Confession Before Connection: Reflections on Rushed Intimacy in Evangelical Spaces

The living room windows framed a group of college students gathered on threadbare couches, in armchairs, and on the floor. They sat shoulder to shoulder, filling every square foot of the room, and worshipped with their voices. The strum of an acoustic guitar accompanied their off-key, heartfelt song. 

Several lay prostrate, their faces pressed into the Persian-style rug. Most had their arms raised above their heads or their hands open in their laps, ready to receive.

Prayers overlapped with song, some in English, others in a holy tongue. Two young women embraced on the couch, tears streaming down their faces. “Yes, Lord,” and “Please, Jesus,” tumbled from their lips, over and over.

A sticky humidity laced with a spicy, earthy scent—frankincense—filled the room. The group leader had anointed one of the graduating seniors a few moments before, a blessing to send him out into his next chapter.

I hid in a corner, knees pulled to my chest, heart pumping in time with the music. Emotion swirled through the room, thick as fog, yet it left me untouched. 

I was invited to this small group that morning, during my first visit to the church. I didn’t know anyone in the room, save the law student to my left. I had met her earlier that morning—she greeted me at the door and later invited me to her small group.

Like most small groups, it was held in someone’s home. The hosts were an older couple I didn’t meet until I knocked on their front door. Before even asking my name, they welcomed me with smiles and hugs.

I felt welcome, but I never learned to truly belong, despite sharing emotionally charged experiences with this group week after week. 

We spent hours in prayer, often preceded by trauma dumps disguised as prayer requests. I knew about one group member’s shameful porn habit, but I didn’t even know his first name.

A few months into my attendance, the group leader offered to meet me for coffee. He was a grandfatherly figure, so I agreed to meet him at a local bakery, hoping to glean some wisdom. Instead, I learned that his marriage was struggling. I was nineteen at the time.

The tone of the group changed—or perhaps I started to hear it differently. It’s hard to remember exactly what shifted, but I knew I needed to get out. By the following month, I’d left the small group and the church.

Looking back, I think the reason things went downhill so quickly was because they went uphill at breakneck speed.

In my experience, Evangelical Christians are encouraged to share deeply personal experiences with others—without the foundation of a trusting relationship. This is done under the guise of testimony, showcasing what the Lord has done in someone’s life. It’s assumed that vulnerability comes first, and trust will follow.

When I first arrived at Christian college in August of 2015, I was surprised and delighted by how open, real, and honest people were. Students prayed for each other in the library or dining hall, chapel speakers shared heartwrenching testimonies three times a week, and prayer groups composed of randomly assigned hallmates encouraged vulnerability.

Before I started courting my husband, I went on a few dates with a guy from one of my GenEd classes. By the end of our first date, I knew his entire relationship history, including how he regretted going to third base with his high school girlfriend. Within a month, he ghosted me, yet I had intimate knowledge of him. The impact of that rejection lasted months. He’d shared his deepest shame with me—did that mean nothing?

I am not innocent in these examples. I wanted closeness and belonging, but I didn’t want to wait for it. These are just a few examples of an ongoing trend in Evangelical spaces—depth is encouraged before trust has a chance to form, leading to a premature intimacy that feels profound but proves fragile. These relationships are snuffed out as quickly as they ignite. 

I’ve come to believe this speed is not accidental. It’s the natural consequence of the culture of unboundaried mentorship, confession, and community. Evangelical Christians heavily emphasize mentorship, mutual confession, and community—three practices that are mentioned often in the Bible. Christians are encouraged to hold each other accountable, bear each other’s burdens, confess sins to each other, and pray together. These are all good things when practiced within the right context and with the right boundaries.

An older male confessing personal issues to a teenage girl is not the right context. A first date is not the right context. A group of strangers who happen to live in the same dormitory as you is not the right context.

It has been over a decade since these experiences, and I’m still learning how to have healthy, meaningful, and leasting relationships with other Christians. 

My husband and I have been attending the same church for years, and it took us a good four years to build real relationships with people. Intimacy has come with time, but a foundation of trust had to be laid first—through weekly presence, steady conversation, and small acts of care. 

I once viewed vulnerability and honesty as being synonymous with intimacy—an idea cultivated in Evangelical communities. Now I see they are only the beginning. True intimacy grows gradually, nurtured by trust and time. It cannot be rushed.