I AM; THEREFORE I SIN.

(Thank God for the Sacrament of Confession)

Maybe you’re not like me. Maybe you don’t sin everyday. Someday I hope to be like you. In the meantime, I can’t thank God enough for the Sacrament of Healing and Reconciliation.

Those were the days

I remember my First Confession as a seven-year-old student at Santa Maria School. I remember every detail: how, for weeks and weeks, my teachers prepared me. How I learned how to examine my conscience. How thrilled I was at the words "and I absolve you of your sins, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." I even remember what I wore on that momentous day!

(Why, I wonder, can I remember these details when what I had for breakfast this morning escapes me?)

My fellow grade school students and I trooped over to the church every Friday afternoon for Confession. During vacation months, my family would take advantage of the priests stationed in the confessionals every Friday after dinner. There was usually quite a crowd, which was fine with me...it gave me the time necessary to examine my usually rather squirming conscience. Afterwards, my parents would (unless it was during Lent) take my sisters and I out for ice cream.

And then along came high school

At Saint James High School, weekly confession wasn’t on the program. I suppose, looking back, that the teachers figured we were old enough to get ourselves to the Sacrament. My parents still went faithfully every Friday, but I began to accompany them less and less. On Friday nights, interesting things like basketball games, parties, and (for me, on very rare occasions) dates with boys beckoned. And besides, new ideas coming out of that exciting time called "Vatican II" had me wondering if Confession was all that necessary.

Lethal seduction

My friends and I were delighted when a teacher told us that mortal sin was rare. Yippeeeeeeeee! We interpreted this as an invitation to party. In excited discussions, my classmates and I reasoned that if mortal sin was rare — we conveniently added the description "and almost impossible to commit" — then maybe the nuns ‘way back in grade school had it all wrong about stuff like Sunday Mass attendance, for example. Or, maybe, poor things, they just weren’t open to the new, grown-up, sophisticated world Vatican II offered. In any case, the only time Mass became "relevant" was when guitarists played anti-war songs. Besides, why would God punish us for something so minor as missing Mass (and, eventually, experimenting with drugs, alcohol, sex, etc.) when there were Real Sinners for Him to contend with? Those Terrible War Mongers, for example. And those Bigots Down South.

I remember the first time I deliberately missed Sunday Mass. Like other serious sins I’ve committed, the first time was difficult. After that, it became progressively easier.

"Goin’ to the Chapel of Love"

I met, fell in love with, and married a non-Catholic. Naturally, since I was A Good Catholic Girl, we went through the Pre-Cana program. He promised to bring up our children in the Catholic Faith. We were married in the Catholic Church. I actually attended Mass occasionally...mostly on Christmas and Easter with my parents. After my husband and I moved to the Boston area, my Mass attendance dropped off again. Oh, I’d go once in a while, but not often. Ironically, my non-Catholic husband would encourage me to go to Church on Sundays...I never understood quite why.

Rude Awakening

One day my husband suddenly died. I was thirty-two. To comfort myself, I turned to sin. As I said, it got easier and easier. One day, alone in my apartment, I experienced a remarkable — what? — I guess "dream" is the only way to describe it, although I don’t recall going to sleep. Anyway, I dreamt I saw my husband, injured, wounded, and bleeding, in the arms of a beautiful lady. The lady seemed vaguely familiar to me, but at first I couldn’t quite place her. When she smiled sadly at me, I recognized her instantly. I got up, emptied out just about every drawer in my apartment, finally unearthed a long-forgotten rosary, and hit the streets, intent on prayer. I wanted to pray the Rosary. Unfortunately I’d forgotten how.

Chapel of Love

While shopping at the Prudential Center on a day shortly afterward, I looked up and saw a tiny chapel. Saint Francis Chapel. Nothing seemed to be going on up at the altar, so I made my way timidly inside and sat down in a pew. I heard some people praying and realized they were praying the Rosary. Ah, yes, the words, those beautiful words, all came back to me. Feeling a bit comforted, I allowed myself to glance around the chapel. My eyes stopped at a small sign: "Confessions Being Heard."

You know, it ain’t easy

If that first serious sin wasn’t easy, making my way back to God through the Sacrament of Reconciliation wasn’t a cake-walk either. From somewhere — or Someone — I had to call upon every ounce of faith I ever possessed to realize that this wasn’t merely a priest I was thinking about talking to...I was thinking about talking to Jesus Christ! And then there was that pretty excruciating examination of my conscious. I knew how to do it: those early lessons taught to seven-year-old me were inscribed in my mind and heart. But finally, I was, if not actually "ready" then at least reasonably prepared, to meet Jesus again and beg His forgiveness.

"...and I absolve you of your sins..."

Incredibly, at those words, I felt the same thrill as I had as a small child. But there was something much deeper in my conscious going on. As a child, I’d blithely expected God’s forgiveness as my due. As an adult, the gratitude I felt upon absolution was stunningly humbling. I embraced my penance with great joy, feeling a bit surprised that it was (in my opinion) pretty mild. Considering.

Ecce Signum!

Look at the proof — look at the Crucifix — if you have any doubt at all that Jesus wants to forgive me and to forgive you. After the Eucharist, the Sacrament of Reconciliation is the best reason I can think of for being a practicing, fully participating Catholic. My sins are forgiven. The barrier separating me from Christ is taken away. But that’s not all! I’m given the necessary, boundless grace in the Sacrament that helps me in my resolve to sin no more...I ask you, can you imagine a greater gift?

Don’t delay...Act now!

Maybe you’re not like me...maybe you’re not a sinner. But, if by any chance you are, then I urge you to run, don’t walk, to your confessor. Don’t take "no" for an answer: it’s your right! Feel "funny" about confessing to a priest you know? You shouldn’t, in my opinion, but if you do, no problem. Go to a priest you don’t know. If you happen to be a Catholic in Boston, you’re amazingly blessed! Yeah, I know that sounds a bit odd during these times, but it’s true. Most Boston parishes and shrines offer daily Mass, which means that every single day of the week a priest is available to hear your confession.

"Father, forgive me..."

He will. He’s waiting. Go to Him. And make it habit. I promise you, it’s a habit that’s miraculously beneficial to your spiritual health!