“It must be him.” His eyes shifted to the messenger standing uncertainly in the doorway, his mind spinning frantically at the memories. Of the party, the dancing. His foolish oath. “It must be John the Baptist, risen from the dead!” The messenger bowed and backed away as Herod clenched his fist. Herod, who had killed a righteous man to save face at a dinner party. A baptiser, no less; a prophet preaching repentance out in Israel’s wilderness. A truth-teller, boldly calling out Herod’s sins. Was this John now returning to haunt him? True, this new prophet—Jesus, they called him—hailed from that backwater village of Nazareth instead of Jerusalem. But rumor had it he was a miracle worker. A Messiah figure. A threat to Herod’s throne.

He turned, perspiration gathering under his robe. This one, too, would have to be dealt with. Killed. Sacrificed to protect Herod’s power. His place. His hardened conscience.

****

“I don’t like that church”, she sniffed. “Those people are so judgemental.” Amber’s friend’s eyes widened in surprise. That Sunday had featured a speaker from the local pregnancy center, gently sharing love and hope for those wounded by abortion. Amber shifted uncomfortably, memories of her own abortion sharp and painful. The secret no one knew except for God, who had obviously brought this speaker to shame and torment her. Who were those people, to think that they were perfect? To throw her sin in her face?

*****

Unconfessed sin causes more damage inside us than simple regret or guilt. No matter how staunchly defended or tightly guarded, it poisons our thoughts and skews our perspective. We cast a suspicious eye over our circumstances, guarding against imagined offenses and accusations. We allow others in, but only so far, lest they discover the secret buried in our darkest memories. And when those memories start to gain a foothold in our heart, we scramble to accommodate their presence with a carefully propped up persona.

Refusing to face our sin can prey on our minds. Our feelings of guilt then interpret our circumstances to us, and we gradually become captive to them.

We imagine that confession will undo us, leave us weak and vulnerable before the altar. And it does. But the love we find there also relieves us, frees us, and opens our heart to our fellow sinners around us. For we are all saved by grace. Every single one.

Herod’s pride and fear formed a tight box around his heart. Forced him to continue a brutal, bloody reign that condemned the Messiah to death. He shut out the only one with the power to forgive. To save. To bring him peace.

Amber’s secret held a power over her, keeping her isolated. The layers of lies designed to shield her heart, also created a barrier against the loving intimacy she craved. She shut out the means of healing. The people who offered acceptance and grace.

So too the boxes we make for ourselves. They are a tight fit. Uncomfortable. Stressful. Our fears hold us tightly within ourselves, creating an existential loneliness that shadows our souls.

Are you trapped in a box of your own making? Has fear or pride kept you from the freedom and peace you long for? We all start at the foot of the cross. Every single one of us comes to life through humility and repentance. We have all wrestled through the darkness to reach for the light. And here we testify: you are not alone. There is hope and life and, yes, joy on the other side.

Come to the cross and be healed. Confess that thing that has held you captive too long. Grieve it, and leave it, accepting the wholeness and peace of Jesus, who carried your guilt to the cross.

You were made for the wide-open joy of Heaven, not for a tight box of shame. It’s time to step over the threshold and be free.

Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.

Proverbs 28:13

For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

Colossians 1:13-14