The Way Of Confession
Every Christmas break I try to unplug—puzzles, coffee, eggnog, and a few familiar movies.
This year I returned to Tolkien’s absolutely brilliant: The Lord of the Rings. I’ve loved these stories since first reading The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring.
And every time, one character grips me most: Gollum—once known as Sméagol.
Sméagol’s fall begins with desire. He sees the Ring. He wants it. When it’s withheld, he murders to possess it—and immediately hides both the crime and the treasure. Over time, secrecy reshapes him. His body withers. His relationships vanish. His identity fractures. Sméagol becomes Gollum.
Hidden sin doesn’t stay small. It grows roots.
And it tears us apart from the inside out.
From Sacrifice to Confession
Last week we talked about sacrifice—the first movement of Lent.
Sacrifice asks: What must I lay down?
Confession asks: What must I bring into the light?
Lent presses past performance. It exposes the distance between who we appear to be and who we actually are before God.
Yet confession is often misunderstood. For some, it feels like humiliation. For others, spiritual groveling. For many, something to avoid unless absolutely necessary.
But Scripture presents confession as grace.
Not shame—but freedom.
Not punishment—but restoration.
David: When the Mask Comes Off
One of the clearest pictures of confession is found in Psalm 51.
After adultery, deception, and murder, King David hid—until the prophet confronted him. When the mask came off, David prayed:
“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love.”
Notice where he begins. Not excuses. Not comparison. Not self-condemnation. Mercy.
We do not confess hoping God will be merciful.
We confess because He is.
In Psalm 32, David describes what secrecy did to him:
“When I kept silent, my bones wasted away… my strength was sapped.”
Anyone who has carried a secret knows this weight. You can function. Smile. Lead. Serve. But internally, something erodes. Unconfessed sin fragments the soul—dividing public self from private self.
We were not created to live divided.
Confession integrates the soul. Secrecy fractures it.
Walking in the Light
The apostle John writes in 1 John that if we walk in the light, we have fellowship—and we are purified. If we claim we have no sin, we deceive ourselves. But if we confess, God is faithful and just to forgive and cleanse.
Confession is simply agreeing with what God already sees.
It is the end of pretending.
There is relief in that. Imagine the exhaustion of holding beach balls underwater—constantly pushing them down so they don’t surface. Confession lets them rise. It allows truth into the open where grace can meet it.
Jesus and Truthful Surrender
Jesus had no sin to confess. But in Matthew and Luke, we see Him in Gethsemane confess sorrow:
“My soul is overwhelmed… If it is possible, let this cup pass.”
He does not suppress anguish. He brings it into the Father’s presence.
Confession is not only about admitting wrongdoing.
It is about truthful presence before God.
David confesses guilt.
Jesus confesses grief.
Both entrust themselves to the Father.
Confession is not merely admission—it is surrender.
Shame vs. Conviction
Shame says: “You are defective.”
Conviction says: “This is not who you were made to be.”
Shame drives us into hiding.
Conviction draws us toward restoration.
The Spirit convicts to heal. The Accuser shames to isolate.
Confession turns us toward the Father.
What Is Your “Precious”?
Sméagol whispered riddles in the dark. His hidden attachment reshaped him.
What is your “precious”?
What are you hiding?
What are you afraid to bring into the light?
What fracture have you learned to walk around?
Unconfessed sin is like an untreated break. You compensate. You adjust. But over time, other parts of your life suffer.
Confession acknowledges the injury so healing can begin.
The Joy of Being Forgiven
David’s prayer doesn’t end in despair. It ends in renewal:
“Create in me a clean heart… Restore to me the joy of your salvation.”
There is a particular joy that belongs to the forgiven. The joy of breathing again after holding your breath too long.
We confess not out of fear—but because Christ has already carried our sin. Forgiveness is not fragile. It is secured.
The Way of Confession is the way of the light.
It is the refusal to live divided.
It is the courage to say, “This is who I am.”
And to hear in return:
“You are forgiven.”
Bring it into the light.
There is healing there.