confession Archives - Held By His Pierced Hands

Advice to Priests

I was stunned the other day to have a good man, 25 years a priest, ask me for advice. Not with a specific situation either, just “Do you have any advice for me?” I didn’t know what to say to this priest of God, this man who speaks and the Word is made flesh, who grasps the hands of sinners to drag them back from the edge of that unscalable cliff, who leads people to Christ in a more real way than I ever will.

“Pray,” I said. “Love Christ and his Church and pray.”

But he wanted more. And I always have an opinion, even when I have no right to. So add this to the list of things I have no business giving advice on.¹

Image courtesy of Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P.

If I could ask one thing of priests, it would be this: celebrate the Sacraments like you believe that they’re real. I imagine that most of you do believe that they’re real. And I’ve been privileged to know many priests whose love of the Lord is so powerfully evident in the way they lead their people in prayer. But that’s not always the case. Imagine if you celebrated Mass completely attentive to the fact that you were about to call God down to earth. Wouldn’t it be slower, more reverent, more intense? Wouldn’t you be awestruck, holding the host in your hand? Would you really make do with a quick bow if you honestly believed—or maybe remembered is the word—that Jesus Christ was truly there? More than just doing the red and saying the black (which is a great start), what if you treated the sacred mysteries like they are sacred and mysterious?

In a sacristy in Avila, the words surrounding the crucifix on the wall say, “Priest of Jesus Christ, celebrate this Holy Mass as if it were your first Mass, your last Mass, your only Mass.” If you can’t excite the emotions your first Mass stirred up, can you try to imagine how you would say Mass if you knew you were about to meet God face to face? You are, after all.

I don’t mean to imply that all you really need is emotions—or that if you try hard enough you can manufacture pious feelings. I just mean that your people don’t need good homilies. They don’t need good administrators. They don’t need friendly guys. Those things are all nice, but what they need are pastors who are showing them what holiness looks like. They need to see you and wonder at your love of the Lord. They need to believe that it’s possible to know Christ, and you can teach them that by coming to know him better yourself.

I have some Facebook friends who are priests and will occasionally post with joy about how they love the confessional. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard a bored “Say three Hail Marys now make your act of contrition” after pouring my heart out in the confessional. And I know you’re overworked. But this is sacred: a lost soul crawling home to his Father. What if you heard confessions with the immensity of this work in mind? I know you’ve heard a thousand confessions, and I do hope mine always bores you, but pray. Oh, Father, pray for the grace to remember what it is you’re doing!

Because if you really believed that confession saved souls, that confession was a sinner kneeling at the foot of the Cross and surrendering his hammer into the pierced hands, wouldn’t you do anything to draw people there? Wouldn’t you preach on mercy? Wouldn’t you be in the confessional for hours each day? Or at least for minutes each day? Wouldn’t you offer confession more than half an hour a week? I know you have so much going on. I understand that you’re pastor and teacher and counselor and administrator, but if confession is real, nothing matters more. You have parishioners who’ve been away from the Sacrament for decades because nobody’s asked them to go. Don’t just ask: beg.

From an inspiring post on priests who have given everything for the faithful.

Baptize babies like it’s the most important day of their lives. Prepare couples for marriage like that’s how God is making them Saints. Anoint like it’s the lifeline holding people to Christ. Confirm like you’re sending soldiers into battle. Spend enough time in private prayer that your public prayer looks more like prayer and less like a formality. The more you love Christ, the more we’ll see that radiating from you. And the more we see it, the more we’ll line up to follow.

I don’t mean to criticize, just to challenge. I’m so grateful for you and for every priest. I have such respect for you and I understand the pressures and the difficulties of wearing a dozen hats and dealing with a thousand different personalities. I know that you’ve got duties that seem to keep you from the confessional and a timeline to stick to for Mass. I know that appearances aren’t everything and that the priest who seems most bored and inattentive might be in deepest contemplation. I know it’s hard to fake reverence when you’re doubting or sick or just doing it for the ten thousandth time. I know that many of you are saints in the making, offering your lives daily for those you serve. Thank you for all that you do and all that you are, for your love of the Lord that shines through everything you do.

But I also know that sometimes when you make a living challenging others to grow in holiness, nobody challenges you. I don’t speak for everyone, but from one laborer in the vineyard to another: won’t you please show us that you believe what you say? Won’t you please fight for us and worship for us and lead us? Remember the priest you wanted to be 5, 20, 50 years ago and be that man. Be John Vianney or Padre Pio or Don Bosco or Ignatius or Francis Xavier or Ambrose. Be Christ. Be you. But always be his.

My advice to you is the same advice I keep giving myself as I stumble through, halfhearted and distracted: be a saint. Nothing else matters.

Drafts waiting to be finalized include “How to Raise Kids Who Stay Catholic” and “How to Be Good in Bed.” Don’t get too excited—it’s about chastity. [↩]

Judged on Love Alone

For all I’m willing to make fun of the way the modern world uses 1 Corinthians 13 as a glorification of romantic love, I’m the first to admit that it’s a powerful passage. It’s one of those where you don’t even mind that you get the same homily on it every time. You know the one: “Replace ‘love’ with ‘a Christian.’ ‘A Christian is patient, a Christian is kind.'” Much like the Prodigal Father homily on the Prodigal Son Gospel or the “What kind of soil are you?” homily on the Parable of the Sower, it bears repeating. Paul’s description of love is a template of our lives. So it stands to reason that it can function as a pretty good examination of conscience, too.

Sin is, after all, a failure to love. We love ourselves more than God or more than our neighbors. We use people or ignore the call of Christ. So I think 1 Corinthians 13 is the perfect mirror to hold up before our lives, especially those of us who are fairly decent people. When we turn from the list of grave sins that we generally manage to avoid to this chapter on love, we begin to see just how far we have to go.

1 Corinthians 13: An Examination of Conscience

If I speak in human and angelic tongues but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.

Are you talking just to hear yourself speak or are you really listening? Because your “wisdom” means nothing when it’s not meeting people in their suffering. All the brilliant words you’ve so carefully cultivated are platitudes and arrogance in the face of the anonymous souls you inflict them on, not caring to hear their story.

And if I have the gift of prophesy and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge; if I have all faith so as to move mountains but do not have love, I am nothing.

It doesn’t matter how much you know about Jesus if you speak of him only to prove people wrong and not to draw their hearts closer to him. Faith is not a weapon, it’s a gift. Are you evangelizing to share your joy or to win? If you’re not preaching from a heart that overflows with love for Christ and his lost sheep, shut your mouth and pray for humility.

If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.

How often do you perform good deeds without advertising them? Tell yourself you’re just trying to encourage others to join in, if you must, but ask yourself: are you serving unique, unrepeatable children of God destined for eternal greatness? Or just congratulating yourself on the number of bodies you moved through the line? Selfish service is better than nothing, but not much.

Love is patient,

Not just waiting-for-you-to-be-less-awful patient but loving-you-just-as-you-are patient. It’s not a feeling. You can’t make yourself stop being impatient. But you can sure as heck throw your frustrations over your shoulder and carry them up to Calvary. Do you view people as problems to be solved (or avoided) or as children of God? Choose to live like the other is not an obstacle but the delight of Love himself.

love is kind.

Love isn’t nice, it’s kind. It corrects when necessary. It doesn’t value the love above the beloved. One who loves well takes risks to do what’s best for the other. How many times have you chosen cowardice rather than making things uncomfortable and possibly saving a life–or a soul?

It is not jealous,

Jealousy isn’t just a matter of wanting what the other person has but of resenting him for having it. When you get up to nurse the baby, do you want to smack your husband who gets to sleep on through? Are you bitter about your brother’s new job? Do you try to keep your friends apart for fear they’ll like each other more than they like you? Love seeks what’s best for the beloved–even when it is directly bad for you.

[love] is not pompous, it is not inflated,

Love just isn’t about you. Are you really interested in the girl you’re talking to before class or are you waiting for someone else to come along? Do you spend time with that guy because you’re trying to be a true friend or because you’re doing him a favor with your friendship? A Christian desire to be kind can easily be corrupted into a self-congratulatory kind of pity for losers. Don’t end the relationship–pray for your heart to be purified.

it is not rude,

Do you treat people not as they want to be treated but as they deserve to be treated? Just because a friend is cool with racist or sexual jokes doesn’t mean you have the right to act that way–love treats others with the dignity they deserve, even if they aren’t aware of it.

it does not seek its own interests,

You were made to give yourself to others. Human love means that we receive too, but never that we take. Where is the selfishness in the way you relate to your wife, your parents, your friends? How often do you treat cashiers and wait staff like they’re just there to serve you? That might be their job, but they’re people before they’re busboys and they deserve your respect and courtesy. You’ll be amazed at the graces that flow into your life when you start treating people–all people–like people.

it is not quick-tempered,

More than anything, my sin comes from my quick temper and my quick temper comes from a refusal to recognize other people’s perspectives. The more I love people–the more I see them as people and not as means to my end–the less likely I am to roll my eyes or get irrationally angry.

it does not brood over injury,

You don’t get to hold grudges. Jesus made that perfectly clear. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,” remember? And while you might not be able to feel all better, forgiveness is a choice. You choose not to resent someone. And you choose not to replay your suffering in your mind, filled with “righteous” anger. Do you let love win or anger, suffering, fear, and sin?

it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.

I always found this rather odd until I realized how often I do it. I take a certain vindictive pleasure in the bad choices people make when if they had only listened to me, they’d be perfect just like I am! Do you weep for sinners and long for their joy and peace, or do you feel smug when you see how much better off you are without them? Love continues even if a relationship might need to end.

It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Think of all the abuse you’d tolerate from your baby–it’s infinite, isn’t it? There is nothing she can do to make you stop loving her, is there? We know how to love our little children this way, some of us: without limits. It fades once we start expecting things of them in return. Don’t. Love every person like they deserve it. Choose to believe that they’re good deep down.¹ Trust that God will bring them the healing they need to be who they were made to be. Never let your obsession with yourself get in the way of loving without restraint. Even when you’re the one you’re trying to love.

Love never fails.

You will fail. You will be angry and selfish and judgmental and impatient. Our whole lives are an attempt to learn to love. But Love never fails. He never gives up on you and he will not allow you to give up on yourself. Take some time with this chapter and then take yourself to the foot of the cross, to the seat of mercy: the confessional. Ask Love to teach you to love. Pray that your love would be his love.

Love is not a feeling, my friends, it is a choice. It is willing the good of the other, choosing to treat him as Christ would. One of the most powerful statements I’ve ever heard was attributed to St. Ignatius Loyola:² of every man we meet, we ought to say, “Jesus died for this man.” That’s what 1 Corinthians 13 is calling us to: a recognition when we encounter each person that Jesus Christ, God made man, like us in all things but sin, thought this person was worth dying for. Who are we to do less?

This doesn’t mean enduring an emotionally or physically abusive relationship. The call to love means loving and protecting ourselves as well. Don’t let the demands of the Cross convince you to allow others to mistreat you. [↩]
Googling it only really gets me my website where I’ve quoted it before, so who knows? [↩]

O Key of David

O Key of David, O royal Power of Israel controlling at your will the gate of Heaven: Come, break down the prison walls of death for those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death; and lead your captive people into freedom.

If Christ’s coming were merely an event in history, even with the ramifications it has on our collective salvation, we would celebrate it with relatively little fanfare. It might get an octave,¹ but it wouldn’t merit an entire season of preparation and then a season of celebration.

Now, it was an event in history–God was made man out of love of us. This is no myth. But our celebration of the Nativity is so much more than a celebration of a historical event. It’s also a celebration of Christ’s advent into the life of each believer. When we pray for the walls of death to be broken down, it’s not some fanciful reflection on something that happened 2000 years ago, it’s a real and serious plea for freedom for you and me and everyone right now.

Hence Advent, a season of darkness that reminds us that we dwell in the shadow of death. We traipse through Ordinary Time blithely unaware of our sin, but this season that places before us a filthy stable awaiting the immaculate king makes us pause. “For me,” we think. “That I might have life.”

Because we’ve forgotten that we’re dead. We’ve painted the walls of our prison cell and turned up our ipods and gorged ourselves on the good food provided to placate our rebellious desire for virtue and we’ve forgotten that we were made for sunshine and joy and freedom and so much more than the prison we’ve made for ourselves by our sin. “I’m a good person,” I tell myself and ignore my temper or my laziness or my refusal to give God even ten minutes a day in prayer. And we might be good people by the world’s standards but Christ says, “Be perfect.”

It starts with a feeling. Unchecked, the feeling becomes an attitude. The attitude becomes an action and the action becomes a habit and the habit becomes a way of life and that innocuous little feeling has suddenly become a wall of vice and I didn’t even notice it! It might not be mortal sin but even venial sin, washed away by communion or contrition or even holy water, leaves a residue that only confession can remove. That residue builds and builds until we don’t recognize who we’ve become. And we who were freed from the prison of Original Sin by the blood of the spotless Lamb have built a new one of envy and lust and sloth.

So here we are, this fallen world bound by sin and walled in to a prison we entered freely. But Christ has come. He has taken on our flesh that he might bear our punishment and has won our freedom. He stands now and knocks at the door of your prison cell, keys in hand, longing to enter and break down those walls. He comes to wake you up to the misery of your captivity to sin and to lead you into the freedom of life in him.

God is a gentleman, though, and will not enter, will not save and heal and sanctify without permission. He stands and knocks and waits for you to invite him in, waits for you simply to speak the word so that he can set you free. This is his advent in your life right now: the restoration of a broken heart to a state of grace. The key to heaven rests in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, God’s gift to the fallen.

In this Sacrament, terrible sinners are justified, yes. But we who try so hard and generally do so well–we too are given grace to persevere. We too are bound by sin and freed by his mercy. We too are transformed and drawn from darkness into light. Don’t think that because you’re a “good person” that you aren’t imprisoned. The Key of David has come to set you free. You have only to ask.

If you haven’t been to confession yet this Advent season,² do it. Whether it’s been a month or 30 years, the time is now. Prepare your heart for the pure infant Jesus and receive the gift of new life.

Oh, come, O Key of David, come,
And open wide our heav’nly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

It certainly would have in the old calendar. [↩]
Not to beat a dead horse, but this is really important. [↩]

How to Go to Confession

Ordinary Time toenails — Sometimes my Ordinary Time toes even match my clothes! Okay, rarely.

Back before I gave everything away to enter the convent (one day I’ll tell y’all more about that), I used to have enough clothes that I could wear purple for all of Advent and Lent–pink during the pink weeks, of course. These days, I stick with nail polish to match the liturgical season. It’s fun in the winter, when I go from purple to pink to gold to green. But my toenails have been green for months and I’m getting pretty sick of it.

Does anybody else feel like Ordinary Time just drags on and on? The first half of the year is all exciting, and then it’s just ordinary for six months. If you’re anything like me, your spiritual life matches the excitement of my nail polish. When the vestments are changing, I’m focused and intentional, adding spiritual practices and going to penance services and whatnot. But during these green months, that intentional living fades.

For most people, I think, the biggest casualty is confession. We go in Advent, we go in Lent (when it’s every Wednesday evening in every parish if your diocese is as awesome as mine), and that’s about it. So if it’s been a couple of months (or years), here’s a refresher course on how to go to confession.¹

1. Examination of conscience. Do not just waltz into the confessional unprepared. Keep in mind that this is an encounter with the God of the universe who was beaten and crucified exactly so that you can have these three minutes in the confessional. Not something to be taken lightly.

Spend some time with a good examination of conscience. Ask the Holy Spirit to enlighten you and then reflect on everything that’s happened since your last good confession. Bear in mind that you must confess all mortal sins in kind and number–that means be as specific as possible. For something to be a mortal sin, all three of the following conditions must be met:

Grave matter–it’s really wrong.
Knowledge–you know it’s really wrong.
Full consent of the will–you choose to do it anyway.

Venial sins (sins that don’t meet all three conditions) should be confessed, but don’t have to be. You can also be broader in your enumeration of venial sins: “I have been selfish” as opposed to “I drop-kicked three babies.”

The distinction is that mortal sin breaks your relationship with God, while venial sin “just” damages it. Think of it this way: if we’re best friends and I walk up to you and you’re busy and walk away without saying anything, that’s not cool. But you don’t have to beg forgiveness, just send a quick text message or go old school and actually say something. If you jump me from behind and beat the tar out of me, though, you really have to beg. We’re talking on your knees, tears pouring down your face, handing me presents. In the same way, when we damage our relationship with God, we can ask forgiveness without going to confession; when we destroy it, we need to get down on our knees and beg–in the confessional.

As you go through your examination of conscience, you may want to write out your sins and destroy the paper afterwards. Or not. As long as you’re thorough, the method doesn’t much matter.

2. Contrition. In order for your confession to be valid, you actually have to be sorry for your sins. In fact, your confession’s invalid if you’re not sorry at some level.

Fortunately, our God is merciful beyond belief, and he’ll take whatever he can get. Ideally, you’ll have perfect contrition–sorrow for your sins out of love of God. But God will accept imperfect contrition, too–sorrow for your sins out of fear of hell. Contrition just means that at some level you regret having sinned, even if your regret itself is self-interested.

3. Resolution. The oft-overlooked third step in the process, resolution means that you resolve to try not to sin again. This doesn’t mean you won’t sin again or even that you expect to make it ten minutes without sinning again; it means that you really want to stop sinning and you’re going to try. You don’t have to succeed. God knows you’re weak—he’s not going to withhold forgiveness because you’re fallen.

Of course, this also tells us that you can’t validly confess something you have no intention of changing. Let’s say you never go to Mass on Sunday–that’s definitely grave matter, and assuming that you know it and are choosing to do it anyway, it would be a mortal sin.² If you go to confession with the intention of skipping Sunday Mass the next day, then confessing that you skip Mass wouldn’t do you any good–the sin wouldn’t be forgiven.

If you’re stuck in some sin that you know the Church condemns but that you’re not willing to give up, don’t just avoid confession! Go to confession and explain to the priest that you’re addicted to pornography (or whatever) and don’t intend to stop. Let’s hope that the Holy Spirit takes over and you get some good counsel there.

4. Confession. The moment we’ve all been waiting for…the Sacrament itself. In order to be absolved (barring extreme circumstances), you have to take your sins before a priest. You must confess all mortal sins—if you leave one out on purpose, your whole confession is invalid and you’ve added another mortal sin. If you forget one, on the other hand, it’s okay—even the one you forget is forgiven. God’s good like that.

Your confession should (God willing) look something like this:

Priest: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Penitent: Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been _____ weeks/months/years since my last confession. These are my sins:
List sins
Penitent: For these and all my sins, may God forgive me.

It’s a good idea to end your laundry list with some closing line to let the priest know that you’re done. For years I went with “And, uh, I think that’s it,” which was kind of a lie, since I knew that was it. I think some closer makes it less awkward for everybody.

Hitchcock I Confess — Who’s seen Hitchcock’s *I Confess*? A psychological thriller about the seal of the confessional? Yes, please!

Father may interrupt you to ask for clarification or motivations. Hopefully, he won’t interrupt you to start chatting. I once mentioned in confession that I had just been to the Holy Land and the priest started asking me about the political situation there. After a few minutes, I realized that he wasn’t ever going to get back to the confession part of things, so I started awkwardly inserting my sins into the conversation: “Well, I never felt unsafe, even though I’m really impatient and judgmental. But that might just be because of my pride.”

After you list your sins, you will hopefully get some advice from the priest. Even if he’s way off the mark, keep listening because he may slip your penance in there and you really need to know that. Sometimes they get sneaky, so pay attention.

Father should ask you to say an act of contrition after that. It’s good to have one memorized, but don’t worry if you don’t. Most confessionals have one on the wall inside. If all else fails, you can make something up. I once found myself going to confession in Italian. I’m pretty good at Italian, but it turns out that I don’t know works like “judgmental” or “selfish,” so the whole process of confessing was kind of like Taboo:

Me: I said…things…that were not…good…about others?
Father: Uncharitable!
Me: Yes! Uncharitable!³

When he asked me to make my act of contrition, I thought I was going to die. I mean, I know how to say “I’m sorry I bumped into you,” but I was afraid it wasn’t quite the same as “I’m sorry I nailed you to the cross.” And I didn’t want to say the Italian equivalent of “my bad,” so it came out like this:

Oh, God…I sinned…I don’t want to sin any more…help me!⁴

Very awkward. But good enough (although Father did laugh at me). In any event, go ahead and memorize one.

Then you get absolution and BAM! you’re good as new.

giuseppe-maria-crespi-nepomuk-takes-the-confession-of-the-queen-of-bohemia — “Nepomuk Takes the Confession of the Queen of Bohemia” by Giuseppe Maria Crespi

5. Absolution. When you hear the words “I absolve you of your sins,” you’re forgiven. In that moment, your sins are taken away, if you’re intending to do your penance. If you forget to do your penance and can’t make it up, you’re okay, but if you’re not intending to do it, it’s an invalid confession. Basically, pay attention and do it, but know that you’re forgiven right then, not when you’ve finished your ten rosaries (or the one Our Father you slid out of there with).

As a reminder, it is God who absolves you through the priest. By the merits of Christ’s Passion, God forgives your sins; the priest is just the vessel.⁵

6. Satisfaction. While your sins are forgiven by Christ’s mercy alone, independent of any works of penance you might do, God asks us to cooperate with his grace. So when you say your penance, you’re not earning your absolution, but putting forth a token of your good will and your desire to serve God. Plus, while confession takes away your eternal punishment (saving you from hell), it doesn’t remove all temporal punishment (making things right with the world your sin damaged). Your penance helps you to make reparations to the world for the evil you’ve done; whatever you haven’t made up for will be taken care of in purgatory, which I’m sure I’ll talk about in November.

Gone are the days when your penance involved a pilgrimage to the Holy Land or fasting in sackcloth and ashes. I’m lucky if I get more than my standard three Hail Marys. Since your penance is probably pretty easy, try to do it intensely, really focusing on every word. Consider that in the moment of your absolution, God snatched your soul from the jaws of hell; in return, he asked for, what, a decade of the rosary? By God’s mercy and the power of the Cross, your soul does not depend on those words. But it can’t hurt to pray them like it does.

If you haven’t been to confession in a long time, might I suggest a good soul cleansing? I promise you won’t regret it. If you’re a frequent confessor, maybe trying to be more intentional will help you to recognize the beauty of this Sacrament. And whether you go weekly or haven’t been in decades, take a moment to thank God for the incredible gift of Sacramental absolution and for our Church that is anything but ordinary.

If you still need to be convinced that you should go to confession at all, see if this post helps you. [↩]
I’m not judging you–this is theoretical. [↩]
Incaritatevole, in case you were wondering. [↩]
O Dio…ho peccato…non voglio peccare piu…aiutame! [↩]
Jn 20:21-23 [↩]

The Glory of Confession

As a high school teacher, I’m supposed to be opposed to be peer pressure. “Don’t worry about what other people think,” I’m supposed to say. “Be true to yourself. Follow your heart!”

Sometimes your peers are less stupid than you, though. Sure, it would be better to follow the Saints or wise adults or pretty much anybody over the age of 30, but peer pressure isn’t always bad. In fact, everything good in my life is a result of peer pressure.

You see, if no one’s paying special attention, it’s pretty easy for a Catholic kid growing up in America to make it from First Reconciliation through Confirmation without making a second reconciliation. It’s an unfortunate truth, all the more so when the kid in question lied in her first confession. Yup—I told him I broke a cup and blamed it on my sister. Not true. She broke the cup. What a pathetic way to enter into mortal sin.¹

strangle — That’s me in the front strangling that kid. In my defense, he seems to be enjoying it.

Once I found myself in mortal sin, I just kept digging myself in deeper. I had a field day with lying, cheating, stealing, and cursing. I didn’t pray, and if you had asked me, I would have told you I didn’t believe in God. I distinctly remember answering “I don’t know” while the rest of the congregation chorused “I do” during the renewal of baptismal promises at Easter. Before I knew it, I was confirmed, having no idea if there was a God and not particularly caring. I was actually late to my own confirmation because I was shopping. Definitely ready to be a soldier of Christ.

That March was our confirmation retreat. After confirmation. Whatever. Despite my penchant for breaking rules, I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I went. On Saturday night, we were split into small groups, and as we discussed the great woes of our adolescent lives, the other girls went to confession, one by one. Now, I didn’t much care what this theoretical God thought of me, but I cared very much what the other girls thought of me. As I watched them go, I became convinced that if I didn’t go to confession, none of them would be friends with me.

There is no worse threat you can issue to a thirteen-year-old girl.

And so, unprepared as I was, I got up when it was my turn and walked to the cabin that was doubling as a confessional. Fr. Mark Moretti was the patient priest who heard what was functionally my first confession and turned my world upside down. That day, I was returned to a state of grace and was introduced to Jesus Christ, the love of my life. Despite ongoing struggles with sin,² I gave my life to Christ that day and haven’t looked back since. The life I would gladly have tossed away on Friday afternoon became a joy on Saturday night, and has been ever since. I owe my joy, my career, and my life to the grace that flooded my soul that chilly March evening.

Mohawk Confession — Kind of like this only I was probably wearing a flannel shirt and Umbros. Oh, and no mohawk.

God Said So

“I’m sure that was very nice for you,” some of you are thinking right now. “But I don’t enjoy confession. Why should I go?”

The simple answer? God said so.

Jesus said to his disciples, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them. Whose sins you retain are retained.” (Jn 20:21-23)

The first part of this commissioning sets up an analogy. In a throwback to SAT prep, we could say that the Apostles (today’s priests) are to Jesus as Jesus is to the Father. Jesus was sent into the world with the Father’s power of reconciling man to God; the Apostles, too, were sent into the world with Jesus’ power of reconciling man to God. They are being sent, one might say, in persona Christi—that is, in the person of Christ.

Now, Jesus didn’t do much after the Resurrection. He hung out with some disciples, ate some fish, walked through some walls—all seemingly unimportant events with great theological importance. So it’s important here that we look at what he said and at what he did. Here, Jesus doesn’t just give the Apostles a job. He breathes on them. The only other time in Scripture that we see God breathing on someone is in Genesis: “The Lord God formed man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and so man became a living being” (Gen 2:7). Adam was clay, lifeless, until God breathed on him. The breath of God made him more like God; it made him a man—something totally different from what he had been. Jesus’ breath has the same effect on the Apostles: it makes them more like God. It changes them into something different. Here, they become priests, able to forgive sins with the power of Christ’s forgiveness.

When Jesus gives the Apostles the power to forgive sins, he isn’t just encouraging them to be forgiving, as he is in the Sermon on the Mount. He’s telling them that the forgiveness they offer actually does something. And it’s pretty clear that the Apostles are being told not just to offer forgiveness but actually to hear confessions in some form—how can they refuse forgiveness without knowing the sin and its circumstances?

The Epistle of St. James makes that even clearer: “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another that you may be healed. The fervent prayer of a righteous man is powerful indeed” (Jas 5:16). James tells us that we can’t just ask God for forgiveness; we have to confess our sins to one another—to priests, if we’re reading it together with the Gospel of John. From these two verses, we can see that Jesus has sent priests with a ministry of reconciliation, receiving penitents and forgiving them in Jesus’ name, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

And the Apostles clearly understood this role because the early Church gets it, too. Hippolytus of Rome prays at ordinations that priests may “have the authority to forgive sins, in accord with your command.” That was in 215 a.d. In 248, Origen tells us: “[A final method of forgiveness], albeit hard and laborious [is] the remission of sins through penance, when the sinner . . . does not shrink from declaring his sin to a priest of the Lord.”

Sure, in the early Church it looked different from what we’re used to—they actually had to confess in front of the whole church and then do a penance that could take years. (Makes you wonder why you complain about whispering to a priest who can’t even see you….) But the basics of the Sacrament—the form, matter and minister—haven’t changed since the time of Christ.

It’s for Your Own Good

Our God isn’t arbitrary, though, and He doesn’t enjoy watching us suffer. The Sacrament of Reconciliation exists for a number of purposes, all closely tied to human nature.

If you’re going to shape up, you really have to regret your past. I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot sorrier for my sins when I have to say them out loud. It’s all well and good to tell God you’re sorry about something—He already knows about it. You have to be really sorry to be willing to accuse yourself of it to somebody else, though. And since sin is rooted in pride, the humility required in the confessional is the antidote. Besides, how many of us have withstood temptation simply because we couldn’t bear the idea of confessing it?

For those of us who have habitual sins to overcome, the process of examination of conscience and confession can be invaluable. I had my conversion in the eighth grade, but I still cursed like a sailor—until I realized that I confessed cursing every time I went to confession. Maybe a year after my conversion, I came to a sudden realization that confessing cursing meant I actually had to stop. (There’s a funny story there about how I decided to quit cold turkey without asking for God’s help and ended up missing the bus twice and ripping my pants open at school. Another time, maybe.) Something about saying the same thing every time makes you desperate to change, in a way that I don’t think I would have been without that monthly reminder.

If nothing else (and this is true of all Sacraments), we need something physical to feed our senses, since we are physical and spiritual creatures. My friend Katy and I were hanging out one night in high school after listening to a chastity speaker. She said, “I’ve confessed my sins to God, so I know I’ve been forgiven, but every time I go to one of these speakers, I feel guilty and confess all over again.” I didn’t know how to react to this—my sins are gone! They’re not my own any more. The experience of hearing the words “I absolve you” makes it impossible to deny that you are forgiven, loved, and made new in Christ. Now, knowing this and believing it can be very different things, but when it comes down to it, a believing Catholic can give an exact moment at which her sins were forgiven. However she feels about her past, she knows God, who gave us this Sacrament so we could experience the joy of certain absolution, has forgiven her.

There are any number of reasons that God gave us this Sacrament, and there are any number of reasons to take advantage of it. Go because you can’t live with what you’ve done. Go because you know there’s something missing in your life. Go because you want to be at peace with the Lord. Go because it would make your grandmother proud. God is so desperate to forgive you, He’ll accept you for any reason—even adolescent vanity. You have nothing to lose but your sin. You have everything to gain.

“Jesus said to the woman, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on, do not sin any more.” (Jn 8:11)

Fast Facts about Confession:

Catholics are required to confess all mortal sins (serious sins that you willingly committed, knowing they were wrong) at least once a year.
-Even if you’re not in a state of mortal sin, this is a good minimum
-It’s a better idea to go every Advent and Lent—better yet to go once a month!
You’re only required to confess mortal sins (being specific about the sin and the approximate number of times you committed it), but you’re encouraged to confess venial sins
If you forget to confess a sin, you’ve got nothing to worry about—it’s covered. If you leave one out on purpose, your confession is invalid and you’ve added the sin of making a bad confession to your list.
Your sins are forgiven at the moment of absolution (“I absolve you of your sins….”) if you are intending to do your penance.
To be forgiven, you have to want to avoid those sins in the future. You do not have to be certain that you will never sin again. That would be ridiculous.

I know, I was 7. Believe me–I knew what I was doing. [↩]
have I mentioned I’m kind of a jerk sometimes? Yeah, that was here [↩]