A few months ago I read a biography about Martin Luther. I did it in preparation for my trip to Germany. I was actually at the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany where Luther posted His ninety-five theses on Reformation Day.
As I read about Luther several things struck me. One of which was the simple fact that he would spend as much as six hours in a single day confessing his sin. What I drew from that is this: either he sinned a ton or he was incredibly detailed in his confession. One thing is certain, that amount of confession requires a great deal of self-examination.
Question: What is the longest confession you’ve ever made?
Here’s a thought. I wonder if the objective of our confession is wrong. We want God to forgive us. But is that only objective? I think God wants us to discover, via confession, the sinful patterns and tendencies that destroy us spiritually. And then find ways to break those sinful habit.
I decided to bring in the New Year by practicing confession in a little different way. I spent a half-hour writing out my confession. It was sort of like a stream of consciousness writing assignment. I just let it flow. And I decided to write it out because writing forces me to be specific. Too often our confessions amount to this: forgive me for everything I’ve ever done wrong. That’s weak. Vague confession = vague faith. Or to put it another way, half-hearted confession = half-hearted joy.
We need to be more courageous in our confession. That might mean confessing to a confidant. That might mean a written confession. I wrote six pages. And if I had taken more time I’m sure I could have written a lot more. Like everybody else, I have issues! Then after I had purged my soul, I put the six pages through the shredder. That allowed me to honest with myself and with God.
I think we try to move into the future without bringing closure to the past. Without the cross of Christ we’re struck. We can’t do anything about the past. But the blood of Christ is power over the past. We can begin again. We can start over.











