First
Confession
I
envision a time when the Vatican will set up a 1-800 number for confessions:
1-800-CONFESS
"Press 1 if you've committed adultery. Don't leave out any details."
And how about via the Internet?
"Click here to add a sin to the shopping cart.
"To view the shopping
cart,
click on the dancing devil
to see how much hell you'll pay."
One
time at Thanksgiving, surrounded by family and guests,
my father offered to say
grace.
It normally began with,
"Thank you, O Lord, and
these thy gifts,"
but instead, my father,
whose conscience must
have been weighted down for the moment,
said, "Forgive me, Father,
for I have sinned."
We strained forward, chuckling, "Yes, Dad?
Anything you want to tell
us?"
Many Catholics will agree that the most memorable confession
you will ever make is
your very first one.
When my family was stationed in Germany,
we spent one Christmas
in Austria on a church-sponsored excursion.
There, a picturesque chapel
was tucked away in a shroud of pines.
Snow crunched underfoot
as I compared breath plumes with my little sister.
Yet none of the breathtaking
scenery
could melt the hard ball
of fear in my stomach.
I was nine years old on the verge of making my first confession.
The catch?
I had to be face to face with a priest.
With my hearing loss,
it would be hard for me
to understand
a whispered exchange in
the dark confines of a confessional.
Definitely not conducive
to an avid lip-reader like myself.
"I'm sorry, Father, but could you please speak up?"
I imagined myself asking.
And envisioned his thunderous response,
"I SAID,
'WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED, MY
CHILD,
TO SQUIRT KETCHUP IN YOUR BROTHER'S
CHERRY KOOL-AID
WHEN HE WASN'T LOOKING?"
And the wait-'til-we-get-home look from my brother
when I exited the confessional.
The day before Christmas,
my father escorted me
to the priest's office.
The priest closed the
door and offered me a seat across from him,
and in a matter of heart-pounding
minutes,
I recited my sins,
during which time, and
much to my immense relief,
he kindly closed his eyes.
Afterwards, my soul felt lighter.
I imagined God with a
wheelbarrow,
carrying the load away
to a landfill someplace.
The priest ushered me out
to the waiting room where my father was.
Oh, no, I thought.
He's going to tell Dad
everything I just told him!
"Your daughter," he said, "is a wonderful little girl."
Dad grinned and hugged me.
"We already knew that," he said.
I glowed.
All the way back to the
lodge, I just simply glowed.
I felt fuller and brighter
than the sun that streaked through the pines.
I couldn't wait to go to confession again.
Jennifer Oliver
My Heartfelt Thanks and
Gratitide to Jennifer
for granting me permission
to use her story on my site
!!!
:)
