On Saturday, I made a promise to myself and to God that I would go to confession. After 15 years of not even going to church, the time had come to make an appearance in the confessional. I hadn’t missed mass in weeks, but I hadn’t been fully participating either (meaning I wasn’t receiving communion because I was in a state of sin).
I psyched myself up to going all week. If you’ve never been to confession, it’s very stressful. Oh sure, there’s a tremendous amount of relief when it’s all over, but the idea of going into the equivalent of a small box, kneeling, and baring your soul to anyone is a rough experience (unless of course you’re a liberal who believes that every minor heartache requires therapy).
I arrived at the Church, which since it was an hour before the Saturday mass, was almost empty. Two people were in the pews waiting for their chance, and I settled in a few rows over. The priest came down the aisle, went into the confessional and turned on the light. One by one, the people ahead of me went in. Then came my turn. I could delay it no longer.
I went in, and kneeled.
“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It’s been 15 years since my last confession.”
You could cut the air with a knife. I was so embarrassed. On one hand, here I was, baring my sould and proud of having gotten up the courage to do so. On the other hand, I was thoroughly embarrassed that it had been so long.
“I don’t even know where to begin, Father. It’s been so long.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you. Why don’t you just tell me where you think you’ve strayed and we can go from there.”
I poured out my heart. I went down a littany of sins, possible sins, probably non-sins, and so on. The priest said the absolution, then he told me that what I was doing was a great thing and that coming back to the church was wonderful.
“I’m trying…” I said.
He told me that trying is the operative word and applauded me for coming back after all that time. He told me he would pray for me and hoped I would keep up the good work. I promised I would, and went back to a pew to say my pennance. Two Our Fathers later, and I was on my way home, comforted by the knowledge that my soul had been cleansed and my sins forgiven.
I start walking home and halfway home, I have a horrible thought. I forgot two very big things!
6 years ago, I received communion at a friend’s wedding without having gone to mass recently or having had confession.
7 years ago, I payed for an abortion (not my child) for my then-girlfriend.
Two major sins.
I couldn’t get back to the church in time. I just walked home, realizing that Saturday was a washout.
I pondered my courses of action for a bit. I could receive communion on Sunday. I mean, I had been to confession.
But I hadn’t confessed those sins.
What to do?
I consulted a forum I belong to and the answer, while thorough, didn’t really help me in clearing my conscience. I still didn’t know what to do because I had forgotten, in confession, to say “For these and all the other sins of my life, I am truly sorry.” I decided not to receive communion on Sunday and go to Saint Patrick’s today, where they have confession during weekdays. I lined up, waited my turn, and stepped into the confessional.
“Bless me father, for I have sinned, it’s been 2 days since my last confession.”
I rattled off the straggling sins and a few others, and then the priest asked me:
“Did you come to me on Saturday?”
“No,” I said, “I went to my own church.”
“Oh. Because if you did, what I usually do for people who haven’t been around for awhile is I go through the Commandments and one by one we discuss each one to make sure we have everything covered.”
“Oh…” I said.
“But don’t worry. Let me explain something to you, son. By going to confession on Saturday, if you made an honest confession, the sacrament covers all of your sins. The only time you won’t be forgiven is if you willfully withold sins from confession. But, if in good faith you declare all your sins, you will be forgiven even if you think of a sin later on that you didn’t mention.”
“I see..” I said.
“And you know what? When you hear that nagging voice in the back of your head going ‘what about this? what about that?’ that’s the devil and you have my permission to tell him to go to hell.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It was partially relief, but partially because it caught me off guard.
“Now, let’s make an act of contrition”
I did, he absolved me and I walked out feeling like I was walking on air. As I was walking out, I joined the mass already in progress. At one point during the mass, I took the chance to say my two Our Fathers, and then, for the first time in 15 years, I legitimately received communion at church.
You may think it’s corny, or whatever else, but I almost cried when I sat down. I finally, for the first time in what seems like an eternity, felt like I was in God’s good graces again.
There’s nothing like the feeling of all that weight coming right off your shoulders. Nothing at all.
If you’re Catholic and doubting, unsure, or even just a bit lost, go back to mass. Take a moment when it’s offered to go to confession. The feeling afterward is worth all the agony and stress you put yourself through before going.
