Always Fresh

“Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.” –Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

I have a confession that’s not really a confession.

I have problems with confession.

(Confused yet?)

I mean the sacrament of confession. And I don’t think I’m the only Catholic who feels that way.

Confession–or the sacrament of penance, or reconciliation (depending on where, and when, you grew up)–is a great, healing sacrament. It’s our chance to start over with God, to admit our sins and become right with him again. So you would think that the churches would be filled to overflowing whenever this sacrament was offered.

And for the most part, they’re not. There are probably a lot of reasons for this, but I think personal fear and shame are a big part of it.

No one likes going to confession. It’s not like the other sacraments, which have a high “feel good” factor (well, except for anointing of the sick). There’s no party attached to it, no fancy clothes, no awesome ceremonies. It doesn’t mark a great passage in your life, and it’s definitely not something most people remember with scrapbook pages or blogposts. Yet, other than Eucharist and anointing, it’s the only sacrament we can receive more than once. In fact, it’s connected to Eucharist; we’re not supposed to receive the Eucharist if we’re not properly disposed (ie, in a state of mortal sin).

I had a severe dislike of confession until a few years ago. I hated going in and admitting that I had done something wrong. I hated standing in line, thinking of all the things I’d screwed up. I don’t think I’m perfect. I know I’m not. But I can’t be the only one who hates to admit that.

With Lent coming up, it’s a good time to think about confession. Why don’t we like to go? Why do we avoid it? I think many of us are like me–admitting their dirty laundry to someone else isn’t something they enjoy doing. But it’s funny. The more I go to confession (and I try to go at least once a month), the less inclined I am to sin, because that small voice in my head says, “If you do this, you have to confess it.”

That does not mean that I’ve stopped sinning. Woo boy, I have not. And I’m not doing anything huge (as in, I’m not imitating Jack the Ripper in my extracurricular activities), and certainly nothing that my confessor hasn’t heard before. But it still grinds at me to have to say the same things again and again and again. So, there’s an instinctive motivation to do better.

My confessor once said that, “sometimes our emotions get the better of us.” We’re not perfect. Jesus tells us that God wants us to be perfect, as He is perfect. But that doesn’t mean that we won’t screw up. Confession is God’s way of letting us set things right with him, and with ourselves, to clean the slate and start again.

The more often we go, the more often we let that grace work on us, the easier it is to let go of the difficult habits of sin we’ve gained. It’s a lot easier, yes, to not stand in line before Mass on Saturday, or on a weekday–to just go to lunch or go back to the office. But getting to heaven isn’t easy. Or, really, comfortable. Mother Angelica used to say something to the effect of, if you’re not bothering someone, you’re not doing Christianity right. It’s a lot easier to lie, to let go of our temper, to be unkind, to not go to Mass on Sunday morning. But that’s not what’s going to get us to Heaven.

St Paul says, “…work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” (Phil. 2:12) Work. So I work at getting myself–however grudgingly–to confession, at least once a month. I go in, slide the door shut, and admit my frailties and my foibles and all the ways I manage to screw up my relationship with God and other people. Every time, I receive absolution, the low voice of my confessor washing over me, channeling God’s grace to me on the other side of the screen. No matter how much I hate standing in line and remembering my sins, I love the feeling I get when I come out. I’ve gotten the chance to start again: clean. God gives us unlimited second chances. We just have to take them.