“Give Glory to God!”
These words sound like an invitation to worship. And they are. But they have a more particular meaning in our Biblical tradition than a simple call to praise. They are a call to confession.
When Achan, one of the ancient Israelites, secretly pillaged a Canaanite city in violation of the express command of God, Joshua called him forth to confess, saying, “My son, give glory to the LORD God of Israel, and render praise to him; and tell me now what you have done; do not hide it from me” (Joshua 7:19).
After Christ healed the man blind from birth, the Pharisees sought to prove that this miracle was a fake. They summoned the formerly blind man and charged him to come clean with these words, “Give glory to God! For we know that this man [i.e. Jesus] is a sinner” (John 9:24). This same expression is used elsewhere in the Scriptures in reference to confession of sins (e.g. Malachi 2:1-2, 1 Esdras 9:8).
Confessing our sins openly to God is an act of worship. Like the physical act of bowing down and prostrating oneself, acknowledging our wrongdoings is a gesture of submission and vulnerability. Confession of sins to God implies that God has the right and the authority to dictate our behavior: it is an expression of His greatness and Lordship. It also expresses a trust in God, that He will not use our self-exposure against us, but will forgive. Far more than any words of doxology or deeds of humility, confession of sins demonstrates to God that we see ourselves and Him in the proper perspective.
The very name of the Sacrament of Confession in Greek, Exomologesis, picks up on the idea that naming one’s faults is an act of praise. In other contexts, we translate this same word “O give thanks [unto the Lord]!” (cf. Psalm 136:1—Ἐξομολογεῖσθε τῷ Κυρίῳ). The Sacrament of Confession is really a kind of liturgy. For this reason it is customarily performed—not in a special little booth off to the side—but in the sanctuary proper, like any other service in the Orthodox Church.
In the Mysteries (Sacraments) of the Orthodox Church, we take something from the world of creation—bread and wine, water or oil—and we offer it to God in prayer and faith, so that He in return will make that thing a conduit of His divine grace. Paradoxically, in the Mystery of Confession, the thing that becomes the means of grace is our own sin—or more precisely, the verbal expression of our confession to God. This is an amazing thing, and a powerful experience, to those who have availed themselves of the Mystery.
There is, then, a double motive in coming forward to confess one’s sins openly. The first is the desire of the Christian heart to give all glory to God; the second is the desire to receive a blessing from Him in spite of ourselves. When we acknowledge our faults, we overturn the sin of our ancestor Adam, who sought to put himself in the place of God. By saying, “I have sinned,” we affirm the proper relationship between ourselves as servants and God as master.
In the Sundays leading up to the start of Great Lent, the Gospel readings contain a pronounced element of “confession as praise.” On the Sunday of Zacchaeus, we see the once ruthless tax collector became a changed man, openly acknowledging to the Lord Jesus that he had defrauded others wrongly (Luke 19:8). On the Sunday of the Canaanite Woman, we hear a woman of idolatrous belief own up to her spiritual poverty, and receive grace from the Lord (Matthew 15:21-28). On the Sunday of the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee, we learn from Christ the simplest words of confession that unlock the storehouse of divine forgiveness, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (Luke 18:13). On the Sunday of the Prodigal, we understand the two dimensions of repentance, the vertical and the horizontal: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you!” (Luke 15:18).
In all these cases, we see that confession is more than simply feeling bad about one’s sins. True confession—God-glorifying and grace-bringing confession—involves necessarily the verbalization of one’s faults. You have to say it. Out loud.
This is what God wants. He wants us to speak aloud our sins. This is not for His sake—as if we could tell Him something He doesn’t know! Confession is for our sake. Confession is a therapeutic necessity; it is a critical part of a complete regimen of spiritual hygiene. Just as we might take an emetic or an expectorant to help rid our bodies of a nasty bug, so too we eject the spell of sin by expelling it through the windpipe and vocal cords. There is something spiritually powerful about vocalizing our transgressions, with the result of cleansing our souls.
For this reason the Apostle James says without qualification, “Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16). Over time and with the rapid growth of the Church, it became prudent for the “one another” of this precept to be fixed as the clergy (or a specially designated layperson). The principle, however, remains unchanged from Apostolic times: we confess to God through the Church.
It is for this reason that Christ committed the authority to forgive to His Apostles, and this authority is transmitted to their successors through the Mystery of laying on of hands. So important, so central is this ministry of forgiveness to the work of the Church! In fact, the very first thing that Christ said to His assembled Apostles after the Resurrection was the declaration of this authority to forgive sins on earth: “Receive the Holy Spirit: if you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained” (John 20:22-23).
Through the gift of the Spirit, the Church is constituted as the very body of Christ. As His divine-human body on earth, the Church exercises Christ’s own authority to forgive sins. In other words, the Mystery of Confession is a celebration of Christ’s Kingship over all the world, a recognition that He has “all authority in heaven and on earth” (Matthew 28:18). Confession, therefore, is the quintessential Christian act of praise.
The medieval spiritual writer Jalalu’l-Din Rumi once wrote, “Your depression is connected to your insolence and refusal to praise.” In other words, we don’t fail in our duty to worship God because we are depressed: we are depressed because we fail in our duty to worship God!
Are you feeling spiritually blue? Then give glory to God. Perhaps the missing component of your spiritual life is the act of confession. It is a form of worship that God commands for our health and welfare. As we approach Great Lent once again, there could not be a better time to avail yourself of this central ministry of your Church.
Part 2
By the shores of the Sea of Galilee, two thousand years ago, Jesus taught the first class in pastoral care. You can read about it in John 21. It is the episode after the Resurrection when Christ speaks to Peter at the seashore. Three times Christ asks Peter if he loves Him (ἀγαπᾷς με;). Three times Peter affirms his love, though with a weaker verb of affection (φιλῶ σε).
The triple repetition is crucial to the action. For Peter, on the night of the betrayal, had three times denied his connection to Jesus, three times forsworn his love for Christ. This he did publicly, so that all men knew of his defection. And Peter, shamefaced in the presence of the risen Lord, now must affirm three times that he loves the Lord, even though he dares not use the stronger word ἀγαπῶ to name a love that once faltered under fire.
Why did Jesus do this to Peter? Why did He call him out in front of the other disciples? Why did He embarrass, and even (some will say) humiliate Peter by this three-fold reminder of his denial?
The answer is that Christ appears once more in His role as the Great Physician. Peter needed healing. He carried within his bosom the awful knowledge that he had forsaken the Lord of Life at the moment when faithfulness would have counted for the most. The other disciples had fled, it is true, but Peter actually renounced his faith with a curse (Matthew 26:74). And in the memory of this deed was a poison that would have made Peter die by inches spiritually. Like the bite of an asp, the venom of shame had to be drawn out.
So no matter what it cost Peter in terms of ego satisfaction or self-esteem, he had to confront the reality of his actions. Christ knew this, and as the great high priest and healer, He drew out the poisonous memory by asking Peter publicly to affirm his love, once for each time that he denied the Lord. He then commanded Peter to take care of the flock, thereby showing to the others that the Lord had restored His confidence in Peter as the leader of the disciples. Finally, it is disclosed to Peter that he himself will undergo crucifixion for Christ’s sake (John 21:18), as a seal upon the faithfulness of his testimony in years to come. It was, all in all, a great scene of restoration for Peter, not of humiliation.
This episode from the Gospel is emblematic of the Mystery of Confession. The Sacrament has as its goal, not the punishment or humiliation of sinners, but the restoration and healing of the injured soul. How many people, like Peter, carry around within their hearts the pain of an unacknowledged moral failure? The guilt can poison their lives, cripple their usefulness, and even affect their physical health. The venom of shame must be drawn out of their system, and the serum of assurance injected into their souls. This is the work of Confession.
In the early Church, Confession as a ritual of restoration was reserved for the most deadly sins—chiefly apostasy, the sin of denying the faith. Roman persecutions of the Church came in waves. Some Christians renounced their allegiance to Christ when the going got rough, and then returned to the Church when the persecution subsided.
But this caused a problem for the community. How do you re-admit lapsed Christians to the Church? On the one hand you might have a man who lost an eye or a hand or his possessions because he refused to renounce Christ; on the other hand you have a healthy, wealthy person who burned a pinch of incense to the emperor and got off scot-free. How can the latter worthily sit alongside the former in the Liturgy?
But then again, if the Church is in the business of forgiving sins, of calling to repentance, how can we deny to anyone the possibility of restoration? If Peter can be restored from being a self-cursing apostate to being the prince of the Apostles, how can we deprive anyone of hope for reconciliation to Christ and His Church?
It was for this reason that the rites of confession were formulated. The repentant sinner could be restored to his place in the Church, but in order to do so, he had to be willing to undergo the self-humbling act of acknowledging his faults. In the earliest years of Christianity, this confession was done before the whole congregation, since the sin of apostasy was a public sin with public consequences.
Readmission to the fold was often accomplished gradually. A period of penance and testing might be set, during which the penitent man would be allowed into the church, but only as far as the narthex and not among the body of the faithful (i.e. sitting back by the candles used to be a punishment, not a privilege!); or the penitent would be required to remain in a kneeling posture for the entirety of the service; or the penitent would be barred from receiving Holy Communion for a number of years. The penance was fitted to match the severity of the offence, but could be moderated according to the spiritual growth of the reformed sinner. The ancient canons of the Church speak often of the penances for various transgressions, but never as punishments, only as therapy, as a corrective exercise for the soul.
With the conversion of Constantine and the end of persecution, the Sacrament of confession took on a different cast. It became a more private conversation between the penitent and God, with only a single clergyman present as a witness. (Confession is always a declaration of sins to God, not to the priest.) At the same time, the scope of confession changed to cover not just the gravest sins that resulted in loss of communion, but any spiritual problem that interrupts the believer’s life with God.
The best metaphor for the Sacrament of confession is a trip to the doctor’s office. We generally go to the doctor for two reasons: (i) for a periodic check-up examination, whether we are feeling sick or not; and (ii) for a specific illness that we cannot treat on our own. One does not go to the doctor for a hangnail or a paper-cut—unless it somehow becomes very badly infected! By the same token, one does not try to treat a hemorrhage or a hernia on one’s own, without the aid of a physician.
This medical metaphor is useful in understanding the nature of Confession. Everyone should avail himself of confession periodically as a sort of spiritual check-up, but one does not run to Confession for the daily sins of life. Nor should confession be a recitation of a detailed list of occasions on which each of the Ten Commandments was broken. This kind of confession—far from being a healing experience—is rather an occasion for pride, as the “penitent” delights in his scrupulousness for keeping track of his “faults.” (Some monastic types encourage long, detailed confessions, but this is inappropriate for Christians outside of monasteries.) Instead, in Confession one should focus on the specific causes of shame that especially burden the heart, causing grief because they separate a person from God.
Confession aims to draw out the sins that poison our life with God. This might be a “major” transgression, like adultery, murder, or theft. This might also be a “minor” sin, like anger, jealousy, despondency, laziness, or fearfulness. Even the smallest cut, when left unattended, can become infected and even gangrenous. So too the smallest sins can over time become major impediments in our walk with the Lord, and often require repeated treatments, various therapies, and consultation with different healers of the soul in order to achieve a cure.
Some Orthodox Christians have a custom of weekly confession, or of confession before each reception of Holy Communion. As we can see from the origins and development of the Sacrament, this custom was not part of the earliest Church’s Tradition. As a custom, of course, it is far preferable to the habit of most Christians, which is to never come to confession at all! But there is a danger in this custom of using the Sacrament just to obtain a quick and easy “clean bill of health” without seeking the higher aim of wholeness and healing. The work of Confession is not truly done until the sinner has ejected from his heart all of the pains of his past wrongdoings, and adequate time and circumstances must be provided for this work. A hurried Confession, given while a service is going on and others are present in the sanctuary, often will not effect this purpose. So the penitent leaves, absolved perhaps but still unhealed, like a soldier with shrapnel remaining in his body after a rushed surgery. Confession, if it would heal, must be complete.
There is a story about a person who went to a very holy man for Confession. He confessed some “basic” sins, but knew that there was more to tell. Somehow he found the courage to keep going, and with halting voice, finally uttered the last of several very grievous sins that he had committed in years past. Burning with shame, head hung low, and unable to look the priest in the eye, the man said, “What can you think of me now?” The priest replied: “I think you must be a very holy person, for only the saints have made so good a Confession!”
Paradoxically, it takes a holy person to confess the most unholy things. The best confession is a complete confession. The pain of shame is great—perhaps greater than any other physical or emotional pain that a human can know. Only someone with a heart truly tuned to “give glory to God” could willingly accept the crucifixion of shame in order to confess grievous sins. But while shame is temporary, glory is forever.
Peter should have been out preaching the Resurrection when Christ encountered him at the seaside; untreated guilt kept Peter in a boat chasing fish. After the Lord called him forth to a triple confession, however, Peter’s shame turned to joy and acceptance and, above all, great usefulness for the Kingdom. Who would want anything less for himself?
Part 3
There is a story of a young man who decided to join a monastery. On his first day, the abbot came to him with his work assignment. “Your job today is to pull up that plant,” said he, pointing to a little seedling of a tree that had just sprouted. The novice accomplished the task in the twinkling of an eye, and spent the rest of the day in the church.
The next day the abbot said, “Your job today is to pull up that plant,” pointing this time to a small sapling that had been growing for a couple of months. The novice tugged a couple of times and the job was done. He spent the rest of the day in church again.
The next day the abbot said, “Your job today is to pull up that plant,” pointing to a small tree that had been around since last year. This time it took the novice the better part of a day to yank out the tree, roots and all. Hot and weary, he retired to the church just in time for vespers.
The next day the abbot said, “Your job today is to pull up that plant,” pointing to a tree that was two years old. The novice couldn’t budge it. After hours of fruitless effort, another monk came to his aid. Together the two of them heaved mightily and pulled out the tree, just as the last Amen of the Compline service was being sung.
The next day the abbot said, “Your job today is to pull up that plant,” pointing to a full-grown tree. The novice worked all day and into the night, and even with the help of three other monks, the tree would not be moved.
The next day the abbot called for the exhausted novice. “Sins are like plants,” he said. When they are new, they can be extracted from our lives with ease. But if they have been allowed to take root, they become habits, which cannot be changed without difficulty. Sometimes we require the assistance of another person to help us tackle longstanding sins. But if a sin has been given place for too long, only a miracle of grace can remove it from one’s life.”
This parable speaks directly to the importance of Confession. Sometimes our lives—by our own choice—have taken a turn that puts us in the wrong direction. If we are quick to recognize our failing and change course, we can quickly get back on the right track. If we delay, however, in retracing our steps, we can get lost such that we cannot find the way back for ourselves. In that case, we need the help of another in order to return to the correct path.
It is, however, precisely the presence of this other person that makes the Mystery of Confession so frightening to some. “How could I tell these things to the priest?” “What would he think of me?” “How could I ever face him again?”
The purely theological answer to these concerns is to say, “You are NOT confessing sins to a priest, but to Christ Himself. The priest is there only as a witness. Your concern should be for pleasing God, who rejoices at your repentance. Whatever some fellow human being might think or say is of no consequence in comparison.”
The pastoral answer is a little different. These concerns are not to be taken lightly. I speak to you as one who knows from experience both the potential for good that can come from Confession, as well as the potential for hurt that can come from confessing in the presence of a priest who has handles the Sacrament poorly. Yes, there are priests who use the content of confessions against the penitent afterwards; or who use the moment of vulnerability, when the soul is open and exposed, to inflict a vengeful wound on the penitent; or worst of all, who directly or indirectly compromise the confidentiality of the Sacrament for base purposes.
I know this all too well. And yet I also know that when push comes to shove, the theological answer is still valid and true. Yes, Confession can be an occasion for hurt in the hands of the wrong people; but the need for getting right with God supersedes even the potential hurt. Think of the Gospels: we read sometimes that the disciples tried to keep people from Jesus. But Jesus always knew what was going on, and He always saw to it that those who longed for His healing touch got through somehow. Yes, sometimes priests get in the way of our approach to God; but God always manages to convey His grace anyway. And in the final analysis, that’s what really counts.
Think of the service that we pray on Holy Tuesday evening, the commemoration of the sinful woman who came to anoint Christ’s feet. If she had stopped to think about what was going through the mind of all the onlookers there, she would never have made it past the front door! But she did not let them deter her. Despite the impurity of her previous actions, she had an undeniable purity of motive that evening. She had one goal and one goal only: to obtain the pardon of her Lord through her bold act of penance. Not only did she receive the gift she sought, she also won the respect and admiration of every generation thereafter. “Wherever the Gospel is preached in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her” (Mark 14:9).
“Will the priest be shocked by what I have to tell?” Probably not. Believe it or not, sexual sins are not the really shocking sins. Indeed, many of the saints we venerate the most were people who repented of sexual sins, like Saint Mary of Egypt on the fourth Sunday of every Lent. For a father-confessor, the really shocking sins are the ones that a person is not ashamed of. People who are control freaks in their family life; people who are simmering pots of anger, ready to boil over; people who are breezy and irreverent about the things of God; people who are oblivious to the pain they cause others; people who have lost contact with reality and live in their own fantasy world of self-righteousness—these are the real shockers. And what is shocking about such people? Their absolute inaccessibility to reason or persuasion. The utter certainty of their own rightness. Their ironclad imperviousness to the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Often—too often—these are the seemingly most religious people among us. Their confessions are usually just an appalling waste of time.
“But won’t the priest always remember, whenever he looks at me, those things I said in his presence?” That is certainly not my experience. In fact, I find that the descent of grace that occurs during the prayer of absolution has a double effect: it cleanses the heart of the penitent, and it erases the memory of the father-confessor. Sometimes people come back for confession, expecting that I will remember what they told me the previous time—and I have utterly forgotten! Remember: the priest is not there as a listener, but chiefly as a witness to your confession to God. He is there to give God the mouth to speak the words of forgiveness. He is not there to play Santa Claus—making a list and checking it twice!
Having said all this, however, I do not want to downplay the human aspect of the Sacrament of Confession. As with doctors, lawyers, and mechanics, so it is with priests: there are a few great ones, a few bad ones, and a lot of mostly competent ones somewhere in between. Not every doctor is licensed to do open-heart surgery, and not every priest is supposed to hear confessions. In Greece and other Orthodox lands with a thriving church, only certain clergy are designated as “confessors” and given the charge to hear confessions. In America, however, our clergy shortage is so severe that even relatively young and inexperienced clergy are pressed into service to hear confessions.
The point of all this is obvious: you must exercise a little discernment yourself in deciding who should hear your confession. Who should you look for? A sinner. That is, someone who knows he is a sinner, who knows he is imperfect, and whose words and actions show it. That’s the kind of person who will have some sensitivity for your needs. “To whom little is forgiven, the same loves little;” said the Lord (Luke 7:47). But the reverse is true, too: the one who has been forgiven a great deal has the power to love sinners greatly, and to communicate God’s mercy in the hour of repentance.
Like the novice monk, we all need help with our weeding now and again. The longer the garden of our lives has been neglected, the more help we need. Don’t be afraid to call for God’s ordained “weeders” to give you a hand in pulling out the bigger shrubs. God knows you need help now and again, and that’s why He appointed the Apostles and their successors in the ministry of reconciliation. Pull the weed now, before its roots get any deeper in your life.
Remember: the worst thing that you can possibly confess is that you have nothing to confess! God alone is perfect and good. Let Him know that you know this. Confess your sins, so that He might glorify Himself in forgiving you freely, through the ministry of the Church in the Mystery that He has ordained for this very purpose.
Give Glory to God!