Confession

THE CONFESSION

"Bless Me Father For I have Sinned, was the opening incantation of the penitent. "Ego Te Absolve, In Nomine Patris, Filie, Spiritu, Sancti" was the muffled reply. It came both as an admonition and an inquiry, through the wooden lattice panel, of the confessional. For ease of purpose, The Priest in the middle was able to hear confessions from booths, on both sides. He had but to slide back the wooden shutter, to speak with either of us. Anonymity was hoped for by everyone, but sometimes voices had a way of carrying, in the larger churches with older members whose hearing wasn't very good.

We were performing the age old Catholic ritual of "Confession. It is a simple concept really, though shrouded in mysticism and secrecy . It is sort of like putting a spiritual quarter into a celestial pay phone and dialing up God, using his private number. Or at least that is what we believed in Catholic Grammar School. And like the obligatory call to distant Grandparents, we were expected to make the effort at least once a week.

Of course when you made the connection, you had to fess up to all the mischief that you had been involved in, since the last call. If your calls were infrequent, the session could seem long indeed. The penalties were quantifiable. Several "Hail Mary's and Our Fathers were the usual penance. If you got nailed with a few decades of the Rosary or, Heaven forbid, the whole enchilada, there was much speculation from your peers, as to the level of malfeasance involved.

We stood in line, on either side of the wooden confessional, and awaited our turn. You had to artfully construct the right balance of venial sins, to lend credibility to the whole. Otherwise, the third degree could be considerable. And if, God forbid, you were carrying around an unconfessed and unabsolved mortal sin, the weight could seem oppressive. Of course, you just knew, at that tender age, that the indiscretions were indelibly printed on your face, for all to read. The nuns of course were telepathic, or so it seemed to us at the time. We learned early the value of a good Poker Face.

I remember once when I dropped the ball completely. I forgot the words to the Act of Contrition, a final prayer by the penitent in the ritual. It may not seem like much to the uninitiated, but picture Whitney Houston forgetting the second verse to the Star Spangled Banner, during the Opening Game at Yankee Stadium. It wasn't life threatening, but it was pretty embarrassing. I was summarily remanded to the supervising Nun and advised to admit the full enormity of my transgression. It was pretty heavy stuff for a ten year old kid. The kindly Sister, who had the heart of a giant, gently prodded my memory, until the entire text came roaring back to me in a flood of youthful relief. Thus armed, I returned to face the anonymous avenger who had sent me to the spiritual nether lands.

As we grew older, the enormity of our sins grew with our exposure to the mortal world. Most of the Priests were philosophical, in the face of this endless parade of human weakness. Their penances were perfunctory and their admonitions generic. They knew, in their heart of hearts, that mere mortals are imperfect souls, in need of spiritual solace. Some, however, never lost their indignant righteousness and would lecture the luckless penitent at length. The chain of penance thus dispensed would make Jacob Marley and Ebeneezer Scrooge seem unburdened and light- footed by comparison.

There was of course a natural correction to this type of behavior. We went "priest shopping, like the canniest Lawyer looking for a sympathetic Judge. It could be comical at times. One of the sterner priests would have but a few "customers" and his more genial colleague across the aisle would have a crowd that stretched all the way back to the entrance of the Church.

Sometimes, the best laid plans went awry. The "stern confessor " would order several of the people, in the longer line, to form up in his line. It was similar to a Barber shop, where you were too polite to say "no", when the "scalper" said , "who is next?." You often got drawn into the wrong chair, inspite of your best intentions. Whatever the motivation or machination that got you into the booth, we all felt a catharsis of sorts when we left it. Spiritually and emotionally, we felt better.

Whether it was the power of suggestion, or a real communion with the Almighty, it worked for us. Some Religions have "Sin Eaters," others are more physical in their spiritual flagellations. We novice Catholics unburdened ourselves in innocence and asked forgiveness from a loving God. Years later, the absolutions were made more general and given to the Faithful, at weekly Mass. But it didn't seem to have the same quality of ritual.

Perhaps it was the mysticism that enticed us in the former, more private conversation with the deity. More likely, it is the memory of innocence, from that time, and the feelings of Paradise Lost, as we grew older and more jaded .

Joseph Xavier Martin
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