“If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. But if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” — 1 John 1:8–9

Jesus was remarkably intentional in His encounters with people. He consistently lifted up the brokenhearted, the marginalized, the overlooked, and the forgotten. At the same time, He confronted the proud, the self-righteous, and those convinced they had it all together. Unfortunately, the church has often done the opposite—piling on those already burdened by shame while quietly affirming those who have simply become better at hiding it.

Since the garden of Eden, our instinct has been to manage sin rather than confess it. The moment Adam and Eve recognized their rebellion, they hid. Shame has always driven us into the shadows, convincing us that if no one sees our sin, perhaps it no longer exists.

Step Four of the 12 Steps to Discipleship calls us to do the exact opposite. We are invited to bring our sin into the light.

Secrets rarely stay small. Hidden beneath the surface, they quietly shape our thoughts, relationships, and habits. Like mold growing in a dark basement, sin festers where light never reaches. Bringing it into the open is uncomfortable, but the light is a powerful disinfectant.

While we were in college, my future wife gave me a leather journal that became my prayer journal for years. During one particularly difficult season, I decided to write down every sin I could remember that still haunted me.

At first, I listed the obvious failures. But as I kept writing, something unexpected happened. The Lord began exposing deeper patterns beneath those individual actions. Pride. Self-centeredness. A desire for recognition. Control. My outward sins were simply symptoms of a heart that wanted to be its own god.

Page after page, memories surfaced that I had long tried to forget. I wrote as small as I could, partly because I didn’t want anyone else to read what I was finally bringing into the light. I filled four or five pages before I finally stopped.

Then, a week or so later, I realized something.

I had lost the journal.

Somewhere in Charlotte there may still be an old leather notebook filled with the moments of my life I’m least proud of. But I’ve often wondered if the Lord allowed me to lose it because He wanted me to experience something deeper than confession.

Freedom.

The power was never in keeping a record of my failures. The power was in bringing them into the light before Christ. Those stories no longer define me because they no longer belong to me. They have been covered by the blood of Jesus Christ.

Like an iceberg, most of us carefully manage the visible ten percent of our lives while hoping no one discovers what lies beneath the surface. Yet it is the hidden ninety percent that has the power to destabilize us. Confession lowers the waterline. It exposes what has been there all along—not so Christ can condemn us, but so He can heal us.

The gospel always begins with bad news before it reaches the Good News. Before Christ can be our Savior, we must first recognize what He came to save us from. As Paul came to understand, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst” (1 Timothy 1:15). Only those who know the depth of their need can fully appreciate the depth of God’s mercy.

I’d encourage you to carve out some time this week to prayerfully list the things you’ve kept hidden beneath the surface. Bring them into the light before the Lord. Just one piece of advice: don’t leave the journal at Caribou Coffee. (Though I checked with them and they insisted they didn’t have it. I’m still convinced that’s where one pastor’s sins remain permanently on display.)