lighter, fresh and new

Tonight I went to confession. Our parish had an Advent communal penance service. Not too long ago, I told myself -- convinced myself completely -- that attending and saying the Act of Contrition with everyone else was enough. For years I didn't sit one-on-one with a priest. Many years, indeed.

Some people I've talked to speak of bad confession experiences. Others doubt the need to speak sins aloud. Still others have told me they don't ever do anything that would require confessing. I didn't go because I'm a crier. Lots of things make me cry and I simply didn't know if that was okay.

A couple of years ago, I started thinking about going again. I worried, I fretted, I tried to talk myself out of it, but I went. And as I confessed, I felt lighter. And I felt like there was a possibility that I really was forgiven. Still, it took a bit of encouragement from my pastor before I considered going again.

Now I go frequently (comparatively speaking, anyway), every month or two. I've had some interesting experiences -- Like the time I realized that through my tears the priest had misunderstood me, and was absolving me of some other sin entirely! And the time the priest asked "Is that it?" when I finished. (To be fair, there is a way to finish up that I always forget. Something about "for these and all my other sins...") But all in all, it's always worth the planning, the soul searching, and the standing in line.

Tonight as we read the Act of Contrition together as a parish family, I thought of all those I love who were not there. I thought of some new friends of mine who wonder just what the sacrament is. I thought of those who don't celebrate the sacrament any more for various reasons. I thought of how much of my heart each of them occupies, and about how much more of the Father's heart we occupy, and how, really, everything pales in comparison.

I confessed where I knew I'd fallen short in faith, hope and love. And now I feel lighter. Ready to start again, fresh and new. Wrapped in God's embrace.