Justin Camp

“There should be nothing in your life that someone doesn’t know.”

I felt the surprising weight of those eleven words twenty years ago. Their bearer was a wise, kind pastor named Ben. He delivered them to my heart via sermon on an otherwise unremarkable day. And over the ensuing months and years, they grew increasingly heavy.

My reaction upon hearing Ben’s words was to ignore them. I’ve used that tactic often with things I find challenging and convicting. Maybe you are doing it now. I simply wanted to set Ben’s words down and forget them — and I tried.

But like a sacred echo, my friend’s words kept returning to my mind, gently. Not often. But often enough. They still do. I mean, I can remember nothing else from that Sunday now two decades past, but I can, even now, hear his exact phasing in my mind.

So, after a while, unable to drop Ben’s message, I decided to try to poke at its logic and applicability. For example, whenever I encountered the fifth chapter of James, I’d demand, Why? And To what end? And Why me? And To Whom? And Wasn’t it enough that our omniscient God knew everything already? And Do I really need to confess my junk to a friend? Or my spouse?

“Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16, ESV).

You see, maybe like you, I don’t like vulnerability at all. I want to control how my family and friends and peers and colleagues and acquaintances perceive me. And confession feels absolutely out of control. I mean, whenever I’ve confessed something difficult to another person, my mind and even my body have rebelled beforehand. My mind tells me, Don’t do it. And my heart races, and my stomach twists into knots.

Because of all that, while Ben’s words haunted me, I resisted. And a decade passed. But then, something happened. A trusted friend, John, did something that I wouldn’t. He opened his heart. He took a risk. He courageously confessed something to me — something for which he was carrying around a massive amount of shame. I got to listen to him and respond and be God’s mercy.

And that was it. I could fight no longer. I felt an overwhelming need to reciprocate. Jesus, by the still small voice of his Spirit, whispered to my heart that the time had come to stop merely thinking about Ben’s eleven words and begin living them.

Wanting to stay true to the original message — nothing in your life that someone doesn’t know — I set about writing. After that fateful conversation with John, I began recording everything I could think of that I’d never confessed to someone. And it was a lot. It was forty years of things I’d kept to myself — unkind and careless words, anger, rage, lust, lies — all on a yellow legal pad.

Hoping to get right back together with my friend, I’d planned to spend only a couple of days compiling my list. But, as it turned out, John couldn’t break free from work and family obligations that soon. So, I had to spend an entire week on the project.

It was brutal. Every quiet moment, every conversation broke loose a new memory — and generated a new item for my list. At one point, midweek, I told another friend what I was up to, and he asked if he could pray with me. He put his hand on my shoulder and pleaded on my behalf that I might have excellent recall and remember everything I’d ever done. I wanted to punch him.

When John and I finally got back together, we sat at a conference table in my office. We prayed and invited the presence and guidance of the Holy Spirit. Unsure of how it would go and not knowing how to start, I jumped in awkwardly. I read through my list, answered questions, filled in details and felt quite ashamed.

I remember having a hard time looking John in his eyes. But I also remember feeling compelled to check them occasionally, looking for any indication of rejection, acceptance, revulsion, love. We prayed more and talked more. It took about an hour.

When we finished, John prayed over me. First, he read Peter’s word about Jesus: “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed” (1 Peter 2:24, ESV). Then, he read Jesus’ words to the paralyzed man. “Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven” (Matthew 9:2, ESV).

John was so kind. He and I became deeper, truer friends that day. And I left that conference room a much freer man than the one who’d walked in an hour earlier.

“If, every once in a while, we can muster enough courage to be honest with God — and appropriately honest with the trustworthy people in our lives — help and healing and freedom will come in abundance. ”

Scripture is clear: Confession is normal and necessary for followers of Jesus. It’s something many of us did spontaneously when we began following him. But it should be an ongoing practice, too. Why? Because we sin anew. It’s inescapable. “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8, ESV). Therefore, we will inevitably bear new shame and feel compelled to separate ourselves from God once again — and perhaps others, too. And thus, we’ll need healing anew.

How does the healing work? We can’t be sure exactly. But there does seem to be something to the fact that, once we confess, we never again have to wonder — Will he, will she still love and accept me if they knew everything? So, we become free to receive the love of our spouses and friends with our whole hearts. We can lean into connection with our communities without reservation. We can trust that we belong in the places we live and work — and with all the people in our lives.

Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy — the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light. — Brené Brown

The culture of the world defines courage in many different ways. This is true courage.

Furthermore, once we confess, our spouses and trusted friends can stand with us in prayer, speak God’s truth and wisdom into our lives and situations (because they know them) and provide us with accountability. Without confession, we remain alone in our sin and in awful circumstances.

So, why would we ever avoid confession? Why would we forgo healing and restoration? Well, it’s simple: embarrassment. Humiliation. Rejection. We harbor deep fears about such things, so instead of confessing to God and godly people, we punish ourselves with shame and isolation — or we try to excuse our behavior to avoid these cursed things.

Sin wants to remain unknown. It shuns the light. In the darkness of the unexpressed it poisons the whole being of a person. … In confession the light of the Gospel breaks into the darkness and seclusion of the heart. — Dietrich Bonhoeffer

But if, every once in a while, we can muster enough courage to be honest with God — and appropriately honest with the trustworthy people in our lives — help and healing and freedom will come in abundance. I promise.

Jesus did it. He bore our sins in his body on that tree. It’s done. Once and for all. Finished. Your sins are forgiven — past, present and future. You are forgiven. You will always be forgiven. So, it’s entirely up to you whether you will accept, receive and embrace the help, healing and freedom God is so eagerly wanting to give you.

So, will you join me? Will you let the light of the Gospel break into your life?

Okay. Now for some practicalities. You simply need to figure out what to confess and to whom. What is easy. Remember: “There should be nothing in your life that someone doesn’t know.” Who requires that you ask God and search your heart. He’s put a trustworthy someone into your life specifically for this type of transparency, for sure. So, pray about it. Sit in silence. Listen for God’s still small voice.

Then, be courageous. Reach out to that person today and have a conversation.