Wednesday, September 30, 2026
Then children were being brought to him in order that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples spoke sternly to those who brought them, but Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” —Matthew 19:13–14
James Finley unpacks how Thérèse of Lisieux understood our calling to be like “little children”:
Thérèse entered the monastery at fifteen, and she began her novitiate a few months later, which means she took the habit of a cloistered Carmelite sister. She took the devotional name of Thérèse of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face….
Thérèse’s emphasis on childhood and the child Jesus in her teaching doesn’t at all suggest that we’re not to mature into adults but rather see that there are certain childlike qualities that are the essence of spiritual maturity. How can we, as adults, cultivate these childlike qualities as a way to deepen our experience and response to God’s presence in our life?
Thérèse writes in her autobiography, “Jesus deigned to show me the road that leads to this Divine Furnace, and this road is the surrender of a little child who sleeps without fear in its father’s arms.” [1] She calls it a divine furnace—and other mystics speak this way as well—so that we imagine a red-hot stove. You put a drop of water on the stove and it vanishes. This is such a deep love and complete trust that all fear vanishes. We’re infinitely loved by God and held by God in an infinite love that completely and utterly transcends any source of fear, any source of sadness. The child is like an infant in complete trust and safety, sound asleep in the arms of God. We’re resting in the midst of a fear, in the midst of the sadness, but we’re grounded in this love that transcends the fear and transcends the sadness.
It’s our eternal destiny: an eternal oneness with the eternal love of God as the beloved. For Thérèse, the way we enter into this mystery experientially is to accept it. But we have to accept it as a small child accepts. It’s good for us to try to accept it, but as long as we’re trying to accept it, we’re not yet accepting the way a child accepts. When parents love their child, the child doesn’t try to accept that they’re loved. The child is loved because children are acts of acceptance in our midst. That’s what makes children so disarming, and it’s what makes child abuse so painful and deep….
It seems to me that the question in response to Thérèse’s teaching is: “How can we learn to go beyond trying to an act of acceptance?” I think this is why Thérèse’s spiritual path is called “the little way.” It’s not a big, overwhelming experience. It’s about calibrating our hearts to such subtlety that the sovereignty of this love is realized within us.
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“I can’t forgive myself.” – Bradley Jersak
Letter to a Condemning Conscience
| BRADLEY JERSAK SEP 30 |
A friend wrote to me, suffering under the crushing weight of a condemning conscience. Assessing the harm done to loved ones can make self-forgiveness seem impossible to the point of perilous. I know that cliff, but I’ve also had really good help through those deep valley.
The Crushing Weight of Guilt
I have never found self-forgiveness easy. And when we’ve done harm to others, it probably isn’t meant to be. Not if we are able to hear the impact of our actions and the ripple effects they cause. An honest look in the mirror can sting, but in isolation (“just me and Jesus”), can also become deeply unhealthy. Personally, I have struggled with stuckness, blind spots, mismanaged apologies, and the need to hear God’s forgiveness through the voice and love of another human being.
The Christian tradition of confession comes from James 5, where we read, “Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.”
“…confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.”
—James 5:16
The question then becomes, “If Jesus forgave us, then why confess sin at all?” Some take this to the extreme, even claiming that we should not pray the Lord’s Prayer asking Jesus to forgive us, as if all of Jesus’ teachings are still Old Covenant. Nope.
When we pray the Lord’s prayer, we ask to be forgiven by the One who forgave us already so that we enter the experience of what is already true… so that we “let forgiveness in” to cleanse us from the debilitating weight of guilt and shame.
Similarly, why does Paul say, “You have been reconciled” (already)… but then “therefore, be reconciled” (now)? Same idea: Paul wants us to live into the truth so that it becomes our experience and changes our perspective and our lives.
But there is also the problem of radical individualism—aka alienation. We discover that despite knowing these verses, we have trouble overcoming guilt and shame on our own. We don’t forgive ourselves very well and we get stuck, and very often, even sick. Sometimes, we need to express our wrongdoing to another person and hear from them that we are forgiven.
Confession
That said, when confessing my faults to others, I discovered the hard way that not everyone is reliable at remaining confidential. Or they don’t listen well. OR they slip into fix-it mode. Or they deepen the shame. It happens.
At some point, the people of God recognized that some have the gift of the Holy Spirit to listen without judgement, to reassure us of Christ’s forgiveness, and to call us back into communion with God. They became what we called “confessors.” It’s troubling how many who take that role are inept or abusive.
But there are others—spiritual directors, counsellors, therapists, and recovery sponsors who practice forms of confidential confession so that God’s forgiveness is felt deeply enough to heal us.
My Confessors
Some of my convictions about healthy confession grew through the seven years of weekly confession I did with Bishop Varlaam (of blessed memory). When I went to him, he NEVER ever started by interrogating my sin. He would always ask, “What’s troubling you?” What frequently “troubled” me were the accusations of my conscience about my sin.
But with Varlaam, the goal of confession was always to remind me that the good news of Jesus is that I don’t need to go run and hide like Adam. He would urge me to return as quickly as possible into Jesus’ presence to share what’s bothering me, to hear again that I’m forgiven, to remind me to make amends where necessary, and to proceed to communion with a clean conscience.
It was always a very tender conversation, focussed specifically on “what’s troubling me,” which is to say the anxiety of being alienated and condemned, not by God, but by the judgments of our conscience. Having a conscience is a good thing. It is meant to function as an inner prophet (like Nathan to David) that identifies our need for healing mercy. But the conscience can also slip and get carried away by ego into judgment and condemnation.
In confession, Jesus then comes with the good news of forgiveness to and the mediator between us in our conscience.
After checking on any amends I needed to make to others, Bishop Varlaam used to always say,
“I am a man just like you and I have no power to forgive sins, but with the boldness we have been given because the Lord said, ‘Whatever sins you remit are remitted,” I remind you: you ARE forgiven. Rise in peace.”
Letting Go of Judgment
Based on the above, I wrote my friend (but maybe you, too),
… Of course God forgives us, but forgiving ourselves is harder, especially when we think of those we’ve harmed. But even there, I hope you will allow Christ to bear the burden of that guilt and release those you love into his loving, caregiving arms (picture it). Your well-being is what matters most to them. The rest is details.
I remember the first time I ever went to confession, what really bothered me that day was that despite all my missteps and failings, I was still so judgy of others. And I said this. My confessor replied:
“And who have you judged more than yourself? But as the Apostle said, ‘Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To their own master they will stand or fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.’” (Romans 14:4).
Somehow, at least for a moment, I felt liberated … and I realized that the accuser was my own conscience, acting above its pay-grade, dethroning Christ from the judgment seat.
I saw that Christ alone is qualified to judge because he alone can be trusted to deliver the verdict of mercy.
So here’s a message for you today: “You will stand, for the Lord is able to make you stand.”
The Conscience as Mercy’s Emissary
But I thought, then what is my conscience for? How can my conscious act in spiritually, mentally, and emotionally healthy ways? Isn’t that its role? To judge me?
Again, Bp. Varlaam to the rescue: he taught me that when I stumble, I am so prone to shame, and I often run and hide like Adam did. But that only amplifies the shame and I alienate myself. “Instead,” he said,
“… as quickly as you can, come back into the presence of Infinite Mercy…
even a ‘Lord, have mercy’ or the Lord’s prayer will do.”
So rather than condemning me, my conscience gets an upgrade, a promotion: it becomes an emissary for the all-merciful One, not to condemn me, but to invite me (ever the prodigal) back to belonging and dignity in the Father’s house. That’s its role.
So it is for you. I’m calling your conscience to serve God by inviting you (again and again) into the warm embrace of the Father who is always for you, always toward you, always running your way … even when a long way off.
Maybe it’s less about psyching yourself up to forgiving yourself so much as surrendering your regrets to the care of the Forgiver and another human being.
Hint: that surrender is letting go, which is the essence of self-forgiveness.
Much love,
Bradley
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The two classic questions about today’s material:
1. What do you want me to know &
2. What do you want me to do
