First Confession Part 2

     When I left off in part 1 of my First Confession story, I was struggling over my list of seven years' worth of sins that I had committed – wondering if I needed to report an exact number for each sin, and finally hoping that God would be okay with a sincere estimate. I decided to say I had disobeyed my parents 7 times – an average of once per each year of my life, and I bore false witness perhaps 7 times – again an average of once per year, and I said the name of the Lord in vain 1 time based on the story my dad had told about me cussing when trying to light a match at the beach when I was two - no need to second guess that one as I could not recall ever having said the Lord's name in vain.

     The day for our first confession arrived. We met in our classroom, and the nun told us to get in a line, and she marched us down to the church. The confessionals were in the back of the church – all the pews faced the front. There was no one else in attendance. We sat in the pews in the back, but we were facing away from the confessionals, and there was a wall or a half of a wall between us and the little closet-like rooms for confessing.

     The nun made a signal, and the first student stood up in the furthest back pew. And I could hear footsteps on the tile as the seven-year-old walked to the confessional. A door opened and then closed. Then silence. After just a minute or less, the door opened and closed again. There were three footsteps and then....nothing! Where had the classmate gone? Not back to the pews. Not out the main door of the church – there would have been more steps to get all the way to the door! Why were there just three footsteps and then nothing?!!!

     The nun signaled for the next person to stand up. I heard footsteps to the confessional, the door opened and closed; after a minute or less, the door opened and closed again, and three footsteps and nothing! Again!

     I was terrified enough as it was – and now all I could imagine was that there was a portal to hell three footsteps away from the confessional – and each child was being pushed in for being so evil! What else could it have been?

     One by one each classmate got up and went to confession. I was in the last pew of children. The longer I sat there, the more I shook with fear. When there were only about six of us left to make our first confession, the nun suddenly appeared in front of us – her hands were on her hips. And she was mad!

     The nun said, “Father has just informed me that he does not want to hear another child say that he or she has committed murder!”

     My mouth dropped open! Then the nun signaled for the next kid to approach the confessional.

     Oh my gosh! My classmates were making up sins! They were lying in confession! How could I have been taking this whole thing so seriously while the other kids were fabricating confessions? Well, now I know it is because they were just trying to please the big people – somehow the adults wanted us to say something – so the other kids decided to confess to murder. And again, as in my specific gripes in Part 1 of my First Confession story, I blame the big people for this.

     The revelation of classmates making up their sins did not ease my own terror, of course. I shook as my own footsteps approached the confessional. I looked for the portal to hell, but it was well hidden. My voice cracked as I spoke my sins. The priest was neither fire and brimstone nor sympathetic – he sounded a tad bored, perhaps doubtful of my honesty.              Rather than feeling purified, I felt petty and small.

     When I left the confessional, the nun pointed, and I walked in the direction of her finger – three footsteps, which could be heard on the hard floor, and then there was a carpet all the way to the main door of the church.

    And my ride was waiting outside.

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