The Meaning of Confession

Isaiah 6:1-8; Luke 5:1-11

When I was first considering a call to ordained ministry, I thought I would be a good candidate because of my gifts, my skills and my experiences. I’d taken a pretty interesting path in life. I had served in positions of leadership. I love to study and teach. I’m comfortable expressing myself, especially in writing. And in general, I seem to be a pretty likable guy.

But what happens in the so-called discernment process—or at least what happened in mine—is that you're invited to take the most honest possible look at yourself. It’s what 12-step programs call taking a “fearless moral inventory” of your entire life.

And if you’re able to do that, what you almost always discover is that the story you’ve been telling—both to yourself and to the world—is really a cover story. I think we all have a natural desire to hide away the parts of ourselves that make us ashamed, or guilty, or afraid, and focus only on the good stuff.

And it turned out that I had been doing just that, suppressing some parts of myself, and some terrible mistakes I’d made over the course of my life, because I was afraid of them. Now I’m not talking about not extraordinary depravity, just normal human vices—greed, pride, lust—things we all struggle with. But things that are nevertheless painful to acknowledge.

And as I got further along I started to really get anxious. What did the discovery of this new self—someone who had a lot more flaws, a lot more to work on than I had originally thought—what did that mean for my call to ordained ministry? I started to have serious doubts. I started to really worry, not just that I’d never be a priest, but whether I was worthy of God’s love at all. How could I be, knowing what I now knew about this hidden, sinful side of myself?

And then something incredible happened—incredible because it was the last thing I expected. At the exact moment when I was ready to give up on myself, to think of myself as unforgivable and maybe even unlovable, a wave of love like I’d never felt before began to flood into me. I could almost feel it physically. And I realized that the God whose attention I’d been trying to earn by loading up my resume was actually waiting for me there, in that dark place, deep inside my own, broken heart.

It was as if God was saying, “finally, you can see yourself as I see you, and now you know that I love all of who you are, even the parts you find unloveable. And now that you know I love you unconditionally, and will never abandon you, you know you have the strength and freedom to live fully. Your sins can no longer control you, you are no longer in bondage.”

Most important, it became clear to me that what I thought had made me a good candidate for ordination wasn’t nearly as important as my flaws and my heartbreaks. God didn't want me for my “good qualities.” God couldn’t care less about my resumé. God just wanted me to live in the truth. And God knew that, without that deeper self-knowledge, understanding both my gifts and my flaws, I would be useless as a priest.

This process of coming to terms with our whole selves, our whole story—of recognizing ourselves as inescapably both saint and sinner—this is the real meaning of confession. I’m so sorry that the western church has perverted the true value of confession—and hurt so many people in the process. Confession is about humility, not humiliation. It should be relational, not transactional.

That healthy and proper understanding is what we see, for example, in the classic Confessions of St. Augustine. Although we do hear a lot about Augustine’s past mistakes, and his flawed personality, the book is essentially one long prayer, almost a love letter, in which Augustine describes his journey of self-discovery, all in the service of deepening his relationship with God. And it’s his ability to prioritize honesty and humility that clears the way.

So it’s no accident that Augustine’s story moves from confession to answering the call to baptism, and that he goes on to become first a priest and then a Bishop, in a city called Hippo on the northern coast of Africa. Augustine’s willingness to confess—to see himself fully and truthfully—enables him to answer God’s call.

And this exact same pattern is reflected in two of today’s readings. Isaiah is dutifully praying in the Jerusalem Temple when he unexpectedly finds himself in the presence of the LORD and a host of angels, singing at ear-splitting volume. And of all the responses Isaiah might have given at this remarkable moment, he doesn’t insist on what a worthy and righteous person he is. Isaiah instead decides to confess. Woe is me! he says. I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips. In God’s presence, Isaiah sees himself fully and truthfully, as a humble, imperfect human being. And in response God not only liberates him from sin and guilt, but commissions him as one of God’s own prophets, responsible for proclaiming God’s work of justice and restoration to the whole world.

Simon Peter has an almost identical response when he finds himself in the presence of divine action, witnessing Jesus’ miraculous catch of fish. Peter doesn’t try and impress or curry favor with Jesus by trumpeting his own credentials. Peter instantly hits his knees and exclaims Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man! And that’s all Jesus needs to hear. You are exactly the kind of person I want as one of my followers, we can imagine Jesus thinking. Because you know exactly who you are. And because, even though you will often fail to live up to it, your life will be guided by honesty and humility, not by pride and self-deception.

Somehow we’ve come to believe that the point of being a Christian is to “be a good person.” Even though Jesus tells us the exact opposite. Later in Luke’s gospel he will affirm that he came to seek out and to save the lost. And in Matthew’s gospel he puts it even more bluntly: I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.

The Church does not exist for self-proclaimed saints, who then sit in judgment over sinners. The Church exists for sinners—imperfect people—so that they can repent and heal and then taste the abundant life Christ offers us.

And of course, because every human being is both saint and sinner, the Church is for everyone. God’s grace is available to all of us—as long as we can recognize our need for it. That’s our biggest obstacle. We’re so desperate to be seen as “good people” that we lose touch with our sinful side—the side that God is most interested in, because that’s the side of us that God wants to love and heal and transform into holiness.

So it’s when we confess—when we see ourselves fully and truly, in honesty and humility—that we’re finally able to say “Here am I;” we’re finally free to leave everything, and fearlessly follow Jesus in catching up the whole world into God’s good kingdom.

The Church of St. Mary the Virgin, Chappaqua, NY
The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, February 9th, 2025