When my friend Melissa asked the discussion question, I wanted to shrink into the floor.
“What do you need to confess?” she said.
There was a long silence while we all considered our answer.
We were at IF:Gathering, or more specifically, at one of its 40,000 off-site streaming locations. Our conference center was Melissa’s living room, which sat eight women from around San Diego’s North County. IF: impressed me. The speaker list was a rundown of powerful women in the church. They spoke with grace and candor about our callings and about the love of Jesus. I drank in the power of a global sisterhood. That sense of belonging was why the question was so unwelcome.
Often, when I’m surprised by my sin, my first reaction is sullenness. That day, I folded my legs up to my chest as my sisters in Christ confessed. I looked down at the upholstery. I picked at my cuticles. I was over the question.
I am just fine, I thought. I don’t need to confess anything. The ridiculousness of that idea settled in my chest. That’s when Jesus opened up his hands and showed me my sin. And it had to do with the very venue that was asking me to repent.
I realized I was harboring a deep mistrust of men.
I’m at The Junia Project today, talking about my own sexism, and the call to show everyone Christ’s love. Join me!
