40 Days of Lent - Day Twenty-Seven

Good for the Soul

I haven't been to confession in years decades. As a child, the logic of the ritual escaped me. You could do the most heinous things but as long as you were sorry, confessed and did penance, the sin was forgiven by God. It seemed a little too easy. Although I couldn't figure out why, something didn't feel right. I didn't like the idea that people could get away with the bad things they did, especially mean older kids in the neighborhood. I wanted them held accountable.

I can remember waiting in line outside the confessional for what seemed like hours. Appearantly those ahead of me in line had a lot to confess - was that the norm? I didn't have so much to say and felt bad. Some cursing, some disobeying my parents: I would be in and out of the confessional in no time flat. It was embarassing. So, in order to spend more time in the confessional, I would make up sins to confess. Nothing outlandish: I never copped to a murder. But I would admit sins I figured other kids my age would have: stealing, skipping church on a Sunday, etc. Then the final sin I would confess would be lying, figuring that would include the lying I had done in the confessional.

I stopped going to confession not because of any conflict I had with the church, but because of my faulty memory. My last time in confession, I began the creed the ends the ritual...and realized I couldn't remember the words. The priest feed me a couple of lines which I repeated but then I would fall silent. Unlike my sins, I knew I couldn't make up the closing prayer. So my penance was: learn the creed before I go to confession. I haven't learned the prayer and I've never been back to confession.

Just one more reason I'll see you all in Hell!