A Confession
Today I am sharing a prayer that comes from the devotional book of Puritan prayers, “The Valley of Vision.” I am going to take the liberty to modify some of the language and remove the “thee’s and thou’s” for the more modern “You and Yours.” I also want to add some commentary. The commented-on passages will be in bold and my commentary in parenthesis.
O Living God,
I bless you that I see the worst of my heart as well as the best of it, that I can sorrow for those sins that carry me from you, that it is your deep and dear mercy to threaten punishment so that I may return, pray, live.
(I find there is great wisdom here. The writer of Hebrews tells us that God disciplines his children. To hear the voice of the Spirit warning of impending disaster is not something to despise. It is a sign of God’s love.)
My sin is to look on my faults and be discouraged or to look on my good and be puffed up.
(The second half of that line is understandable to most. We instinctively know that pride is a sin. But why does the writer say it is sinful to look on his faults and be discouraged? It makes sense when you understand that discouragement with your faults indicates that you are thinking more highly of yourself than you should. It proves that you still have some inkling within you of belief in yourself and your innate goodness and intrinsic ability to do for yourself what should be done in and by Christ. Harder concept to grasp, but an important one.)
I fall short of your glory every day by spending hours unprofitably, by thinking the things that I do are good, when they are not done to your end, nor spring from the rules of your word. My sin is to fear what will never be.
(I want to confess how often I have fallen prey to this trap of fearing what will never be.)
I forget to submit to our will and fail to be quiet there. But Scripture teaches me that your active will reveals a steadfast purpose on my behalf, and this quietens my soul and makes me love you.
(I have thought a lot recently about the nature of resting faith and how a “quietness” of soul accompanies it. I haven’t fully grasped all that means in practical outworkings, but I think it means that people who are resting in Christ are less frantic and angry than those who aren’t trusting daily in God’s purposes.)
Keep me always in the understanding that saints mourn more for sin than other men, for when they see how great is your wrath against sin, and how Christ’s death alone pacifies that wrath, that makes the mourn the more.
Help me to see that although I am in the wilderness it is not all briars and barrenness. I have bread from heaven, streams from the rock, light by day, fire by night, your dwelling place, and your mercy seat.
(I need this reminder often. Also, I would add that all of these symbols, drawn from the Old Testament account of Israel’s wilderness wanderings, are types and shadows of Christ. So, we have bread, water, light, etc. in Christ.)
I am sometimes discouraged by the way, but though winding and trying it is safe and short. Death dismays me, but my great high priest stands in its waters and will open a passage for me, and beyond is a better country. While I live let my life be exemplary, when I die may my end be peace.
(I appreciate the honesty with which the writer admits that “death dismays me.” But he doesn’t allow his dismay of death to overcome him. By faith he sees Jesus, our great high priest, standing in death’s waters, making a passage for us to cross over to a better country. I join him in wanting to live well and die in peace.)
