Thursday, December 22, 2005
I went to confession yesterday for the first time in six years. But it was kind of embarassing. I had nothing good to confess. I was aware of this problem before I went in, and I tried to reflect on what I had done wrong in the last six years, which was mainly being a bitch. But as far as the mortal sins go, nothing. It made me think, what am I doing with my life?
On the good side, I did get a light penance.
Among the famous Vatican II reforms of the early '60s were a change in confessional booths. Churches started to create confessionals where you went in and sat down and had a little chat with the priest face to face. But apparently a lot of the old-timers couldn't handle that, and so many churches also offered the classic "kneel" confessionals, where you go into a dark place and kneel and the priest is on the other side of a little screen and you can't see him and he can't see you.
The confessionals at my church are "kneel" only. I went in, knelt, and spilled. The priest was very kind. He told me how my husband and children are counting on me and how I should quit being so bitchy (paraphrasing, of course). Then he instructed me to meditate on the Blessed Sacrament.
As I walked to the front of the church, I imagined that the two or three seniors who were in there were wondering what necessitated me going to confession. I bet they thought I had some really good sins.
On the good side, I did get a light penance.
Among the famous Vatican II reforms of the early '60s were a change in confessional booths. Churches started to create confessionals where you went in and sat down and had a little chat with the priest face to face. But apparently a lot of the old-timers couldn't handle that, and so many churches also offered the classic "kneel" confessionals, where you go into a dark place and kneel and the priest is on the other side of a little screen and you can't see him and he can't see you.
The confessionals at my church are "kneel" only. I went in, knelt, and spilled. The priest was very kind. He told me how my husband and children are counting on me and how I should quit being so bitchy (paraphrasing, of course). Then he instructed me to meditate on the Blessed Sacrament.
As I walked to the front of the church, I imagined that the two or three seniors who were in there were wondering what necessitated me going to confession. I bet they thought I had some really good sins.
