I confess – I really dislike confession!

I like making long-distance drives. I find them relaxing. The road allows me to forget the daily stresses, leaving my mind free to explore more important things such as faith, family, and how much longer before the New York Yankees win another American League pennant. And every once in a while, a good idea or two may bubble to the top.

There was no room for bubbling ideas, the Yankees, or much of anything else during a drive from Syracuse to Buffalo in October 2001. My wife and daughter were on a last-minute flight from Florida so they could say goodbye to my father. I was hoping and praying he would hang on long enough for them to see him one last time. It was not to be.

I got the call about an hour into the trip. My mom was stoic. I told her how sorry I was, and that I would get home as soon as possible. I remember being a bit surprised at how well I took the news, almost like a business transaction, already thinking about funeral plans that needed to be made. 

A few minutes later, just outside of Rochester, I took a deep breath and called the rectory at St. Joseph’s in Jacksonville, my home parish. It was Saturday, and I wanted to get my dad on the prayer list for the weekend Masses. 

Knowing the office would be closed, I planned to leave a message at the beep. But when I opened my mouth to actually say that my father had died, no words came out. After about two seconds of silence, the only sounds I could manage were sobs.  

I can’t say I was surprised. The tears only confirmed what I already knew. A concept doesn’t become reality until you actually say it. Saying things makes them real. Trying to give voice to my father’s death acknowledged that he was really gone. 

Yes, this is where I finally transition to confession. This whole long set-up was, in part, a delaying tactic to avoid this unpleasant topic. You see, I don’t like going to confession. I don’t even like thinking about going to confession. It forces me to acknowledge that, no matter how hard I try, my human nature prevents me from being the person I want to be. 

Pope John Paul II’s absolution of Ali Mahmet Agca, the man
who tried to kill him, remains a profound example of God’s
grace and forgiveness.

Yes, I know it’s been called the sacrament of reconciliation for decades now, to emphasize the renewed relationship with God. But the process still starts with having to admit failure, and no one likes to do that. It may be a lot easier to confess our sins straight to God in silent prayer, but that deprives us from comprehending the full force and context of our failures. By actually confessing our sins to a priest, saying the words to God’s surrogate, we can fully comprehend the scope and impact of our transgressions and be forgiven. And absolution opens the door to the fullness of God’s grace.

I've recently started going to confession... uh, reconciliation... more often than my usual once or twice a year. Actually, it’s been a pretty positive experience. The sacrament of reconciliation leaves behind a feeling or newness – much like the first day of spring, when the air smells just a bit fresher and the birds sound just a bit brighter. It also renews our strength to fight our own particular weaknesses that are products of our human nature – also known as “original sin.”

I still don’t “like” going to confession, but I’m now able to view it a bit differently. In the “two-steps-forward, one-step-back” progression of my faith journey, the reconciliation component of going to confession makes it easier to take those two steps forward, and keeps those backwards steps a little bit smaller. I’ll probably never get as far as God wants, but confession... uh, reconciliation... gives me the grace to keep me going in the right direction.