Confession 4 (final)

“But, Father, I still have more.”

“I think that can wait until next time.”

“Next time? But what if I get run over by a car? I won’t be cleansed of all my sins and I might….” I lowered my voice to a whisper, “Go to h-e- double l.” Father clutched his Bible.

I noticed his knuckles seemed very white, “You are not going to die between now and next week, Tammy.”

“Oh, yeah?” I exclaimed, “That’s a relief!”

I got two “Our Father’s” and three “Hail Mary’s." I wonder how he figures that out. As I knelt down in the pew and bent down my head to make it look like I was praying, I thought this over. Does he just pick a number out of his head? Or did God tell him that's what I had to do in order to be free of sin? Because saying a few prayers hardly seemed like a lot. A person could do a lot of sinning and come in and get them all forgiven. What's the point?

Feeling a presence beside me, I peeked out through my fingers. Great! Sister was kneeling beside me. You would think there were plenty of other kids to harass than only me. I sighed in resignation.

Confession

“Father, how much sin is too much sin?”

I heard a sigh escape him, and I peered through my thick, ugly glasses at him. He shifted in his seat. A tall, thin younger man with jet-black hair and deep, dark eyes stared back at me. He cleared his voice.

“Tammy, this is a confession. It is not a time for questions.” He turned his eyes forward and clutched his hands together, preparing himself to hear my long list of indiscretions.

Not willing to let go just yet I squeaked, “Why not?”

A bigger, deeper breath gusts out from his pursed lips. “Why not what?”

“Why isn’t it the time for questions?”

Already exasperated he said with feigned patience, “Because, Tammy, we have others waiting in line. It would not be fair to them if we sat here and chit-chatted.”

Satisfied that I would understand this, he once again faced, or perhaps braced would be a better description, himself towards the altar. I had other things in mind. “But confessions are about sins. And I’m asking how much is too much?” I leaned forward in my pew so I could see his face better. He looked like he was praying. I waited, but he seemed quiet for an awfully long time. I wondered if he were okay.

“Father?” No answer. I poked his arm and said a little louder in a whining voice, “Faaaattthheeerr!”

Maybe that was too loud. My voice echoed all around me, bouncing off the large, stone cold walls. Muffled laughter came from the line of children in back of me. Sister gave them one of those “Be quiet or else” looks then turned to me with another familiar look, “Sit up straight and quit your whining.” Wow! She’s good! I sat straighter and slid back letting the wood shoulder of the pew touch mine.

Father looked startled but was quick with his decision. “Tammy, if I agree to come to your religion class one day this week, can we get on with your confession?” I thought about it, rubbing my fingers across my chin.

"Tomorrow?”

“Uh…well…I don’t know about tomorrow.”

I itched my nose and said, “Why? Do you have to think about it?” He picked up his Bible and sat it upon his lap, perhaps looking for inspiration.

“It may be tomorrow, but it may also be another day. I need to check Sister Ann’s schedule.” His voice was firm and taking on an impatient tone.

I shrugged, and then began. “Father, please forgive me for I have sinned. It’s been…um…” Oh no! I couldn’t remember how many days, but I didn’t dare say that. What should I do? I took a deep breath and did what any other kid would do who was backed into a corner…the ones that were smart anyway. I improvised.

“It’s been fifty days since my last confession.” I announced matter of factly. Father’s eyebrows shot upward. Glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes, he said, “Fifty?”

“Well, I don’t actually remember exactly, but fifty sounds good.” I saw a small grin try to come up on the corner of his lips, but he cleared his voice again and sat up straighter. I wondered if Sister Anne yelled at him for not sitting up straight too.

“Continue.” he said his voice sounding tired. I thought about how I should probably work my way up from the smaller to the bigger offenses so as not to put him to shock or anything.

(To Be Continued...)



*** Some names have been changed for privacy sake and to protect the innocent.

The Sacraments

Sacraments were Catholicism’s version of initiations. First, you were baptized as a baby because, if you weren’t, you had to go to purgatory, a kind of holding tank for all the Souls who didn’t meet the requirements at the golden gate into heaven which was, of course, guarded by Saint Peter. (Well, that is purely subjective because no one actually knew for sure, but that’s how all the jokes go.)

Some may wonder, if you aren’t familiar with this religion and even if you were, why a pure infant would not automatically pass into heaven? Good point. It was one I made several times to no avail. The answer I received, and the only one I can give you in their defense was an age-old culprit called “original sin.”

Baptism, according to these teachings, washed away this kind of sin, the rest was on you. To get rid of that sin, you had to make the Sacrament of Confession, also known as the Sacrament of Penance. Apparently, second grade was when you were no longer allowed to sin in ignorance. Now you would be held accountable unless you went and confessed these sins to a mediator, a priest who would listen to your stumbling blocks on your path to God and then absolve or forgive you for your sins.

As a punishment for these mishaps, you would have to say these prayers that he gave you immediately afterwards. I wonder what happened if you didn’t say those prayers. Did they take back the forgiveness they just gave you or what?

Hand in hand with the Sacrament of Penance was the Sacrament of Holy Communion. This is where you dressed up in fancy white dresses and veils, at least the girls did. The boys would look too silly in that get up so they wore white suits, at least they did then. Whoever thought of the idea of putting kids in white clothes must’ve never had any children, but that’s just my opinion. I digress.

Holy Communion was where you finally were allowed to stand in long lines to receive the body and blood of Christ. Who knew that was going to be a big hit? Surely, it wasn’t me. I’m still trying to figure out how they turned Christ’s body into those small, cardboard tasting wafers. And why is drinking blood bad for vampires but not for the rest of the church going world? These questions weren’t well taken by my teachers so I will have to get back to you on that.

About fifth grade, you were considered old enough to renew your baptismal vows, and this is known as the Sacrament of Confirmation. Confirming your vows, confirmation, get it? It took me a while to figure out that one too. All I knew then is that you got a longer name for your parents to scream out to let you know just how mad they were.

For instance, I picked Theresa after my aunt and Mother Theresa was my idol in those days. So, when I was in trouble, Tammy Marie Stone was okay. But if I were in really big trouble Tammy Marie Theresa Stone vibrated throughout the neighborhood. I’m sure that wasn’t its intended purpose, but you couldn’t tell our moms and dads that.

There are some other sacraments, but these are mostly the ones I will refer to along our journey together. These were the ones I had direct experience with so I couldn’t really tell you too much about the others.

Introduction

Grown-ups! I don’t get them. They do the strangest things, and they don’t like to answer questions either. They either dodge your questions altogether, or they answer them without really answering them. Catholic schoolteachers and priests weren’t any different in my experience.

The Sacrament of Penance or Confession was another thing that never made much sense to me. Actually, not too much of the Catholic religion did. (This, of course, is my own personal feelings; and not meant to be a put-down on Catholicism. Each path has its place. It just didn’t happen to be mine.)

I struggled with this quite a bit growing up. A voice always whispered, “This isn’t right. It isn’t like that at all.” I’m still not exactly sure who the Voice was, but it got me into lots of mischief. Some may say this voice was my conscience, a departed loved one, or maybe even a guardian angel. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter who it was as much as what it was saying to me, and the experiences that resulted from the deep questions that flooded my mind and my heart on any given day.

I would like to share those experiences with you. Some you may relate to, and maybe some you won’t. Perhaps, you came away with treasures from your own childhood religion, and this is not meant to make light of them in any way. This is simply one little girl’s views and opinions of life, religion, and love.

Readers beware: Must have a sense of humor!