“Chasing After Earnest Confession” in Anglican Compass

First published in Anglican Compass

Years ago, after an evening of moral failure, I attempted to reconcile with God while on a run, wrestling with whether I meant my recitation of the common confession.

A Run with the Confession

I woke up with a moral hangover. I tried to fall back asleep to avoid the guilt and shame swirling in my heart, but I was restless. So I forced myself to throw on some running clothes and step out the door. It was cold. Fitting, I thought.

Running tends to help get me mentally and emotionally unstuck, so I hoped it’d do the trick once again. After five minutes of chaotic inner dialogue, I tried to make some progress.

Maybe I should pray and confess to God. That’ll make things better, right? Maybe that will bring some relief. I don’t really know what to say.

So, I launched into the common confession that millions of Christians around the world use every week:

Most merciful God, I confess that I have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what I have done, and by what I have left undone. I have not loved you with my whole heart; I have not loved my neighbors as myself. I am truly sorry and I humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on me and forgive me; that I may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name. Amen.

I waited, hoping a flood of relief would rush in. But nothing seemed to change. So, I tried to dig deeper.

What’s really going on in there? Inside me?

Well, if I’m being honest, I feel myself resisting confession because things just don’t seem fair. I mean, yeah, I did something I shouldn’t have. But I feel like there’s so much in life that is painful and not my fault, and sometimes it feels like I can’t help but do whatever makes me feel better in the short term. And it’s easy for me to imagine dozens of ways my life should be different. If things were more different—more fair—then I probably wouldn’t make these mistakes, so why should I feel bad?

At this point in past moral hangovers, I would just shame myself about resisting confession, beat myself up a little bit more, repeat the common confession a few more times, and do my best to move on. But this time, I leaned in.

No Alternate Realities

Yes, I can imagine alternative versions of my life, like some kind of Marvel multi-verse, where the mistakes of others that seemingly set me up to fail never came to be. But those alternative universes don’t exist. They are just fantasies. Fueling those fantasies doesn’t help me. It only leads to me living this life less fully. The universe I actually live in is the only one that matters.

And I don’t really want to live in a world where God prevents anything bad from happening, but I have to be a robot without any actual agency. If the price for undoing all the unfairness in my life is to become a mouse in a maze, then I’ll pass on that deal. I prefer this world: one where God chooses the greater good of letting the consequences of our decisions and the decisions of others play out. It’s a world where my choices matter: both my choices to love others and my choices to ignore God’s wisdom. All in all, I prefer this reality as it is.

Okay, so I’d given myself some grace, leaned into the pity party, and come out on the other end with some healthy acceptance of my circumstances. It was time to give the common confession another go.

Real Wisdom

Most merciful God, I confess that I have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what I have done, and by what I have left undone…

Ugg. Okay. Dig in, Pieter. What don’t I like about this? Well, I guess I don’t get why God cares so much. And why do I have to confess to him?

I grappled internally for another half mile, and then I was able to focus by seeing God as a Father, asking me to follow some family rules. It wasn’t that God was some tyrant doling out arbitrary commands. When I said “yes” to Jesus, I ultimately said “yes” to joining a family.

If I’m honest with myself, there’s no better family invite than what God is offering. From a purely utilitarian perspective, I would be a fool to choose any other family. But I’ve got to accept the whole deal. Yes, God wants to be my Father and share with me everything that is his. But he also wants me to follow his advice and not try to fool him when I’m ignoring his advice. God wants to offer me wisdom so I can have the most love-filled and meaning-filled life possible. Logically, I know he sees broader, deeper, and more thoroughly than anyone else. His advice really is the best. He only asks that I take his advice seriously. If I’m foolish enough to ignore his advice, he asks me not to lie to him or myself about what I’m doing.

A Good Father

I have not loved you with my whole heart; I have not loved my neighbors as myself…

I’ve got to be honest. We sing these songs in church about how we love God so much, but how often do I really mean them? I’m grateful that God made me and that Jesus died for my sins. But do I love him? Like I love my parents or my brothers? Do most other Christians love God that way?

Another half mile.

I don’t need to get hung up on this, though. It’s that I haven’t loved God with my whole heart. And I have definitely ignored the needs of others and only served myself. Those are true statements. I can say those and mean them.

Once I resolved that I could make those confessions honestly, I explored why God might ask me to name these. I wondered how these boundaries were actually good for me and not just pointless buzzkill. I supposed God is well aware of how broken I am and how off the world still is. He knows that his wisdom will sometimes look foolish to me. He knows that in my foolishness, I am prone to follow my own advice and pretend that I don’t know what I’m doing or that I don’t see. So, like a good Father, he sets some stern boundaries. Not because he loves to lord power over others or wants to keep me from good things, but because he wants to protect me from harm and point me to what’s truly best for me. He takes joy when I follow his wisdom and enjoy the fullness of life. It’s good to be reminded of the standards God has set and return to them in confession.

Sincere Repentance

I am truly sorry and I humbly repent…

Am I actually sorry or repentant? What do those even mean?

I knew from years of being a therapist that God probably didn’t want me to feel shame. Neither is he interested in trite recitation. He isn’t looking for me to beat myself up to pay for the price for my mistakes. Instead, he wants me to honestly see that I’ve been foolish—in ways that have ultimately made my life (and/or the lives of others) worse—and build some momentum in the opposite direction. It was true: I felt regret. I was responsible. I was guilty. I messed up. And I wanted to go in a different direction and do differently. Plus, I knew I needed to state those intentions humbly because, in all likelihood, my aspirations to do better would eventually prove incomplete. It won’t be the last I’ll confess. Humbly, I knew I’d be back here again, even if I did my best.

True Mercy

For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ…

By this point, I’d picked up the pace in my run. It was as if my body knew I was finally starting to sync with the words of the confession, and the harmony gave me energy. I knew I was coming to God for forgiveness because of what Jesus had done, not because I deserved pardon. God’s Son was unjustly tortured and killed to pay the price for my sins. Jesus was willing to make things right so I could receive an invitation into God’s family. I can be forgiven because of what Jesus did.

…have mercy on me and forgive me…

If God doesn’t owe me forgiveness, then it is truly merciful. A quick scan of the past decade of my life also reminded me of dozens of times God had been merciful. Too often, I made mistakes that should have blown up in my face, but God spared me. Bullets were dodged. Cups were passed. Nor did God withhold forgiveness until I did enough to prove my remorse. He didn’t hold out for a few days or weeks to make sure I really meant my confession. Actually, by the time I had mustered even the smallest genuine desire for forgiveness at the beginning of my run, I was already completely forgiven. As far as God was concerned, the stain of my sin had already been removed from me. It was already so far removed that God could travel the whole circumference of the physical world, and still, there would be distance between me and the sins God had forgiven. The rest of this run hadn’t been about torturing me or earning forgiveness. It was about allowing God to minister to me through confession.

Being Family

…that I may delight in your will, and walk in your ways…

That’s the point of confession. It’s not about penance or humiliation. God invites us to confess because He wants to get me back on the path of savoring what’s truly good and beautiful about being in his family. And when I’m honestly connected with myself and God, that’s what I want, too. I want to follow God’s wisdom and know the fullest life he’s delightfully envisioned for me. I want to walk down the path he’s illuminated toward the places of most purpose and most intimacy. I want to enjoy what’s good and share what’s good.

…to the glory of your Name. Amen.

If I’m part of a family and all of the best things in my life are because my Father has patiently coached me along, then any successes in my life are ultimately a testament to that family (not to me). If I’ve truly let God minister to me through confession, then I’ll probably arrive at a place where I’m not worried about my glory. I’m not worried about whether life is fair. Instead, I’m content making God’s family proud.

Amen.