71/365 Confessions

Sometime early in Fr. Miguel's stay at our parish, I went to confession. I hadn't been in a while--I grew tired of our former pastor waxing poetic or telling me how young I was. And after the first time sitting in that weird little carpeted room (the walls were carpeted, I mean), I started to realize what reconciliation was for.

I may have it all wrong, but it's not about a litany of tiny nuisance behaviors. And I don't know about everyone else, but my examination of conscience doesn't include a lot of lying, cheating, and stealing. I don't have the inclination to rob banks or have an affair or bear false witness in court. All my sins play out in my relationships. Every single one, in fact, these days. I think it's about learning about yourself and admitting that, yeah, that didn't go so well. And going to confession and talking it out is a way to admit that I am frail and petty and often a bitch. And it helps me to hold back next time. I remember what I say, I listen to what Miguel says in return, and I work to change.

It's more akin to free psychotherapy, frankly, for me these days. Not that it is only that, but it helps put a mirror up to my life and really work to change or to stay on a path of change. Back even 10 years ago, or 15, that's not what this was. I left a confessional about the same as when I went in, except I could check off some box saying that yes, I went to confession this year. But oftentimes I held back more than I said because I didn't want to get into it. Not that I didn't want to admit something, but more that I didn't feel like there was enough time in the evening to explain how it happened. How did I come to be there and why the hell did I stay/do that/say that/be that? Impatient Jesuits or a pastor who didn't handle what was said in complete confidence or a pastor whose relationship with me was all about power. I just didn't need to get into this or that or why. So I wouldn't.

Last year I started bringing things to the table, small things in the grand scheme of things (I have not murdered anyone, for instance, or even anything close to that sort of thing), but still things that nagged me. Why were they still important? Why bring them up now? Because enough time had passed to relieve my own shame? Because finally I felt like here was a priest who knew me well enough to know what I meant? Because I was in my mid-thirties and it was time to let it go? I don't know. Probably a mix of all that, with the majority of it having to do with the person sitting across from me.

I never appreciated reconciliation until then. I had always been staunchly Protestant in my beliefs on the subject: it's between me and God. But Benedict's ladder of humility makes it very clear: do not conceal from the abbot or prioress any sinful thoughts entering your heart, or any wrongs committed in secret, but rather confess them humbly. The struggles I have that I ignore will not go away. Only by recognizing them, admitting them, listening to my heart and seeking out good objective advice will they begin to diminish in power.

So I went to reconciliation last night. And I came home from it with a new will to do right.