Years ago, before I met my wife, before I got settled in my career, before I had money for anything, I lived for several years in a house owned by a friend.

There were usually about four or five of us single guys paying a modest rent.

We had meals together weekly, had a lot of fun, went to Tiger games, U-of-M football games, had some epic ping pong battles in the basement, hosted some great parties, and built some good relationships.

And, regularly, we would sit around, solve the world’s problems, talk about God, pray together, and discuss how we were doing personally, our individual successes and failures.

And, if one felt the need, that included what we call confessing our sins.

What?

I realize that’s not typical for 20-something guys, but, hey, it’s in the Bible. We are told to make it a common experience to “confess your sins to one another (your false steps, your offenses), and pray for one another, that you may be healed and restored (James 5:16).”

In keeping with that practice, if you don’t mind, I’ll acknowledge some of my own sins right here.

The Bible mentions three in particular: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life (1 John 2:16).

I’ll take them in reverse order, one per column (that way, if I never get around to the first one, you won’t notice).

When I leave my nice house with my nice car in the garage and head out on my nice bike to race around the beautiful lakes in our area, I like to observe things. Beautiful cottages on the shoreline, for example. Ones I wish I owned.

I keep going and I notice drivers — mostly good, but, often, really bad drivers.

And I see houses that aren’t so nice.

And they drive cars that are junk.

I shake my head. I am better than that. I would never drive that car. I have taste.

And then they drive like that! Can’t you even see over the dash?

Or, why would they choose to live there? A house on the wrong side of the road, a road in the wrong part of town, the wrong town in the wrong part of the state?

And I judge them. And, in so doing, they become my enemy, and I, however unconsciously, withhold love from them.

Have I forgotten that awful car of mine that wouldn’t go over 60 mph, that wasn’t built to last more than 60,000 miles? Or that rusted-out minivan that I drove for years?

Have I forgotten living in that apartment in Columbus, Ohio where a flock of roaches, along with their extended families and friends, would scatter back under the stove or behind the fridge whenever I entered the kitchen?

I seem to forget all the times I’ve been justifiably the object of someone’s angry horn as my driving has been less than perfect.

Why do I forget renting a room, barely surviving, and living paycheck to paycheck, slowly getting into debt with unforeseen car repairs?

Wretched man that I am.

The pride of life is so irrational.

Material possessions, along with accomplishments and abilities and bank accounts, don’t guarantee happiness or joy or contentment. We know that, but then we look at someone else and either covet their stuff or judge them for not having our stuff.

Those things we take pride in can be snuffed out so quickly.

Ridiculous.

So, how does sin confession help?

Adam Young recently said, “It is possible to harden your heart. To become wicked requires that you silence your conscience thousands of times (over many years). In time, you will no longer feel shame or guilt when you hurt someone. Then you will be able to do harm with a clear conscience.”

Confession helps me refocus my mind. These days, if someone pulls out in front of me and then drives 10 mph under the speed limit, I purposefully don’t look to see who’s driving. I don’t want to reinforce the stereotype. God wants to slow me down, anyway.

Confession also builds community. We realize we’re not alone in our wretchedness. And we can find joy when our tribe sees us for who we are and accepts us regardless. We receive a great gift when they are glad to see us and be with us even when we are vulnerable.

The best thing confession and repentance does is clear the air between me and God. When I’m entertaining sin, massaging my pride, I’m not living in my attachment to Him, the source of life, the One Who Loves.

He’s the one who’s love, and He’s the one whose love makes me want to change and mature.

Confession is then an act of worship.

Phil Cook can be reached at 3upquarks@protonmail.com.