. After all, it's much easier to remove the speck from a neighbor's eye than it is to yank the log from your own eye (Matthew 7:1-5).

There is a man in Boulder, Colorado, who is on a mission: To notify police of dog excrement and leash law offenders.

This is no joke.

This individual uses a video camera to tape dog-at-large and dog excrement crimes. He began his crusade against irresponsible dog owners in 1996, and now has a Website that contains aerial maps that plot where these dog-related crimes have taken place.

Psalm 32 recommends another approach. Instead of using a Global Positioning System to map out and display other people's sins -- as this dog vigilante did -- the psalmist recommends that all of us confess our OWN sins. "I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity," the psalm-writer admits; "I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,' and you forgave the guilt of my sin'" (v. 5).

When he confessed his sin, he found that God protected him, preserved him, and surrounded him with "glad cries of deliverance" (vv. 6-7).

This is our Lenten challenge: To confess our sins honestly and humbly, and to experience the joy of forgiveness. To discover the nature and benefits of acknowledging our transgressions, and to gain a new appreciation for the grace and mercy of God. As biblical scholar J. Clinton McCann points out so well, to be righteous is not a matter of being sinless -- it's a matter of being forgiven. Righteousness means being focused on God's instructions instead of on human initiative and ingenuity; it means trusting the Lord rather than trusting yourself. (J. Clinton McCann, Jr., "The Book of Psalms," The New Interpreter's Bible [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996], 805-807)

Over the next five weeks, our goal will be to admit that we have a kukuse problem, and to trust our gracious God to do the clean-up.

To begin this process, it's important that we strip down and get naked. Not physically, in front of each other, but spiritually, in front of God. True confession of sin involves stripping away layers of disguise to expose what is really at the center of who we are. Of course, confession is hard work -- the hard work of making an honest appraisal of ourselves.

As with any good workout, it's hard to get started. But we should push ourselves to do it, because it is truly one of the very best ways to get ourselves in decent spiritual shape. Christian writer David Daniels challenges us to focus on the Greek word gumnazein, from which we get gymnasium and gymnastics. Literally, it means "to exercise naked." Ancient athletes would strip away clothing and accessories that might prevent them from performing their best, and in the same way we Christians are challenged to strip away anything that hinders us from the goal of getting closer to God.

The Letter to the Hebrews states it best: "let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us" (12:1). Once we enter God's "gym" and throw aside every hindrance and entangling sin, we stand naked before God, ready to receive his forgiveness and the filling of his Spirit. (David Daniels, "Coming Clean: The power of confession," Christian Reader, January/February 1998, 70)

Only then does our kukuse problem begin to go away.

After confession comes forgiveness, the divine wiping away, removal, and covering of human sin. This gracious act of God has the power to blast down the barriers that separate us from his presence, and to knock open the door that allows our return to a full relationship with the Lord. What is so striking about Psalm 32 is that after forgiveness is pronounced in verse 5 -- when the psalmist says "you forgave the guilt of my sin" -- the word "sin" is never used again. The slate is wiped completely clean by this act of God, and we encounter no sins or transgressions for the rest of the psalm.

It is as though God goes into an Indian reservation reeking with the odor of a million hogs and quickly cleans the place up. Or steps into a house piled high with garbage and old newspapers and the aroma of 40 cats and graciously returns it to pristine perfection. Or enters a heart loaded with deception and denial and despair, and gives it a life-giving cleansing and renewal and restoration.

That's the gift of forgiveness, a gracious and life-giving gift that is available to all who confess their sins to God. It's a gift that is offered to all who drink the cup in the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, the cup which is the new covenant in Christ's blood, shed for us and for all people for the forgiveness of sins. Now this forgiveness doesn't make us perfect, nor does it mean that we'll stay clean forever. But it does put us in a right relationship with God, one that gives us a fighting chance of living in his will and his way.

So let's strip down, get naked, and make an honest appraisal of ourselves. The choice is ours: To remain a kukuse, or to be cleansed by our loving Lord. Amen.