Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment depicts the descent into madness of a murderer who thinks he has committed the perfect crime. Eventually, he’s found out by his own conscience, overwhelmed with hysterical agony and the paranoia of guilt. Sentenced to life in the work camps in Siberia, the main character, Raskolinov has become a hollow man, broken by the weight of his own decisions and the ensuing spiral of darkness. But, Sonya, a prostitute, who is Raskolinov’s only meaningful human interaction, keeps showing up in his life. Even after he is convicted, she brings him a New Testament, she visits him in prison, she hears his confession. Through his relationship with Sonya, through the power of confession, Raskolinov is healed, he is brought back from the dead. The consequences of his actions remain, but his soul is redeemed.

Psalm 32 describes the torture of unconfessed sin and the joy of bringing our brokenness into the light. David writes,

When I kept silence, my body wasted away
through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah

We are not disembodied souls. The guilt from our hearts is circulated into our bones. We feel the weight of our sin not just psychologically but physiologically. David vividly portrays this wasting sickness, like a cancer slowly spreading. Our natural reaction when we know that we have done wrong, is to try to hide in our shame. This truly is the most insidious thing about sin, it doesn’t just break us once, it fractures our hearts and then shackles us to that moment, convincing us that we are forever defined by this one act. Paul will later describe sin as a slave master (Romans 6), a power that uses fear and propaganda to keep us in bondage.

But the witness of Psalm 32 voices its testimony from the other side. There is a cure for sin, there is a healer, a great physician that will take away our ills. He runs to us, he is near, all we have to do is turn to him. Although, understanding this is like scaling the highest mountain of shame. Sin tries to convince us that the last thing we can ever do is confess. But the Scriptures tell a different story. Look how quickly things turn upon the hinge of confession:

Then I acknowledged my sin to you,
and I did not hide my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
and you forgave the guilt of my sin. Selah

David melting heart, heavy bones and all simply acknowledges his sin and he finds not a harsh “how dare you,” not abandonment, or disowning, but wholeness, restoration.

God is not a hoarder of grace, he doesn’t offer it like a trap to get us to come out into the light so he can snap it shut. He has made a way. Even in our rebellion against him he is our refuge (v. 6). Instead of hiding in our shame, we can make his light our hiding place (v. 7).

What is it that’s keeping you in the dark? What’s it that’s telling you there’s no way forward, that no one can know, and that God is done with you? He’s not. He’s faithful. Do you need mercy? We all do. Let steadfast love surround you. Let it go.

Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven,
whose sin is covered. (v. 1)

His love conquers all sin. Even yours. Even mine.