Dying to Find New Life
What Bryan Stevenson and Alcoholics Anonymous can teach us about confession and surrender.
Finding true spiritual transformation doesn’t come without serious commitment and sacrifice. To say it bluntly, we have to die to find new life.1
It’s true, and I hate it.
As a student of Family Systems Theory (FST), one of the things I like to say is that it works, and I hate it. Meaning, following the principles of FST are often counter-intuitive and HARD! Being non-reactive, leaning into discomfort, owning your own anxiety, etc., etc., etc., are all hard things to do and to continually practice. I wish it wasn’t true, because it’s much easier to be reactive, petty, vengeful and so on. For me at least, I know that spiritual transformation comes through sacrifice because I hate it, therefore I know it to be true.
In his book, Ministry in an Age of Secular Mysticism, Andrew Root makes the point that true transformation can only come by way of surrender and confession. He contrasts this to other avenues of change in our modern world, such as internal and external efforts, which he argues fail to bring true and complete transformation. He writes, “Ministry, if it’s to include transformation in and by the Spirit, must be in some way shaped by surrender and confession.”2
What is most interesting about this “pathway” of surrender and confession is that the transformation or change is not dependent on our own efforts, as it is within the internal and external methods commonly seen in our modern world (and which Root explore in the book). He says, “The mysticism of confession and surrender is fundamentally different... because confession and surrender place the self in a position of reception. Only in a life of reception can the immanent frame be opened and the self made attentive to the arriving of revelation.”3 In short, through confession and surrender, rather than us having to do the work ourselves, God does the work for us.
After I read Root’s book, I began reading Bryan Stevenson’s book Just Mercy. Though compelling and certainly sobering at times, it didn’t really quite bowl me over until near the end. There, in what to me was the most profound few pages of the book, Stevenson describes a period of burnout and exhaustion. He writes, “My years of struggling against inequality, abusive power, poverty, oppression, and injustice had finally revealed something to me about myself. Being close to suffering, death, executions, and cruel punishments didn't just illuminate the brokenness of others; in a moment of anguish and heartbreak, it also exposed my own brokenness.”4
Stevenson then shares about driving across the rural south one night, listening to a preacher on the radio. The preacher was sharing on 2 Corinthians 12:9-12
And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
Stevenson tells how he gained power (paradoxically right!) through accepting his brokenness. He writes, “In fact, there is a strength, a power even, in understanding brokenness, because embracing our brokenness creates a need and desire for mercy, and perhaps a corresponding need to show mercy. When you experience mercy, you learn things that are hard to learn otherwise. You see things you can't otherwise see; you hear things you can't otherwise hear. You begin to recognize the humanity that resides in each of us.”5
He then shares how he sees acknowledging our own brokenness, not as weakness, but really as a source of power that would lead to our own personal and communal transformation. Again, he writes, “I began thinking about what would happen if we all just acknowledged our brokenness, if we owned up to our weaknesses, our deficits, our biases, our fears. Maybe if we did, we wouldn't want to kill the broken among us who have killed others.”6 This is incredibly profound stuff. I read these last few chapters one evening on a plane ride to Tulsa, having a mini-revival in my own heart as Stevenson discipled me to accept my own brokenness.
See, remember what I said earlier, that I hate this. Like, I really do. And in recent months, I myself have been struggling as I try to make sense of my career and my calling and my future. I’ve been desperate for growth and change but I’ve wanted to do it on my own. I don’t want to die. Yet, death is essential for the transformation process.
A few months prior to even reading Root’s book, I preached from Luke 9:23. Here’s a quote from that sermon:
“I find it interesting, that just beneath us, in our lower level, we host an AA group, often times meeting concurrently as we are here. What do we know about AA? Each and every meeting, members have to come into the meeting and say “hello, my name is..., I’m an alcoholic.” A simple, but powerful statement. See, much of the danger of the disease of addition is the refusal to name it as such… Each and every meeting, the participant has to die. They have to come in and admit that they have lost the battle. They are dead.”
Again, note Luke 9:23
Then he said to them all, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.
Luke’s version of this statement of Jesus includes the word “daily,” which I find intriguing. Because going back to the AA example, the alcoholic has to admit, again and again, that they are an addict. They have to acknowledge, day after day, they have died, they have lost the battle. Remember what Root says about confession and surrender; this is it right here. The AA member confesses they have lost the battle and they surrender to the fact that they need the help of others—maybe even God.
In that same sermon I said that sometimes AA does church better than we church-going people do. Again, to bring in Root; “confession and surrender place the self in a position of reception.”7 In admitting their death, the AA member is opening themselves up to outward intervention. And, for the Christian, we are opening ourselves up to the revelation of God. Let me just emphasize this again. I hate this. And, I can guess that for the addict wrestling with attending their first meeting and admitting their own defeat—they hate this too.
Part of me wonders if my antagonism stems from the performative nature of our modern society. Root writes about this throughout the MSA series. Meaning, admitting we are not great and grand and capable of fixing ourselves runs directly against the modern moral order. Yet, as Root says, “only in confessing that we have no way to find God are we assured that we seek God and not just our own echo.”8 The addict has heard their own echo again and again, “I’m in control of this,” “it’s not that bad,” “I can stop whenever I want.” Yet clearly, they cannot fix themselves. And neither can we.
In a song that I both deeply resonate with and equally despise is the song “New Wine,” by Hillsong.9
In the crushing
In the pressing
You are making new wine
In the soil
I now surrender
You are breaking new groundSo I yield to You into Your careful hand
When I trust You I don't need to understand
Make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus bring new wine out of me
Throughout this song, I see and hear confession and surrender. And I don’t like it one bit, for as the lyrics sing, the “crushing” and the “pressing” will be quite uncomfortable, and we can argue theologically as to whether such crushing and pressing stems directly from God, or as a result of our own actions. For the addict going to AA, I can imagine there will be some fair amount of uncomfortable “crushing” and “pressing.” Yet, in that soil of surrender, new wine is coming forth.
So, I’m judicious in listening to this song, because there are many times I cannot go along with the lyrics in good faith. Yet, sometimes when it comes up (I do listen to “Praise and Worship” music more than I might admit), I find myself feeling some of that “crushing” and “pressing” within myself, and feel compelled to pray along with the singer; “So I yield to You into Your careful hand. When I trust You I don't need to understand. Make me Your vessel. Make me an offering. Make me whatever You want me to be. I came here with nothing. But all You have given me. Jesus bring new wine out of me.”
The testimony of Andrew Root, of the Apostle Paul, of Bryan Stevenson, and of countless AA members across the world, is that transformation comes by way of confession and surrender. When we admit we have lost our way, that’s when we find the strength that we need to go on. God breaks through and shows up. I pray for the strength to admit my own weakness, to admit my own defeat—again and again—trusting that God will show up and make new wine and a new way.
Richmond Jr, Loren. “Daily Dying.” Sermon, Washington Park United Methodist Church, Denver, CO, September 17, 2023.
Root, The Church in an Age of Secular Mysticism, 160.
Root, The Church in an Age of Secular Mysticism, 216.
Stevenson, Just Mercy, 289.
Stevenson, Just Mercy, 290.
Stevenson, Just Mercy, 291.
Root, The Church in an Age of Secular Mysticism, 216.
Root, Churches and the Crisis of Decline, 75.
I want to acknowledge that the Hillsong organization been guilty of overlooking and perpetuating abuse, which further complicates my appreciation for this song.