Rite of Reconciliation

During adolescence, Mass was little more than a fancy church service with a bunch of additional whatnots added in for flare. And, confusion. Those whatnots had never been given much thought. Obviously. By accident (or, Divine intervention), I have begun to learn what this, that, and the other are all about. Coincidently, as answers reveal themselves, the more questions I seem to stumble upon. Gladly so. This, amongst a bevy of other considerations, has brought me back into the arms of the Church.

If somebody would have predicted I would say this two years ago, I would have thought them silly.

Strange and unconventional as my path has been, I have always held a special place in my heart for the Eucharist. There is something mystically profound when receiving the Sacrament of Christ. For those who are Catholic, you are undoubtedly saying to yourself, "duh!"

Perhaps my journey is not all that peculiar and uncommon. Jesus did not shower his message and compassion upon the rich, but instead on the poor and oppressed (Mark 5:1-12; Luke 4:18, 6:20-26 NLT). Factoring in that I hit bottom, albeit lower than most, his message is for those of us who have encountered struggles in life. Reflecting, I am aware of many instances where I ignored , that little inner voice which encouraged me to take the more difficult path. Those alternative roads, now that I look at them without bias, were likely the hand of God trying to guide me. I say "probably" because I am reluctant to make that confirmation. Such is what I would like to believe, but at this point in my
journey I am unable to definitively identify "the voice of God."

It was towards the end of 2010 when I began attending Mass. (Notice the verbs "celebrate" or "participate" have not been utilized when characterizing my presence at Mass.) First impressions of the Liturgy were the same: a bunch of sitting, kneeling, standing, and saying prayers in unison. Yuck...boo...put me to sleep! Yawn, yawn, yawn, and a snore thrown in for good measure. Yeah, I too am amazed that a bolt of lightening has not struck me for those apostate sentiments. However, after some significant time spent pouring through books and asking questions, the purpose of these cantankerous rituals began to reveal themselves. Whoa, something else became apparent, as well -- I had been oblivious to the meaning and objective of all the prayers, readings, and whatnots. I suppose this is what happens when one (me) merely elects to go with the
flow and does not learn about where they (me, once again) are going. I wonder how many others have been similarly apathetic about their spiritual journey? Anyway, back to the matter at hand. To my surprise, such customs bring tremendous focus and illumination to one's faith. Another unforeseen aspect is centered on the fact that much of the Liturgy is directly from Scripture. Guess I never cared, until now.

The chapel where I currently attend Mass does not possess the opulent embellishments which Catholics are typically accustomed to. Quite the opposite. We use a multipurpose room with chairs, in lieu of pews, and fold-up tables for the altar and ambo (podium). This bare bones space scarcely seats twenty congregants squished side by side. Nonetheless, what occupies this tiny room is magnificent. Perhaps it is because I possess a better understanding and reverence for the Liturgy...that is mighty presumptuous on my behalf. Or, maybe it is because I am open to the mystery...once more, I am thinking highly of myself. Then again, it could simply be that I am hungry for more than what the secular life has to offer .... I don't really know, nor care...I am enjoying the walk as it unfolds before me, around me, and in me.

As of this moment, I will not take part in the Eucharist. Oh, I desperately want to accept Communion, so much so that I well up with emotion every time the Host is shared. Week after week I kneel and pray, the core of my being tugging at me to walk up to the priest or deacon and accept Jesus in my hands. But, I refrain from doing so. Why? You’re not alone in your wondering. This is a holding back on my part which has bewildered my spiritual community. Priest and deacon, too. As this is a monumental step in my spiritual walk, I am not willing to be listless or passive in regards to my approach. For the first time I am walking with eyes wide open. Heart, too. It is necessary for me to have all my ducks in a row before I cross the threshold. One issue in particular concerns itself with the rite of individual reconciliation. Confession.

I had confessed a couple of times during my youth, but possessed no real understanding for the process. Each time I had walked away feeling incomplete. Quite frankly, I did not know what I was doing. Yes, I was cognizant that sins were shared and forgiveness sought, but I never gave the rite of reconciliation much consideration. My confessions were always spur of the moment mutterings of convenience because the priest approached me. On the spot I would utter the first things which came to mind; of course, avoiding any embarrassing tidbits. I had never approached the confessor (priest) of my own volition; thus, I had not analyzed my misdoings. Had I taken the initiative to learn
about the penitent's (me) responsibilities, I would have, if sincere, found it hypocritical to ask God for forgiveness when I had yet to forgive myself. Without doubt I was/am sorry for my sins; hugely so, but forgiving myself was near impossible -- it's a continual work in progress, some days are better than others.

It is incumbent to celebrate the sacraments of conversion and renewal before embracing the Eucharist. This has required a lot of study and a ton of reflection. The more I explored the rite of individual reconciliation, the more excited I became. Nervous, too. Whew, was I ever apprehensive. I knew that I wanted...needed to take this step, but it was necessary to celebrate, not simply go through a series of mechanical rituals. I talked to other Catholics and the deacon about what to expect, what could I take with me, and so forth. Everyday became one more obvious step forward on this journey.

As it so happened, I made my perfect contrition a week early. Two weeks before Lent. It was tentatively planned (silly me, life never goes as we envision) to occur a week later in order to provide a little extra time to prepare. However, when I awoke that morning there was a sense of: do it today. My heart felt as if it was going to burst. My hands were sweaty and capable of little more than opening a door. And, I lost more hair! Sitting. Waiting. Head bowed. Fumbling with the rosary which my mother gifted me some years ago (up until recently it had been little more than a very special and dear memento). As I finished the third decade (a series of beads) of the joyful mysteries, the deacon entered the chapel and shook my hand. Really, come on, I was in the middle of prayer! A few moments later, a lay volunteer did the same! What was this...is there no sanctity? Geesh. Neither knew I was going to confess, but their actions, motivated by whatever reasons, reinforced the timing of what I was moments away from committing myself to. I should probably thank them, but do not want to discourage their pleasant interruptions in the future.

My time had arrived, the clock struck some magic number in my soul and the cuckoo bird popped out to sing its song. I was now face to face with my confessor (apparently, the long-practiced formality of hiding in the confessionary booth is now discouraged). Once I overcame my initial anxiety, the outpouring was surreal and uplifting. The confessor was very patient and understanding. That is, until we ran out of time. Not that I
had a bunch to confess, but I had a great deal to say by happenstance. Thus, my confessor rushed the conclusion and/or cut a few customs short.

The experience was very emotional. In many respects I felt...um, different. In a good way. Which I suppose is the intent. Yet, I was a tad frazzled that we were rushed. Considerable effort was exercised in writing my own act of contrition (an apology to God). Sure, I could have used the canned standby, but parts of it did not fit my walk. So, I fashioned my own. The fact that an opportunity was not given to profess this act of contrition ate away at me. The next day I was in knots over this omission. Then again, perhaps such was not necessary because the tears leaking down my cheeks revealed the sincerity of my sorrow. Not only that, but God knew the effort I placed into forming my own apology, that I was not settling for a generic delivery of words. At least this is how I was/am consoling myself. Irrespective of one's beliefs, we have all heard the indelicate
remarks: "When a Catholic sins, nothing more is required than a mindless confession, simple absolution from a priest, and the penance of a few traditional prayers in succession. Ah, then the reconciled Catholic can return to whatever it is they were doing
with a clear conscience. If the penitent commits another sin...no big deal, cunningly confess and rattle off another Hail Mary." Such is typically followed by a couple of chuckles.

I never really knew what to think about those comments; heck, I did not know any better myself. But, I suspected there was always more to it than that. And, there is. Much more.

On paper, my penance could easily be misconstrued as a walk through a meadow. Nothing could be further from the truth. When taking a close, deep approach to it, being mindful to openly embrace its intent, the penance allotted has been tailored and spiritually provoking. In itself, the penance in no way reduces my sadness and grief. Moreover, such does not diminish the seriousness of my tragic choices, nor do I want it to. But the penance does offer something else: the more this sacrament is pondered, the more discouragement one will encounter when confronted with that particular sin again, or any others, for that matter.

Much to my confessor's annoyance, I still will not partake in the Eucharist. Lent is a time for penance and rumination. I want to spend this time doing just that, digesting every morsel my confessor bestowed upon me. At the same time, I need to strengthen my foundation...I want to celebrate and participate in g the Eucharist, not merely be present.