For a couple of weeks I have tried to come up with a list of things to confess. I felt stymied by it. Ok. First the 10 commandments. A few measly sins rose to the surface. How about the 7 deadly sins? A couple of more things, but boy it felt like I was really stretching to come up with something. Am I really that pious, or have I just gone into denial overload?
And then, sitting in the dark church on Good Friday, the floodgates opened. I read the confession in the prayerbook. We are sorry for what we have done and for what we have left undone....
Suddenly it all came pouring out. I grabbed a pen and my little notebook and started writing furiously. I felt such despair staring at it in black and white. All this since my last confession, which was only a few months ago. All this. All this.
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
Confessing to Fr. Rich was a very different experience in some ways. The room, of course. The ringing telephone and occasional near interruption when someone accidentally tried to come in. At one point we agreed that Grace needs a confessional.
But even with the distractions and interruptions and vulnerability of feeling exposed, it was still a grace-filled experience. For a few moments, I felt myself sink into the despair of it... but then, began to feel pulled back up to the surface. It was similar, in a way, to baptism. After absolution (in Latin!) he asked if I wanted to sit on the little sofa for a few minutes to meditate. No, I said, I am going into the pews to offer a prayer of thanksgiving.
The morning's psalm was, remarkably, the same one I read after my first confession. In the darkened church, at 3:45 in the afternoon, I read it out loud.
Last night I felt so alive I couldn't sleep.
You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.
2 comments:
Rejoicing with you in the joy of that life-giving sacrament, which was a high point of my Holy Week as well (my confessor was a dear friend--I cried a lot and she did a little too, from a mix of sadness and joy--right before we renewed our priestly vows at my first chrism mass).
Thank you for sharing your journey so honestly and beautifully, especially in this and your Maundy Thursday Vigil experience.
Welcome to the Big Dunk, Mother! This was my third confession since my confirmation last Pentecost and I must say it is, without a doubt, one of the most meaningful acts of worship I can imagine. There is a kind of crazy fearlessness required to lay it all out in the open. Not just to God, who in a way is easier since he already knows everything, but to a person that you are going to have to face again. (Both of my confessors have been people with whom I have ongoing pastoral relationships: my parish associate rector and my spiritual director and sponsor.)
So there is an enormous amount of trust required for this. Trust in the person to whom you are confessing... and trust in the sacrament itself. The process.
I am so happy you stopped by and shared your Holy Week confession with me.
Blessings and Love,
Rachel
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