O Lord, penetrate those murky corners
where we hide memories and tendencies on which we do not care to look,
but which we will not unearth and yield freely up to you,
that you may purify and transmute them.
That persistent buried grudge,
the half-acknowledged animosity which is still smoldering,
the bitterness of that loss we have not turned into sacrifice,
the private comfort we cling to,
the secret fear of failure which saps our initiative
and is really inverted pride,
the pessimism which is an insult to your joy.
Lord, we bring all these to you, and review them with shame and penitence
in your steadfast light.
Evelyn Underhill, 1875 – 1941, English author and mystic
The Westminster Collection of Christian Prayers, slightly modified
For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away
through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
my strength was dried up[b] as by the heat of summer.
I acknowledged my sin to you,
and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
and you forgave the iniquity of my sin.