CONFESSION

     Mention the word confession and people think you're referring to a crime. Catholics, however, instinctively picture a dark booth shrouded in mystery, the place to reveal your deepest, darkest deeds.
    
     I attended a church mission this week led by Ron Hoye CM, Parish Mission Presenter and Adjunct Faculty, DePaul University, a gifted speaker whose FRIENDSHIP IN JESUS series kept the attendees riveted to their seats in our huge cathedral-like church. Unlike the typical Sunday homily, he skillfully related  Biblical parables to everyday life, weaving hilarious true stories from his priesthood into a tapestry of lessons we could actually perceive doing to improve our lives.
    
     His first lesson related stories about how Catholics, particularly those who were instructed by nuns, learned the ritual steps of the confession model. 
     
       Since I  knew the topic beforehand, I was whisked back to the 1950's when I first trained to participate in the sacrament of Penance. My stomach churned as I recalled the name of the nun who tortured, I mean, taught our penance class composed of seven year olds, mostly second graders. Sister Mary Anastasia --who looked like a man.
    
     Very tall, sporting dark facial hair above her lip, and coal black eyes, she intimidated us just walking into the classroom How could we know she was really a woman? Her entire body was covered head to toe with a black habit which draped to the floor, a white coif, a black veil and a belt around her thick waist. A scapula hung around her neck, and a rosary hung from her belt. Her thick black shoes looked military issue. 
     
    She scared the heck out of me. I witnessed her rapping a student on the fingertips because he chewed jawbreakers in CCD [catechism] class. Dumb kid. How can you hide a jawbreaker in your mouth?
    
     She almost beat a kid to death with her huge black rosary. I want to think that was a frequent nightmare of mine, but I remember it like it was yesterday.She said he was having impure thoughts. She was a mindreader?? That thought kept every kid in the class reciting the Act of Contrition over and over and over again. The boy sitting next to me wet his pants every time Sister walked close to his desk. I told Mom, and her reply was, "He probably deserved it." No sympathy there.
    
     Anyway, Sister Mary Anastasia, determined to give all the chance to wipe clean our  sinful souls, marched us into our huge Catholic church next door. Leaving the comfort of the church pews, we formed two lines, one boys and one girls. Our palms pressed together and heads bowed, we practiced marching toward the altar and kneeling at the railing to receive a future blessing from the Bishop before he placed the sanctified host on our tongues. One boy kept getting out of step. Sister Mary Anastasia yanked him out of line and practiced a German kick step with him until he got it.
    
     Satisfied that we could master the Eucharist part, she lined us up, again separated by gender, to practice penance/confession. We marched to the back of the church and lined up near the confessional. She insisted we practice the formulaic entrance prayer in unison.


     "Bless me, Father, this is my first confession, and these are my sins."


     We were then to enter the dark confessional that smelled like moth balls, pull back the crushed red velvet drapes to ensure privacy, and listen for the priest to slide open the long, squeaky door. A heavy screen separated us from the priest, who appeared as a shadowy, scary figure hunched in prayer.
    
      "Bless me Father, this is my first confession, and these are my sins." [How many sins, both venial [minor] and mortal [deadly and go straight to hell] does a seven year old have etched on his soul? Missing morning prayers? Hitting a sibling?]
    
     My good friend, whose name I shall not reveal in the case that sister Mary Anastasia is now the Inquisitor, and I decided to look through the Bible to come up with some sins to confess since we faced a weekly stint in that confessional. It took me forever to copy that list. Looking at my prepared list of random sins from the Commandments, I confessed: lying, adultery, murder, coveting my neighbor's wife, and a few minor sins.
    
     The priest answered, "Say your Act of Contrition," which I did, and he absolved me of my sins, and my penance was two Our Fathers and three Hail Marys. I thought that he must have had horrible sinners confess before I showed up.
    
     How to get the list from my hand to my friend without Sister Mary Anastasia seeing me? I wadded the list up and slipped it to my friend as she stood in line.She grabbed it, went in, and confessed.
    
     The next week, we held on to our lists, but decided that one of us should read it from the bottom up so the priest wouldn't catch on. He kept absolving us from those deadly sins. Wasn't he listening??Anyway, thank God, Sister Mary Anastasia couldn't go into the confessional with us, or we would have been done.
    
     My mother marched my six siblings and me to confession every Saturday the entire time I was living at home. As I grew older, I no longer needed a written list. I had managed to live life fully and became a dutiful confessor with little need to fabricate sins.


     St. Augustine describes sin as a "caving in," similar to being in a dark cave, alone, hungry, cold.
    
     Father Ron used the Biblical parable that Jesus tells of the Prodigal Son to make a point about the wonder of God's forgiveness.The following is paraphrased from his talk.
    
     The Prodigal Son's father misses him terribly and prays for the safe return of his son who has abandoned the family. When his son does return, the thankful father throws his arms around his son, smothers him with love, so grateful that he has returned home. The son tries to explain his actions, but his father does not want to hear; he wants to celebrate, to kill the fatted calf.
     
    It's difficult to imagine a parent today reacting that way when a son who has abandoned and embarrassed the family returns home. Likely a father would say,"Were were you? Do you have any idea how worried we were? Do you know how much you hurt your mother?!! You are so grounded, and no texting for a month!!!"


   But the father of the Prodigal Son demonstrates radical forgiveness.


   Sin is not about what you did wrong. It's a turning from love. Simply asking God for help gets you out of the darkness--out of the cave. It doesn't matter what you did. It's the desire to be back.
    
     The very beginning and the very end of Jesus' ministry were about reconciliation.  In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus came out of the River Jordan to begin his ministry. He said, "Repent and hear the good news. Your sins are forgiven. Live a new life."  Hanging on the cross, tortured, Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
      
    Forgiveness is a key part of what it means to be a child of God. It's not what you did wrong; it's what you want to do better, how you want to change your life. The sacrament of penance is not about judgment or finger pointing; it's about changing and moving on.
      
     So, I did enjoy listening to Father Ron. He seemed to drive home a valid point about accepting our weaknesses, being penitent, forgiving ourselves, and becoming better persons. No more sackcloth and ashes.