The Practice of Confession

I heard someone say once that “confessing is not letting a secret out, but letting grace in.”

I’ve been convicted of this lately.

For the majority of my lifetime, my understanding of confession has been limited. To my naive adolescent self, confession was the one or two times a year when someone from the congregation would walk up to the front pew after the sermon, cry and whisper to the preacher while the song leader led an additional verse of Oh, Why Not Tonight? Then we would pray as a congregation for this brother or sister, be dismissed, and go home to eat whatever had been roasting in the Crock Pot.

I do not mean to belittle this form of confession and I wholeheartedly believe forgiveness and healing took place in that setting because I saw it with my own eyes. But in my mind, confession was reserved for “big” sins like affairs or pornography addictions. And if you could brave the walk to the front of the church, you were awarded a big blue ribbon of forgiveness.

I was never brave enough to make that walk. Instead I stood in the audience, my heart in my throat, convicted of my sin. I would stare down at my hymnal so as to not make eye contact with the preacher who I swore could see into my soul and knew what I was hiding. I would convince myself that my sins and struggles weren’t really that bad and most definitely did not require public attention. Nope. I can handle it. No one needs to know. I will figure it out on my own. (Satan: 1, Me: 0).

Thus began the little sin storehouse in my heart. With every sermon, every conviction, every tug of the Spirit to confess- I would simply justify the sin and tuck it away. Luckily, the deepest part of my heart was not a place I frequented and therefore served as the perfect storage place.

Eventually, my sin storage unit became more of a Costco-sized warehouse with cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling. Justification turned to numbness, and numbness to outright apathy. And before I knew it, I found myself in situations I never thought I would be in, doing things I never thought I would do.

I didn’t understand then that I was only words away from freedom, only a conversation away from the beginning of healing.

By the grace of God, I stumbled upon confession, although I don’t even think I knew that’s what it was at the time. Being the B.S. master that I am, I’ve always known the exact words to say and the exact way to act so that no one would suspect that anything was wrong. I finally came to a place, however, where I could not physically or emotionally handle the weight of the sin and pain I was carrying around. And so one night I told one of my best friends the truth- the ugly, un-candy-coated truth. Then a miracle occurred. She still loved me.

What?!

Yes. She still loved me.

That’s called friendship, folks. (I had pictured it all going down a lot differently. I thought maybe she would gasp in shock, renounce our friendship and run out the door never to be seen again.)

This marked the beginning of God showing me the necessity of frequent confession.

I know it may sound terrifying, admitting your faults to someone else. But all you have to do is muster up just enough courage to get the words out of your mouth. Regardless of how "big" or "small" you think it is, share it with someone. Say it in an email. Say it over coffee. Say it in a text message if you have to. Just say it. Just. Say. It.

Speaking the words alone won’t change you. But speaking the words forces it to be real, and if it’s real, something has to be done about it. And trust me, something will happen.

A few months ago I found myself in a weird place. I seldom prayed. And then I stopped praying altogether. Now, I’ve never been a good pray-er nor am I a very good one now, but this was different. I straight up gave up on prayer and deemed it as useless as talking to a brick wall. But as long as I didn’t tell anyone, I was good. Right? After the prompting from a very good friend, I finally and grudgingly let the words come out of my mouth:

“I’ve lost all confidence in prayer.”

And no sooner did the words slide off my tongue that the craziest things started happening. Some subtle. Some not so subtle. It was as if God was saying, “Alright, I know it’s really hard for you to see me right now, but I’m still going to try to get your attention.” A few days later, I learned of something that had happened in the life of one of my closest friends that forced me to my knees in prayer. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have the option anymore of thinking about whether or not prayer worked. It had to work. And since I was helpless to do anything else, I got on my knees alone in my room and lifted my arms to the sky, and cried out to God to help my friend. Not because I wanted to. But because I had to.

Ironic? Me thinkest not.

Now, by confession I don’t mean telling your deepest darkest secrets to everyone within earshot. Rather, what I mean by confession is finding that handful of people in your life who you can trust to love you despite your shortcomings, who will encourage you to overcome them. I’ve found in my own life that practicing confession always leads to intimacy- with God and with others. The opposite is also true. When I choose to keep quiet about my struggles, it only distances myself from God and others.

I’ve come a long way since the Spirit opened my eyes to the power of confession. I’ve abdicated my throne as B.S. Queen. I’m (slowly) getting better at not caring about what people think. I’m real about the person I am and what I’m going through. My relationships are different. My understanding of grace and love are different. It’s been a revival of sorts.

A person I greatly respect once said that Jesus did not come to make bad people good, but to make dead people alive.

Hallelujah. I’ve wasted too many years of my short life trying to be good, trying to get people to think I’m a “good Christian.” I’ve learned the hard way that keeping things hidden from the ones you love and from God (who already knows) only leads to feeling absolutely dead on the inside. First joy is extinguished, then hope, and then if you’re not careful- your faith is next on the chopping block.

This is why the practice of confession is so important. It brings us to a place of humility. It reminds us that we are, in fact, not good, and are in constant need of God’s grace (which He gives abundantly). Confession reminds us that despite what the enemy would have us believe- we are not alone in our struggles, we are forgiven, and we are so unbelievably loved. Confession is a new beginning. (And I need a new beginning all the time!)

Deep down what all of us want most is to be known completely and loved just as we are. This is how God loves us. Confession provides us with a means by which we can love each other this way also. Nothing is more life-giving than to be loved this way.

Life was not meant to be lived behind a mask of deception. Real love and real living begins when there’s nothing left to hide. So walk to the front pew, or make that phone call, or send that email. You'll find more than just forgiveness; you'll find life.

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“Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.”
--James 5:16


[About a year ago I began reading a book entitled An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor. I finished this book yesterday. It took me about 5 months to finish the last chapter alone; not because I am a slow reader (although I am) but because I simply did not want the book to end. Each chapter in the book discusses a spiritual “practice,” although not ones we typically think about. For example, the author explains the practice of things like feeling pain, getting lost, and wearing skin. This book has touched me on a deep level and has led me to discover God in the most unlikely places. I highly recommend this book, especially to my brothers and sisters who find God more often in trees and bugs and people’s faces and a good cup of coffee than within the four walls of a church. This entry is my response to this book; my (extremely) under-qualified addition to the list of practices I’ve found myself desperately needing to observe.]