A few years ago, as
I served as a sponsor for our parish’s Rite of
Christian Initiation of Adults, our class watched
a video on the Sacrament of Reconciliation.
Although the piece was interesting in terms of its
historical content, I felt it missed a great
opportunity. The film reviewed proper procedure
and obligation, but not once did it mention what a
gift the Sacrament of Reconciliation can be for
Catholics.
As a convert myself, I always thought confession
seemed a confusing and intimidating practice of
the Catholic faith. What was the purpose of those
dark little rooms where you whispered the
unthinkable to a total stranger? I didn’t even
like to think about sin, much less talk about it.
It was only through the grace of God – literally –
that I finally came to appreciate the beauty and
significance of this life-giving sacrament.
Out of a Formal and
Routine Past
In the Lutheran church of my youth, confession of
was handled in a rather tidy manner. The
congregation would stand and, together with the
pastor, face the altar and read aloud a statement
of confession. The pastor would then turn to face
the congregation and read a response that
essentially told us we were forgiven.
I don’t remember feeling heartily sorry for my
sins – or heartily forgiven, for that matter -- it
was just a part of our Sunday worship. I suppose I
must have talked to God privately about my sins
growing up, but forgiveness and reconciliation do
not hold strong memories for me.
I was a catechumen in 1983 as a young adult
preparing for marriage. When our RCIA class
broached the subject of confession, the priest
arranged to meet with each of us privately. I
remember feeling incredibly nervous.
My faith was not yet strong enough to see beyond
the man sitting across from me. I couldn’t
comprehend that it was Jesus and His forgiveness I
was encountering in this sacrament. The priest was
helpful and patient, taking me through the Ten
Commandments one by one.
I squeamishly admitted my faults, looking to him
for clues or approval. The next thing I knew, the
priest absolved me and sent me on my way. I didn’t
feel any different and wondered if maybe I hadn’t
done it right. Puzzled, I decided that this part
of Catholicism was going to be a learning process
for me.
As I entered the Church formally and began
receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation on a
somewhat regular basis, I still found myself
immersed in the "sin" part of the equation. I was
focused on how terrible I was, how unforgivable,
and completely missed out on the benefit of
forgiveness.
I dreaded having to bare my soul to a man who, in
my opinion, must be almost sinless (after all he
was a priest, wasn’t he?!) I was still concerned
about what he would think of me, not only in the
confessional, but every time we crossed paths. It
was not uncommon for me, therefore, to go to other
parishes when it was time to make a confession.
At the same time, however, something significant
was happening. I was beginning to realize that
once I made a confession, I truly felt better.
Forcing myself to verbalize and take
responsibility for my offenses and ask pardon for
them really did make a difference in how I felt
afterward. It was harder than my Lutheran way, but
I was starting to see the benefits.
My biggest stumbling block remained not being able
to forgive myself. I used to come out of the
confessional disappointed by the Act of Penance –
to say an Our Father or something easy like that.
I would have much rather been told to take ten
laps around the church property. Still seeing
things from a purely human point of view, I was
unable to grasp God’s ready and complete
forgiveness.
Then, I experienced a miracle.
Miracle of Mercy
It occurred during Lent, not long before Easter. I
had just read the writings of a young Polish nun,
the recently canonized Sister Faustina, and I was
really excited about her message of God’s divine
mercy. I was praying the Divine Mercy novena and
had planned to go to confession on Divine Mercy
Sunday for a complete pardon of sins as promised.
Inspired to share her story with my prayer group,
I located a video about Sister Faustina and
prepared a little presentation. All in all, things
were going quite well. That’s when disaster
struck, and I committed the most regrettable sin
of my life.
A continual string of sleepless nights caring for
my newborn was taking a serious toll on my
patience level and rational thinking ability. One
bleary morning, I lost what was left of my
emotional control and raged against my
four-year-old in a way that filled me with
profound shame and regret. I was devastated and
shocked at how such an unbridled outburst could
occur during the holiest time of the year.
When I regained my composure, I immediately sought
forgiveness from my son and, soon after, from my
husband. I knew, however, that most importantly I
had to reconcile with God. A part of me wondered
if I could be forgiven at all.
The following day was Palm Sunday. As the Church
prepared for its most holy celebration, I felt as
if I should be counted among the ranks of Judas
and Peter. Ashamed and unable to live with myself,
I went to my parish to make a confession. My plan
was to talk to a retired priest who heard
confessions, because I was too embarrassed to talk
with my pastor.
When I arrived at church, however, I saw 25 people
on line for the retired priest, and only three
waiting to speak with the pastor. Humbled, I
joined the shorter line. God wasn’t going to make
this easy for me.
Inside the confessional, it all came out. Between
sobs, I told the pastor the unpleasant details of
my crime. He was very understanding and said
pretty much what I expected, then he administered
absolution. I still felt terrible.
As I was leaving the confessional, however, an
amazing thing happened. I experienced an
incredible, tangible sensation – as if someone
were pouring a bucket of water over my head. I
felt washed clean, tingling all the way down to my
feet, and feather-light, like the weight of the
world was just lifted off my shoulders. I had
never experienced anything like this before.
I recognized at once that God was giving me a hit
over the head, an unmistakably clear sign that I
was truly forgiven. He saw how my heart was
breaking and how genuinely contrite I was, and he
was happy to welcome me back.
His words, as given to Sister Faustina, occurred
to me, "Let not even the weak and sinful fear to
approach me, even though their sins be as numerous
as the sands of the earth, all will vanish in the
fathomless pit of my Mercy."
If forgiveness from God were always to come as
tangibly as I was privileged to experience it that
day, I’m sure the lines for confession would be
far longer. But I suppose that’s where our faith
must come into play.
Divine Dimension Holds
Sway
God works signs and wonders in our lives according
to our needs. Evidently, on that day, I needed
something pretty significant to get my attention.
From that experience, I was finally able to learn
how to let go of my sins and truly forgive myself.
Today, when I receive the Sacrament of
Reconciliation, I no longer drag my feet, focusing
only on my sins. Now, I look forward to receiving
God’s mercy. Even though I don’t feel it in that
same tangible way, I know it’s happening just the
same. I look forward to being unburdened, and
feeling close to Our Lord once again.
Instead of seeking out priests I don’t know, I can
now go comfortably to any of the clergy in my own
parish. Each priest has his own style, but the
absolution is always the same because it comes
from God.
Through the years, I’ve developed a special
relationship with one of our priests by making him
my primary confessor. This way, he’s better
equipped to help me overcome obstacles in my
spiritual growth as I live out my vocation as wife
and mother.
For me, an adult convert, the Sacrament of
Reconciliation has become a way of encountering
Christ intimately and meaningfully, second only to
receiving Him in the Eucharist. At last, I
experience confession the way I believe God has
always intended it: as a great gift. Forgive me,
Father, for not recognizing this gift sooner.
Published in St. Anthony Messenger, March 2003
Elizabeth Ficocelli
is a Catholic author who writes for children and
adults.
For more information, visit
www.elizabethficocelli.com
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