I have a confession to make.
It’s not something I am necessarily proud of but I feel I need to come clean.
I love reading blogs.
I love seeing into the minds of other people and their views on life. I would link more, including some of my favorites, but it seems that some people have a little bit more of a “potty-mouth” than I am comfortable with.
However, one of my favorites is called postsecret. The idea for this site is that people write a secret confession on a postcard and mail it in.
Then their deep dark secrets are posted, anonymously, for the entire world to read.
Some are humorous:

• “I’m Afraid to Answer the Telephone” (No, Tracy, I did not send that one in)
• “I waste office supplies because I hate my boss.”
• “I sit in public and pretend to read, but I’m actually eavesdropping on your conversation.”

Most of the confessions, though, are eye-opening and candid:

• “I am ashamed to have felt such joy after my abortion.”
• “I am a Southern Baptist pastor’s wife. No one knows that I do not believe in God.”
• “I cut myself to kill the pain.”
• “I wished on a dandelion for my husband to die.”

As I sit transfixed weekly reading the new batch of secrets I can’t help but be amazed at the magnitude of pain that inflicts this world.
People are hurting.
They need the opportunity to unburden themselves of the inner weight that they carry.
They need a sense of resolution and closure.
And, invariably, I hang my head each week and think “It should be the church that they go to to ease their load.

Scripture is clear about confession. It is not a suggestion.
It is not just a good idea.
It is a command: “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”
But for many people the church is the last place they would go for healing. For forgiveness.

The one place they could go and find the One who will gladly take their yoke is too often unused. I know this for a fact. I offer an invitation weekly for people to come and seek forgiveness.
They very rarely do.
We, in the church, have lost the beauty of confession.
Of praying for one another for healing and peace.

Why is that? I believe there are several reasons:

1. We fear the judgment of people will win out over their compassion.
2. We fear that forgiveness will be withheld in favor of condemnation.
3. We doubt that the power of prayer can really do anything for our situation.
4. We bristle at more well-meaning people telling us how to improve our lives all the while failing to listen to the extent of our pain.
5. We fear being vulnerable because we fear being hurt.

We, in the church, need a wake-up call. We need to reclaim the primacy of confession in our fellowship.
We need to foster an environment of forgiveness where people will know that they can find hope and peace.
We need to learn to share our own struggles in a community of compassion.
We need to learn to stop doling out advice and our little nuggets of wisdom and start grieving with the tortured souls that are seeking comfort. (Not that advice is bad, mind you. But it must always be given to the receptive heart in the context of compassionate community.)
We need to learn, once again, to be a refuge in the storm of tortured living.

If we can do that then we can make a difference. We can touch the lives of:

• The college student mired in debt from on-line poker.
• The young girl harboring the shame of promiscuity.
• The widower carrying the guilt of words left unsaid.
• The father struggling with the weight of being a good provider.
• The mother struggling with patience.
• The brother or sister struggling with issues of belief.

To confess is a risky proposition. It is to step off the precipice into a void of uncertainty, unsure how painful the landing will be.
It is to risk judgment and condemnation. Dirty looks and hushed conversations.
What if we could be a safe place for the confessor to land?
What if we would be people who would listen, love and grieve with them?
What if we would extend to them the blessed hope of the peace of Christ?
They wouldn’t need a post-card and a postage stamp anymore.
They would have the body of Christ.
Let’s confess to one another.