Getting Religion, Sort Of
I liked going to confession. There was a little built-in cage with a sliding door like for your hamster, but a whole priest could fit inside. Only you could just make out his face.
I would say, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” The priest would say something like, “And how have you sinned, my son?” I could never think of anything, but I always wanted to help out because I liked being called “son,” plus there he was, stuck in the cage all the time.
“I lied, Father.”
“And whom did you lie to, my son?”
“My friend.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said my mom was twenty-seven.”
“Oh. . . And how old is she?”
“I think twenty-seven.”
“That’s not a lie, son. . .”
“But she might be twenty-six.”
I would say, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” The priest would say something like, “And how have you sinned, my son?” I could never think of anything, but I always wanted to help out because I liked being called “son,” plus there he was, stuck in the cage all the time.
“I lied, Father.”
“And whom did you lie to, my son?”
“My friend.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said my mom was twenty-seven.”
“Oh. . . And how old is she?”
“I think twenty-seven.”
“That’s not a lie, son. . .”
“But she might be twenty-six.”
Posted by Paul at 10:54 PM Permalink
22 Comments:
To clarify, we don't know why her eye is fully dilated. It's been that way for a month. More tests...
Blessings to you.
Confession terrified me. Waiting in line with the other sinners, entering the dark room, the click of the door, the silence inside, the musty smell, the kneeling and waiting for the priest to push away the screen, and then the very dim light that would only reveal his silhouette. My heart would pound and my palms would sweat and I would try really hard to think up sins to tell him because I knew it would be unacceptable to have no sins to report. Sometimes I made up sins, which of course meant I was sinning by lying about sinning.
I was always extremely relieved afterward, my friends would say because I didn't have the weight of the sins on my soul any more, having been absolved. Somehow I always thought it had more to do with the ordeal being over with that it did with absolution lol.
I too have been reminiscing about the days of CCD and Sacrament preparations and Mass and rosaries and traditions and ritual. I guess something of those memories made me click through to you today.
Peace be with you.
JOANNE, I know what you mean! There were a lot of things in parochial school that scared me too, although confession didn't happen to be one of them. But the nuns were pretty formidable!
I was only in Catholic school through gr. two, so the memories are pretty dim.
As you can see, I had confusion about the concept of "lying." When I was a kid, I somehow got it in my head that if you gave misinformation of any kind, that was a lie.
So for example, my grandmother would come over and go "Where's your mom?" and I'd go, "In the yard." Then, as grandma was walking away I'd call out "At least I think she is..." because how did I KNOW she was still in the yard even though I'd seen her there a few minutes ago? (Fortunately I was over this before, I don't know, age nine or ten...!)
Btw, if you stop back and have a URL please leave it. I must have jumped from someone else's blog to yours and don't have your url...
LOL. This is so light-hearted. I love it. I too never had anything to confess at confession time. I had to make things up just to confess, but at least I kept the priest entertained.
I would always overhear my brother in the next confessional. One day he told the priest that he (my brother) burned a leaf. I laughed so hard that I had to run out of the church. I assume the priest had a good laugh that day too.
ALEXYS: I never thought of that! Priests must hear some hilarious stuff from kids over the years. Paradoxically, I guess the younger you are, the harder it is to verbalize or demonstrate the concept of original sin.
H KONIG: Ha! “LOL” often is a lie, strictly speaking. Your “LIH” goes very well with the extreme honesty of this post. . .
SORROW II: Drat, now you’ve caught me in a lie. I never had a hamster – they were gerbils. I guess HK is bringing out my inner hyper-conscientious child.
i miss being twenty-seven. that lie wouldn't work on me now, lol.
LOL just kidding Paul ;-)
Keshi.
I think one of the landmarks in the history of hypocrisy of Christianity is the decision to call the priest as “father”.
Your story shows the practice of confession to a priestly father with its funny side up.
“And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father--the one in heaven.” Matt. 23:9
CHRIS W: I completely overlooked that. While I saw the upside of face to face with the priest after Crystal mentioned it, now I also see how the loss of anonymity has a downside. For some, it could feel less like something between themselves and God than something that they're telling to another person.
I love the way you drew out the exchange. I literally did "lol."
After thinking about it, though... then seeing the other posts about similar accounts of "put-on" confessions, it makes me feel kind of sad. Obviously, you all came through relatively unscathed, but the thought of putting children through such an intense situation... it just breaks my heart.
Maybe it's just me.
Thanks for sharing.
I have an aunt who's a Sister of the Holy Cross and is nothing like that...
CARRIE, me too! My sister never tires of pointing it out. You're the only other person I've run into to "confess" to that. Does it combine with you too with being unobservant of, basically, the physical world? I've trained myself to be better, but I have a long history of not seeing really obvious changes/features in the environment like the time I was a senior in h.s. walked into my friend's kitchen and he goes:
"So how do you like the canoe?"
Blank stare.
"The canoe - what do you think?
"What canoe?"
"The one on the porch."
"The porch?"
"That you just walked in from."
"There's a canoe?"
"Yeees..."
"No."
Etc. until he has me go out on the porch. He had a new canoe that took up about a quarter of the space there.
But it was upside down, so how was I supposed to notice - right...?
It reminds me of my Catholic school girl days. Every Wednesday they would announce over the intercom which priest would be hearing confession. I was a "non-Catholic" and exempt. But when the dishy Father Knealy was up--there would be a mass exodus of girls heading out of the classroom.
ANNIEELF: Yes, and it sounds like alternative approaches are happening, per Crystal's comment.
NABEEL: That makes sense. And Catholicism would definitely encourage asking the person for forgiveness even though that isn't part of the confession procedure, so to speak.
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