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My First Confession: Jesus Made Me Do It

My First Confession: Jesus Made Me Do It

Last updated on: September 12, 2016 at 6:38 am by Cynthia Dagnal-Myron

My First Confession: Jesus Made Me Do It 2016-09-11T18:55:38-07:00 Cynthia Dagnal-Myron

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Penitent Girl, Rotari

You know…it went better than I thought it would.

There were a few minor glitches, like going going to the confession booths in the main church first, only to discover that confession takes place in the chapel instead. Which made me sad because I’ve always thought the booths in the main church were particularly lovely.

Yes, I know. But as a newbie I know so little that I cling to these little things.

And if you read a previous post in which I admitted being none too comfortable with the concept of confession, you know that just making the decision to show up was pretty difficult. And the reading I’d done, trying to get my mind right on the subject, only confused the issue more.

Some of the most revered saints advocated weekly or even daily confessions. But a few pastors opined that many parishioners confessed either too often or in too much detail.

Each author also had a different interpretation of the “why” behind confession. Those views veered from the almost Puritanical “If you don’t you’ll burn in Hell” variety to the “confession as counseling” end of the spectrum which made Jesus a sort of sacred psychologist.

It was Jesus, in the end, who sorted the whole thing out for me. As always. I hadn’t committed a major “trespass,” by the way. It was a sin of pride that had ultimately hurt someone’s feelings. Someone who had been abundantly kind to me for many years and whose friendship I truly valued.

Now, there is a particular twinge of guilt that I’ve only felt since my conscious journey to conversion began. It’s a gentle “owie.” I don’t feel I’m being “punished” or even chastised. The Jesus in me just feels distant and disappointed. As if He’s sort of standing on the sidelines, tapping His foot, waiting for me to do the right thing.

Sometimes He prescribes a phone call, an apologetic email, an hour of Adoration or praying the Litany of Humility. But this time, only one thing would do. I knew it immediately.

Yes, He already knew what I’d done. He saw me do it. But He wanted me to kneel down and admit it. Out loud, to a fellow human being whose respect I would be loathe to lose. My pride had been keeping Him at arm’s length, too, in a way, as I searched for loopholes. I was so full of myself there was almost no room for Him.

So I found a Busted Halo cheat sheet, studied it, and headed off to make things right again.

I was greeted by a priest who had guided me through some of the most memorable events of my RCIA journey. I’d been afraid of that, previously. That I would have to tell my deepest, darkest secrets to someone I knew.

But because I’d come not just to be dutiful but to right a very specific wrong, I found myself speaking very easily and sincerely. And his response was characteristically insightful. He one-upped all the research I’d done, tailoring his response to the “me” he’d gotten to know and using the teachings of the church to both illustrate and illuminate.

Sounded rather familiar. Like those parables we’ve heard from Someone Else, right? Yes, He was there, as promised. I had to admit that, too.

And He didn’t stop there, either. Oh, no. Read on—there’s a punch line coming.

You see, having vowed to be humble and less full of myself, I headed for Saturday Vigil Mass and sat ‘way back by the font. If Father George didn’t know I’d stayed, no problem. If I didn’t get to give a nod and a smile to our choir director, so be it. I would become “invisible.” I kind of liked that idea, actually.

But about five minutes later, one of the ushers sidled over and asked, “Would you like to carry the gifts today?”

Yep. The woman who’d just vowed to be more humble was being asked to walk slowly up the middle aisle with all the other parishioners in attendance looking on.

And I did it. But as I arrived at the altar and handed off the bowl, I smiled up at the crucifix as if to say, “Really?!”

I was just teasing, though. Because I knew that moment in the spotlight was just His way of telling me not to take that vow too far. And to use my God given “gumption” for the right reasons. To do Him proud.

Message received.

Photo credit: Pietro Rotari [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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