One thing many (normal, everyday) Catholics agree on, is how much we don’t like going to confession. Sure, the more pious of you will remind me that the Sacrament of Reconciliation is probably one most important Sacraments of the Church. Why? Because it’s the ultimate expression of Jesus’s love for us. All sins, forgiven - which is why He died on the cross for us.
No sin is too small to be seen, and no sin is too big to go unforgiven.
I intellectually understand this, but emotionally and psychologically, it’s hard for me to fathom at times. I’ve never been 100% comfortable. I’ve had some amazing experiences after confessions take place, but it’s hard for me to get through the initial “I don’t want to do this” phase. It’s almost like running - you start out a race and your legs hurt, you wonder why are you doing this and then somewhere along the way you hit your stride, and you get that runner’s high. Confession is like that. Sucks at first, then the spiritual endorphins kick in, then it goes south a little when you get some weird penance that you have to complete. Overall, you feel great, and are glad you did it and all you can think about is that tasty chocolate milk.
Regardless, I’ve been way overdue, and figured I’d best get my butt to the little wooden box.
When I walked in for confession today, I knew it was going to be one of those times. One of those times where I would be adding a few more ticky marks to the sin list while waiting. The line was already long and every person seemed to take about 10 minutes. Times like these, I wish we had a “5 sins or fewer” confessional lane. The line took about an hour. And, while waiting, another priest showed up. At first, I wasn’t sure he was a priest until he walked into the priest half of the other confessional. Once I got through my “whaaa???”, it was too late, the back half of the line I was in scuttled over filling up his line.
Why was I confused? Some unsolicited advice for Priests: If you are walking around the sanctuary in your white hooded cassock, please leave the hood down - especially in the south. People might get the wrong idea...
I finally made it through, and the worst possible scenario presented itself - I had a confessor who was hard of hearing, and I needed to speak loudly. Not what I wanted to do in a church that was starting to fill up for the vigil mass. And, to top it off, he was a talker.
Yup, this was going to be one of those times. All I needed was six words. I’m on a schedule, I did my thing, people are waiting, absolve me and let’s move through the line. This confessional needed some increased operational efficiency.
I know, some of you are probably scandalized, but there is a point to this, that I’m getting to...
I’m kneeling there, after I’ve gone through my list of “I’m sorry I’ve been bad”s thinking I may have to interrupt to re-confess my lack of patience with humanity when something amazing happened across my ears.
“God didn’t make us to be robots.” Seven words. Not the six I had come for, but the seven I probably needed to hear.
As you may have already guessed in previous writing, I’m not a warm fuzzy emotionally teddy bear kinda gal. I overlook the emotional, because it is typically messy, inconvenient, not relevant and usually illogical. Even when it’s my own emotions.
This gets me into trouble. This gets me into a great deal of trouble. People usually find me standoffish (or worse) as a result. And, I don’t always make a good first impression, especially with other women.
It’s tough to hear, but it’s necessary. I wasn’t made to be a logical, analytical robot. Emotions are a part of our organic, complex, human programming. I was made to be a living, breathing human being. I was made to love and to be loved. Just as we all are.
Yes, this was one of those times - one of those times where I realize the power of the confessional.
Let’s hope I remember that next time in the confessional line.
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