Say the Word
I don't like going to confession — even though I already know I'll feel better once it's over. The real reluctance was never about the confessional. It was about the word I didn't want to say. A reflection on 1 John 1:8–2:6.
1 John 1:8–2:6
Phrases that spoke to me today:
• we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us
• he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins
• we have an advocate with the Father
• ought to walk in the same manner as he walked
Applying the Word to My Life:
I don't like going to confession. Sitting there waiting for my turn, I already know I will feel better on the other side of it. You would think that would be enough to get me through the door without hesitation. It never quite is. It took me a long time to realize the reluctance was never really about the confessional itself. It was about having to say out loud that I chose myself over my mission, that I did what I wanted instead of going where God wanted me to go. Knowing I messed up is bad enough. Saying it out loud is harder.
If I skipped confession, I would do exactly what comes naturally to me — gloss over those moments and move on. They hurt to think about, so it is easier to push them out of mind than sit with them. But that only makes it easier to do them again, easier to look away the next time, easier to keep heading in a direction I do not actually want to go, one glossed-over moment at a time.
That instinct is not unique to me. The moment I decide I have nothing to admit is the moment I am furthest from the truth, not closest to it.
This was one of the things Jesus kept doing with the people He met. He loved them where they were at, but He loved them too much to just leave them there. He gave them the chance to own their decisions, see the path they were actually on, and then helped them find their way back to the path they ultimately wanted to follow.
The promise on the other side of that admission is not vague or moody. It does not depend on how convincing the apology sounds, or how many times I have been there before. It depends on who He is, not how well I make my case. He is faithful — He does not change the terms depending on how I perform. He is just — forgiving me was never free, but He already paid what justice required.
I am not even the one making the case for myself in that room — there is already someone advocating for me before I say a word, righteous where I am not, standing in for me rather than standing over me.
But we have to participate. This is not a passive sacrament — our heart is an essential part of forgiveness, and only we can offer it up.
We cannot ask for forgiveness, and we certainly can't accept it, until we know that we did something wrong. Confession is not the cost of being forgiven — it is the door to it.
I think that is why confession never gets comfortable, no matter how many times I go. If it stopped being uncomfortable, it would probably stop doing what it is supposed to do — giving me the pause to actually see where I am, admit what I have done, and turn back toward the direction I want to walk. The path that He already walked.
My Response for Today:
Today I will reflect on one sin that I have been holding in that I need to confess to God.