Three years. That's how long a confirmation program lasts at Gloria Dei. Three years of doctrine, weekly classes, Luther's catechism, scripture memory — and it all builds toward one morning where a young person puts on a white robe, stands in front of the congregation, and says out loud: this is my faith.
And then a lot of them disappear.
If you've been in a church long enough, you know what that looks like. The Sunday after confirmation, the pews where those kids sat for three years are a little emptier. And the Sunday after that. It doesn't happen to everyone, but it happens enough that it has a name: the graduation mentality.
That's what Pastor Eric Tritten wanted to talk about this week, because Confirmation Sunday is coming up at Gloria Dei — and it's worth understanding what confirmation actually is, why it matters, and what it was never meant to be.
Where Confirmation Comes From
If you've ever wondered whether confirmation is actually in the Bible, the honest answer is: not directly. It's a tradition — a rite created by the church, not commanded in scripture. But the instincts behind it are deeply biblical.
In Matthew 28:19–20, Jesus gives the disciples the Great Commission: go and make disciples, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit — and teaching them to observe everything he commanded. Two things: baptism and teaching. That pattern matters.
Then in Acts 2, when a huge crowd comes to faith and gets baptized, they don't scatter. They devote themselves to the apostles' teaching, to fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and to the prayers. They were baptized — and then they were formed.
For the early church, those were adult converts. But as the church grew and more people were born into Christian families, something shifted. You have babies being born to believers. What do you do? You baptize them — and you bring them up in the faith. You teach them. The promise of baptism isn't just for adults; it's for children too, as Pastor Tritten has covered in other videos on infant baptism.
So the church developed a practice: bring children up through Sunday school and Bible stories, and then at a certain age — for Lutherans at Gloria Dei, that's sixth through eighth grade — put them in a more serious course of study. Teach them doctrine. Teach them what the church actually believes. And at the end of that, give them a moment to stand before the congregation and own it.
That moment is confirmation.
What Confirmation Is Actually About
There's a passage in Matthew 10:32–33 that sits underneath the whole idea of confirmation. Jesus says: whoever confesses me before men, I will confess before my Father in heaven. But whoever denies me before men, I will deny before my Father in heaven.
That's not a threat — it's an invitation. Confessing your faith publicly is part of what it means to follow Jesus. And confirmation is one very specific moment where that happens: a young person, in front of their congregation, says yes. This is my faith. I believe this. I'm part of this community.
At Gloria Dei, that moment happens at the end of eighth grade — around age 14. And in previous generations, that age meant something even more concrete. Young men and women were leaving school, entering the workforce, taking on adult responsibilities. Confirmation wasn't just a spiritual milestone — it was a cultural one too. A threshold into adulthood.
Today's 14-year-olds are still very much kids living at home. But the principle holds: confirmation is a moment of growing responsibility. The same way a teenager takes on more responsibility for their chores, their homework, their own choices — confirmation is the moment they begin taking greater ownership of their faith. The faith that was proclaimed over them in baptism is now, increasingly, their own to carry.
The Pros and Cons of a Tradition Like This
Because confirmation is a human tradition and not a direct biblical command, it's worth being honest about both what it does well and where it can go sideways.
What Works
When confirmation is done right, a young person comes out of three years with a real foundation. They know the catechism. They've studied scripture. They've wrestled with what the church actually teaches and why. That's not nothing — that's a gift that will serve them for the rest of their lives.
When it's done right, they also develop habits. Devotional rhythms. Ways of engaging with their faith that will carry them beyond the classroom. And when it's done right, they can articulate what they believe — not just recite it, but actually explain it to someone who asks.
There's also something important about milestone moments. Rituals and rites of passage matter. They mark thresholds. They say to a person: you were here, and now you are there, and something is different. Confirmation does that. The congregation looks at this young person and says: you are part of us. This faith — the hope we have in Jesus, in his death and resurrection — it matters, and you're now publicly connected to it.
As Pastor Tritten put it, there's something meaningful about that 14-year-old looking out at the congregation and seeing the 80- and 90-year-olds who have walked this same road. There's a connection there. A shared identity. That's not a small thing.
And practically: Pastor Tritten has had boys go through confirmation whose first shave was the morning of Confirmation Sunday, so they'd look neat for the service. That's a significant moment in a young man's life — and it happened in the context of owning his faith.
Where It Can Go Wrong
The most common failure mode is the graduation mentality. A young person completes the program, checks the box, gets the certificate — and treats it like finishing school. Done. Graduated. No more faith formation needed.
That's not what Jesus intends. As Pastor Tritten says to his confirmands: this is a launching point. You now know the basics. This is where the real work of living the Christian life begins — not where it ends.
Another pitfall is that confirmation programs can become too intellectual at the expense of faith. When the focus is entirely on head knowledge — being able to define terms and answer catechism questions correctly — it can miss the point that some things aren't just understood. They're believed. They're confessed. Faith isn't only a cognitive exercise.
There's also the reality that this format doesn't work equally well for everyone. For young people with developmental delays or who struggle in academic settings, a three-year classroom-style program can feel like an unnecessary barrier rather than a gateway into the community.
None of that means confirmation is bad. It means it's human — like every tradition the church has developed. It has real strengths, and it requires real care to do well.
What the Scriptures Say About This Faith We're Confessing
It's worth pausing on what these confirmands are actually standing up and confessing. This isn't just church membership paperwork. This is a claim about reality.
"There is no other name given under heaven given among men by which we must be saved, other than the name of Jesus." — Acts 4:12
"I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father apart from me." — John 14:6
These are the words these young people are standing behind. Not vague spirituality. Not "be a good person." Specifically Jesus — his death, his resurrection, his claim on their lives. The corporate faith of the congregation has become their personal confession. That's significant. It deserves to be taken seriously by everyone in the room.
How to Respond When Your Church Has a Confirmation Sunday
So what do you do this Sunday? Pastor Tritten's answer is simple and direct: encourage them. Support them. Celebrate with them. Pray for them.
It's hard being that age and wrestling with where you fit in — in school, in your family, in your faith. These young people are doing something that takes courage, even if it's also a tradition they've been preparing for. They deserve to feel the weight of the congregation behind them.
At Gloria Dei, that means sticking around after the service for cookies, finding one of the kids in a white robe, and telling them you're proud of them. And then keeping them in your prayers — not just that Sunday, but in the weeks and months that follow. Checking in on them. Treating them like what they are: part of your church family.
It's also, Pastor Tritten suggests, an opportunity for your own reflection. Most people who grew up Lutheran remember their confirmation Sunday — the nerves, the white robe, the strange mix of excitement and fear. What has your faith looked like since then? Have you treated it like a graduation, or like a launching point? The same question that's on the table for these confirmands is worth sitting with for all of us.
The Point
Confirmation is a tradition — a good one, with real weaknesses, created by the church to help young people grow into their faith. When it works, it marks a genuine threshold: a moment when a young person takes responsibility for the faith they've been given and says, publicly, I believe this. When it doesn't work, it becomes a finish line instead of a starting block.
The hope — for every confirmation class, at Gloria Dei and everywhere else — is that it's the latter. That the young person who stands up in that white robe walks away not with a certificate but with a compass. That they know the basics of the faith, have some habits to sustain it, and understand that the journey is just beginning.
If you've got a confirmation memory — good, awkward, meaningful, funny — Pastor Tritten would love to hear it in the comments. And if you know someone going through confirmation this year, say a prayer for them. They're stepping into something that matters.
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