Confession

Confession is one of those seven sacraments that are often overlooked. For a lot of Catholics, they're even conveniently forgotten until certain times of the liturgical year like Lent (the period before Easter) and Advent (the period before Christmas). Non-Catholics don't even recognize the need for confession. As a cradle Catholic, I never had to worry about the biblical and theological arguments for the need for confession. The issue was always on my desire to 'avail' of the sacrament of confession.

For those who don't know (or don't remember) how a confession goes, it begins with the penitent going to a priest, telling the priest his sins, waiting for Absolution and then doing his or her penance. Sometimes, before Absolution the priest will give advice about how to conquer a particular bad habit or give encouragement about how to live a virtuous life. I'm pretty sure there are more accurate terms and steps than the one I've given but that's basically how it goes. The only part of the process that I don't particularly look forward to is the part where I actually have to tell the priest about all the sins I committed. The actual confession part.

Because let's face it, who wants to say aloud all the hurtful, sinful things you think, do or say? I used to have this irrational fear that in the middle of confession, the priest would say aloud, "You did what?" and alert everybody waiting in the line. Of course, that's never happened to me. That's why the fear is irrational. And then too I'd have this weird feeling that if the priest saw me in the parish, he look at me with judgment in his eyes because he'd know what I did. That's never happened either. In fact, I once talked to a priest and he said he honestly doesn't remember what people say during confession-it's like a grace of forgetfulness. It's a comforting thought, but I still don't generally confess to priests I know.

A few weeks ago I went to confession and as the priest began to intone the comforting words of absolution (I'm not exactly sure what they are and sometimes, some priests usually say them so fast I can't quite grasp them) and then he began to talk about the love of God. Not the judgment of God. Not even His mercy (although I'm grateful for that too) but His love. God still loved me, the priest said. I've heard this many times from the pulpit and read it many times in a devotional. But there is nothing quite like hearing it in a confessional especially after having just said out loud how unworthy I was of that love. I knew it was the priest who said it, but from somewhere farther than my intellect and reason and deeper than the desires of my heart, my soul recognized the voice of God.

Confession is always a humbling experience for me. Naming my wrongs out loud to someone allows me to come to terms with my sinfulness and it keeps me from being judgmental of others. Accepting that I am flawed allows me to focus on the things that I need to improve. But reconciliation is the true gift. Having someone say aloud that I am forgiven does more for me than any hour spent with a therapist will ever do. Being assured that I am still loved, despite my imperfections, by the One who died for my sins fills me with great joy. And it became very real to me why the Church decided to change the term Sacrament of Confession into the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Because although confession is an integral part of the process, it still is just a process. Reconciliation is the goal. Reconciliation is the gift.

And it is a gift that I am learning to treasure as a Catholic maturing in my faith. And whatever modernists might say about the outdated-ness of the practice or whatever non-Catholics might criticize about it, it is a gift I am willing to claim and reclaim and be grateful for all the days of my life.