I find a kind of excellence in confessing certain sins. Not that the confession is excellent, but the possession of the sin itself. Sins like pride and covetousness seem almost virtues in a culture like ours, so to confess them as sin is almost to boast of noble vulnerability. But there are other sins which, when confessed, are not in the least flattering. And I’ll not list them here.
The reason I do not wish to confess them is not because of what others may think of me (though that is not of little consequence – have that for one confession!), nor is it what my Lord will think of me (what does he not already know?). The reason I avoid confessing these sins, these baser and most putrid sins, is that I don’t want to know of them myself. These are my sins, indeed.