Absolution in the mouth of every Christian

Lest anyone say otherwise, this goes to the heart of the freedom of the Christian: “Christ forgives you.” Some confessional Lutherans hesitate when a layperson speaks those words, as if they belonged exclusively to the ordained office. Yet every doctrinal objection can be answered—clearly, faithfully, and according to Scripture and the Confessions.

The authority to absolve belongs to all Christians, not only to the clergy. This does not mean that anyone may preach or administer the sacraments publicly. The Augsburg Confession XIV is unambiguous: no one should publicly teach or administer the sacraments without a rightly ordered call. Public absolution—spoken in the congregation’s name and in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—belongs to the called minister for the sake of order and accountability. Pastors do not replace the Church; they serve as its mouth, ensuring that Christ’s Word of forgiveness is spoken clearly and publicly to all. Yet the Church’s public ministry does not exhaust the work of the Spirit. A layperson, acting simply as a Christian brother or sister, is free to speak forgiveness to the repentant. Luther commends this in his 1529 Admonition to Confession, praising “private confession between two brothers, through which God, through a human being, releases and acquits.” The Smalcald Articles list “the mutual conversation and consolation of the brethren” as one concrete form of the Gospel, and the Apology XII (IV) §74–75 declares that the keys may be used “wherever and whenever there is need.”

Acts 4:12 locates salvation in no other name than Jesus, and Luke 24:47 places the preaching of forgiveness explicitly in that name. Sixteenth-century Lutherans recognized this as well: Bugenhagen’s pastoral manuals record family members comforting the dying with words equivalent to “Dear brother, in Jesus’ name your sins are forgiven,” and no visitation article condemns the practice. Why not always use the full Trinitarian formula? Because Christ attached that wording to baptism and to the Church’s public sacramental acts (Matthew 28:19). The difference is functional, not theological. Colossians 2:9 reminds us that the fullness of the Godhead dwells in Christ bodily; wherever His name is spoken, the whole Trinity is active.

So what should a Christian do when a fellow believer confesses sin? Listen humbly and reverently, then speak the Gospel plainly: “Brother, your sin is forgiven.” Avoid liturgical mimicry—do not say “I, a called and ordained servant”—but anchor the comfort in Scripture: 1 John 1:9, Romans 8:1, or another clear promise. Encourage the penitent to trust Christ’s finished work. If they begin to seek you out regularly, direct them to a pastor; informal comfort must not drift into an unofficial ministry. Such mutual absolution does not threaten the pastoral office—it honors it.

C. F. W. Walther explains this precisely. “A Christian may comfort another with the Gospel,” he writes, “yet that is not the public exercise of the keys.” In other words, the Gospel that a layperson shares is itself absolution—the very word of forgiveness that the pastor speaks publicly in the Divine Service. The difference lies only in the form and commission. The pastor exercises that word publicly on behalf of the congregation and by Christ’s specific institution; the layperson exercises it privately and personally, by virtue of the universal priesthood of believers. For Walther, this is not a diminished version of the Gospel but its natural extension. The same Holy Spirit who works through the pulpit also works through a brother’s whisper in the night, a friend’s word of peace, or a dying mother’s final assurance to her child. Pastors guard the Gospel publicly; laypeople extend it personally. A congregation where believers freely speak Christ’s forgiveness is one whose sinners run to the altar, not away from it.

Why, then, does Christ provide both? Because the same forgiveness, though always the same in essence, must come to us in many forms so that it may reach every corner of life. From the beginning of Scripture, God has chosen to deliver His mercy in multiple, overlapping ways—immediate and mediated, personal and institutional, spontaneous and ordered. The same grace takes different forms, not because God changes, but because we do. Human beings are embodied, social, and frail; we need forgiveness that comes not only as inner assurance but as a spoken, public word. God’s forgiveness has therefore always appeared with both intimacy and structure, both freedom and form.

When God established the priesthood under Aaron, He did not invent forgiveness anew but gave visible form to His mercy. In Leviticus 4–5, the penitent Israelite brings an offering to the altar, and the priest declares, “He shall make atonement for him, and he shall be forgiven.” The act does not create grace; it enacts it. The priest’s pronouncement turns an invisible promise into something audible, bodily, and communal. The penitent leaves the sanctuary knowing not only that God forgives in heaven but that the community has received him back on earth. The sacrificial rite does not replace prayer or faith—it gives them shape and visibility. Forgiveness becomes an event you can point to, a place where reconciliation takes form in time.

Yet even within Israel’s system of ritual absolution, God forgives directly and personally. The Psalms are filled with this immediate mercy. David confesses, “I acknowledged my sin to you, and you forgave the iniquity of my sin” (Psalm 32:5). In Psalm 51, forgiveness comes not through sacrifice but through a contrite heart. Even this “private” forgiveness, however, arrives by an external word: the prophet Nathan’s declaration, “The LORD also has put away your sin” (2 Samuel 12:13). Nathan’s voice is not mere consolation but God’s own speech through a human mouth. The prophetic word functions like personal absolution—the same Word that creates forgiveness is now heard through the lips of a brother.

The entire community participates in this pattern. Leviticus 19:17–18 commands Israelites not to bear grudges but to forgive and love their neighbors. Every act of forgiveness within the camp mirrors God’s mercy toward His people. Horizontal reconciliation becomes a channel of vertical grace; divine pardon circulates through ordinary human relationships. In Israel’s life, forgiveness is never confined to the temple or the prophet’s mouth—it flows through priests, prophets, and neighbors alike, all serving as instruments of one forgiving God.

Throughout the Old Testament, this dual delivery of grace—personal and institutional—appears in different guises. The priests and prophets stand side by side, each declaring God’s forgiveness in a distinct form. The priest acts within the temple, following ritual command; the prophet speaks directly by divine sending. Both proclaim the same Word—one through stable order, the other through immediate inspiration. In Numbers 11, the Spirit that rests on Moses is shared with seventy elders who assist him, yet two others, Eldad and Medad, prophesy outside the formal assembly. Moses rejoices: “Would that all the LORD’s people were prophets!” The Spirit works both within structure and beyond it—through office and through fellowship.

Even God’s blessings display the same rhythm. The Aaronic benediction in Numbers 6—“The LORD bless you and keep you”—is the public, priestly form of blessing, anchoring Israel’s worship in a visible act of grace. Yet those same words echo privately in the Psalms and in daily speech: “The LORD bless you from Zion” (Psalm 128:5). The blessing is identical; the priestly version formalizes what the faithful already share among themselves. Public and private, ritual and relational, the same promise resounds.

The pattern extends even to atonement itself. Leviticus 17:11 ties forgiveness to sacrificial blood: “I have given it to you on the altar to make atonement for your souls.” But when David repents after his sin with Bathsheba, God pardons him apart from sacrifice. “You will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it,” he prays; “the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit.” The altar gives objective assurance; the contrite heart receives the same forgiveness without mediation. God meets His people in both modes—the public form that assures and the personal encounter that comforts.

Through all these examples, God multiplies the forms of His Word. The same Spirit who speaks through the prophet also speaks through the priest, the psalmist, and the neighbor. He ordains an external ministry not to restrict grace but to keep it audible, visible, and dependable for His people. Priestly absolution makes faith public; prophetic forgiveness makes it personal; mutual forgiveness makes it communal. In all three, the same forgiveness flows from the same God. The difference lies only in form and commission—in how forgiveness enters human life so that no one can miss it.

The New Testament carries this pattern to completion. Christ forgives sins directly—“Your sins are forgiven”—and then institutes an office to proclaim and administer that same forgiveness in His name. The apostles’ “ministry of reconciliation” (John 20:23; 2 Cor 5:18–20) inherits and fulfills both the priestly and prophetic roles, now centered in the crucified and risen Lord. Yet Christ also commands believers to forgive one another from the heart and to confess their sins to one another (Matthew 6:14; James 5:16). The same double structure remains: a public ministry established for assurance and order, and a shared priesthood through which the Gospel circulates in daily life.

God’s way of working has never been singular or abstract. He gives the same mercy many times over, through many mouths and means, because His aim is not only to forgive but to make forgiveness unmistakable. The Office of the Ministry ensures that the Church will always have a public, objective voice of grace; the priesthood of all believers ensures that forgiveness echoes through every corner of life. One is institutional, the other relational—but both belong to the same Spirit and the same Christ, who delights to clothe His mercy in many forms.

So when you, a Christian, find yourself beside someone who confesses sin, do not hesitate. Speak what you yourself have received. Say it quietly, personally, reverently: “God forgives you that sin.” You are not replacing your pastor; you are participating in the same mercy that has always defined God’s people. From the temple courts to the prophet’s house, from the cross to the Church, forgiveness has never been confined to one voice. Where the Gospel is, there is Christ; where Christ is, there is forgiveness. And wherever forgiveness is needed, let it be spoken—decently, in order, and without fear.