“How long has it been since you’ve received Confession and Absolution?”
Pastor Elias sat in his leather office chair, the faint scent of old books lingering in the air—a musty perfume heavy with the weight of knowledge and memories. It was in the middle of the week, so the church was silent, save for the occasional hum of the air conditioning. It had been a quiet evening, the members of St. Thomas Lutheran Church seldom taking advantage of private confession and absolution these days. He leaned back, his mind wandering to the passage in Revelation he’d been writing his sermon on earlier that morning—about the second death and the lake of fire.
Suddenly, the man sitting in front of him—Brian—cleared his throat, interrupting his thoughts.
“How long has it been since I last received Absolution?” he said. “…I don’t know.” Brian was an inactive member, who had suddenly walked into Elias’ office requesting Confession and Absolution.
Elias shifted in his chair. This might take a while, he thought. Brian’s voice sounded exhausted—almost ancient.
“Take your time,” Elias said, his voice gentle. “God is patient with us all.” Elias hated how cliché that sounded, but it nevertheless remains true.
Brian began to speak, but not with the usual sins of daily life. Instead, he spoke of things that chilled Elias to the bone.
“I’ve seen the shadows of Hell, Pastor. Not in dreams, but here—on Earth. They follow me, whispering… They say my soul belongs to them, that I can’t escape. I ran for so long. But now I’ve come back.”
There was a small flicker of hope in Brian’s eyes as Elias clenched his hands, trying to maintain his composure. “What do you mean by ‘come back’?”
Brian’s voice quivered. “I’ve been running from God, Pastor. I’ve seen His light… yet I rejected it. I wandered into dark places, did unspeakable things. But the worst part is, I can’t remember how long it’s been. How long has it been since I was free?”
Elias felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. The church seemed to grow unnaturally cold, as though the very air had been sucked from the room. Whether it was from the AC or the nature of Brian’s odd confession, Elias wasn’t sure.
“And now… they’ve found me,” Brian continued. “I hear them outside this very church, waiting for me.”
Elias leaned forward, praying silently in his heart. “You are in God’s house, Brian. No evil can claim you here. ‘Deliver us from evil,’ we pray in the prayer the Lord has taught us. What is it you fear?”
Brian breathed heavily, as if the weight of centuries pressed upon him. “I fear I am lost. Lost beyond redemption.”
The pastor’s heart pounded in his chest, but he knew he had to remain strong. Clearly, Brian’s conscience was heavy with some sin. What, he did not yet know. These were always murky waters to travail—assuring the penitent that despite how they may feel, as St. John wrote in his first epistle, If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. That forgiveness does not depend on how we may feel at any given moment, but on the efficacious declaration of God’s grace in His Word and Sacraments. In Elias’ twenty years of experience in pastoral care, most people found comfort in this truth of the Gospel, but sometimes a penitent could not move past the haunting whisperings of the devil in their ear.
Elias swallowed and said, “There is no one lost beyond the reach of Christ’s mercy. The cross is our refuge, and God’s forgiveness knows no bounds. As God’s Word says, if you confess your sins, He is faithful and just to forgive your sins and to cleanse you from all unrighteousness. That’s what Absolution does.”
There was silence. The moments stretched, each second filled with a growing dread. Then Brian finally whispered, “Pastor, I’ve killed. I’ve killed so many… for decades. And the darkness grew in me. I… I made a pact.”
Elias’ breath caught. Not once in his twenty years of pastoral experience has someone confessed of murder. He remembers all the “what if” scenarios and ethical debating about such a possibility in seminary, and the critical importance of honoring the seal of confession should one genuinely repent of such heinous sins like murder, even rape. That because of the honorable seal of confession, he can’t even tell the police, even if it means they imprison him. Such is the cost of grace. Yet what somehow troubled him most about Brian’s confession was this pact he mentioned. He had only read of such things in fictional horror stories.
“With the devil?” Elias whispered.
The man didn’t respond at first. Then, after a long pause, he said, “I’m ready. I want to repent.”
Elias quickly said, “Which sins do you wish to confess?”
“Just murder,” Brian said, his head sunk low, shame filling his voice. “I… I hate myself for it. It’s like an addiction. I admit that I enjoyed it when I did, but immediately afterwards I’ve always felt extremely guilty. Yet I can’t seem to control myself. As if that pact I made drives me to continue.”
“What is the nature of this pact?”
“Nothing special. Nothing like a crazy ritual like you see in the movies. One day I just… succumbed to the voices, promising them I’d do what they tell me in the name of Satan.”
Elias inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Are you sorry for all of this and ask for grace? Do you desire to do better?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes!”
“God be merciful to you and strengthen your faith.”
“Amen.”
“Do you believe that my forgiveness is God’s forgiveness?”
“Yes.”
“Let it be done for you as you believe.” Standing up, Elias placed his hand softly on Brian’s head. “In the stead and by the command of my Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father” (making the sign of the cross over him) “and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen,” they both said.
After sitting back down, Elias said, “Brian, you may go in peace knowing your sins are forgiven, yet I strongly encourage you to turn yourself in. Rest assured, you have made peace with God, but you also need to make peace with the victims’ families here on Earth, and with our laws, which remain to be reconciled.”
Brian seemed to hesitate a little at first, but then said, “Yes. Yes, Pastor, you’re right. I’ll do that as soon as—” He turned his head to the door behind him. “Pastor, they’re here.”
“They may be, but they are nothing compared to the power of Christ in you.”
Elias stood, opening the door and stepping into the narthex, Brian coming behind him. The church felt colder, and darker, but although his heart was racing, he did not back down. He removed the crucifix from around his neck and held it high.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, leave this place!” Elias commanded, his voice strong with a strength not his own. “This man belongs to Christ, the Holy One of Israel! Begone!”
Elias and Brian both felt an overwhelming dark presence, yet Elias continued to pray. “Give ear to my words, O LORD, consider my meditation. Give heed to the voice of my cry, my King and my God, for to You I will pray. My voice You shall hear in the morning, O LORD; in the morning I will direct it to You, and I will look up. For You are not a God who takes pleasure in wickedness! Nor shall evil dwell with You! The boastful shall not stand in Your sight; You hate all workers of iniquity. You shall destroy those who speak falsehood; the LORD abhors the bloodthirsty and deceitful man. But as for me, I will come into Your house in the multitude of Your mercy; in fear of You I will worship toward Your holy temple!”
As he spoke these words, Brian closely behind him, the darkness seemed to recoil. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the oppressive cold lifted, as if the sound had been sucked out of the narthex. The church was quiet once more—peaceful.
Pastor Elias turned around, but Brian was gone, as if he’d never been there. For a moment, he feared the worst—that the man’s soul had been claimed. But then, as he felt his foot lightly kick something on the floor, he saw something that brought tears to his eyes.
It was a small, hand-carved cross, worn with age and use—a gift the Ladies’ Guild gives to every catechumen who goes through the rite of Confirmation.
The following day, the news was filled with anchormen covering the story of a man—Brian Wilcox—confessing to decades of murder, many of which solved cold cases throughout Michigan’s upper peninsula. In Elias’ professional estimation, Brian stilled appeared to be genuinely contrite, though his eyes no longer had a hint of the haunting darkness that seemed to consume him the night before. He would spend the rest of his life in prison, but he would also spend his eternal life in the new heavens and the new Earth.
The Lutheran Column 