"FIRST COnfession ERROR"
an excerpt from book one
First Communion is a wonderful pageant of pomp and circumstance: the girls in their best pure-white dresses, complete with veils to show modesty; us boys in crisp white shirts, black pants, clip-on little bowties or regular ties.I have never seen my class-mates in this light before. Everyone looks pretty sharp. Mouldy Susan does not look mouldy; Patsy the Flea has no fleas; Mute looks like he is smiling; even Mean Dean looks quite dapper with his fists unclenched.
We march alphabetically down the main aisle of the massive Little Flower Church — girls in one column, boys right beside. Everyone is looking at us, the stars of the show.
When the As to Fs receive Communion and start to leave, it is now time for us Gs to Ns to kneel in our designated, rehearsed spots at the chancel, hands in prayer as we await.
“Don’t chew the Eucharist,” I keep repeating to myself—that’s a sin—just let it dissolve on the tongue naturally.
“Never ever touch it,” we are told.
“Touching the body of Christ with a finger will fill your mouth with blood, pouring out all of your blood, filling the entire church with blood and drowning all of your family and friends.”
I must not do this I tell myself. Mom would be so mad and sad if I do.
(The photo on the front cover of this book is taken soon after my First Communion ceremony. It is taken downstairs in the basement of Little Flower Church, with Sister Margaret holding me, my terrified eyes asking why my mom is giving me away.)
A short while after First Communion, our Catechism starts to prepare us for Confession, our third Catholic Sacrament (after Baptism and First Communion.) This is something that sounds exciting.
I am looking forward to finally going in one of Little Flower’s beautiful wood Confessionals. All I know of them is their outside, covered with intricate carvings. My sister tells me of their stuffy warmth when you close the door and are kneeling, waiting alone in the dark. You can hear murmurings but everything is thick-wood muffled. It is very peaceful, she says.
Suddenly, in the dark, you hear a panel slide open and the ritual of Confession begins. Yvette says it is a wonderful experience; therefore, it must be.
You start with: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. My last confession was [x] weeks ago. These are my sins.”
You then simply list your sins, starting with your mortal sins of murder, rape, incest, adultery, theft, and false witness, then continue on to your venial sins of swearing, telling white lies, not being nice to your mom.
The best part is, no matter what you confess, everything is erased for another week. All of your sins — poof! gone, totally forgiven. I bet the Protestants are kicking themselves for not inventing this.
In Catechism class, when we are all fully prepped and excited for First Confession, Sister Margaret drops an awful bombshell, something I never thought would happen: our next sacrament will not happen at the majestic Little Flower Church but right here in our school gymnasium.
“That makes no sense, Sister!” (I say that in my head, not out loud —a venial sin nonetheless.)
I plead with Mom at the dinner table that there must be some mistake: there are no beautiful wooden Confessionals at my school. Mom is my highest authority so it always unnerves me when she defers to the wisdom of the nuns and priests. I suppose they will simply transport those big Confessionals from the church here to St. Thomas School for this epic event.
All of us penitents are happily vibrating in our wooden chairs in the gym, waiting for our turn at this Life Event. We all have our confessional cards in our hands, ready to recite the moment we enter the Confessional. My card has already started to dissolve in my nervous sweat.
Darryl G next to me gets up and walks away. I am next. A few moments later, I stand up and walk to my destiny. I exit the gym, turn down the hallway, and am confused when a Sister points me towards the gym equipment room. I stop dead, not knowing where to go, certainly not into that room. I am firmly pointed again into the room and I obey.
I enter and see the Priest sitting on a chair, a prie-dieu (portable wooden kneeler) before him. To his left in this very narrow room are hula-hoops and floor hockey nets and climbing ropes; to his right, boxes of volleyballs and basketballs and softballs and the port-a-pit. I kneel on the prie-dieu and he hands me a new confessional card.
“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. This is my First Confession. These are my sins …”
I go blank; absolutely dumb. The Priest asks me to state my sins. Holy Christ, I don’t think I have any.
“David G, state your sins,” he demands in a pleasant but hurry-up-there-are-people-waiting sort of way.
In a sweaty panic, I blurt out: “I beat up a kid” and am given three Hail Marys and one Our Father.
I leave the room teary-eyed and terrified —not because it wasn’t the spiritual experience I thought it was going to be, but I committed a sin in my very first confession.
Lying to a Priest in a Confessional — it doesn’t get any worse than that.
We march alphabetically down the main aisle of the massive Little Flower Church — girls in one column, boys right beside. Everyone is looking at us, the stars of the show.
When the As to Fs receive Communion and start to leave, it is now time for us Gs to Ns to kneel in our designated, rehearsed spots at the chancel, hands in prayer as we await.
“Don’t chew the Eucharist,” I keep repeating to myself—that’s a sin—just let it dissolve on the tongue naturally.
“Never ever touch it,” we are told.
“Touching the body of Christ with a finger will fill your mouth with blood, pouring out all of your blood, filling the entire church with blood and drowning all of your family and friends.”
I must not do this I tell myself. Mom would be so mad and sad if I do.
(The photo on the front cover of this book is taken soon after my First Communion ceremony. It is taken downstairs in the basement of Little Flower Church, with Sister Margaret holding me, my terrified eyes asking why my mom is giving me away.)
A short while after First Communion, our Catechism starts to prepare us for Confession, our third Catholic Sacrament (after Baptism and First Communion.) This is something that sounds exciting.
I am looking forward to finally going in one of Little Flower’s beautiful wood Confessionals. All I know of them is their outside, covered with intricate carvings. My sister tells me of their stuffy warmth when you close the door and are kneeling, waiting alone in the dark. You can hear murmurings but everything is thick-wood muffled. It is very peaceful, she says.
Suddenly, in the dark, you hear a panel slide open and the ritual of Confession begins. Yvette says it is a wonderful experience; therefore, it must be.
You start with: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. My last confession was [x] weeks ago. These are my sins.”
You then simply list your sins, starting with your mortal sins of murder, rape, incest, adultery, theft, and false witness, then continue on to your venial sins of swearing, telling white lies, not being nice to your mom.
The best part is, no matter what you confess, everything is erased for another week. All of your sins — poof! gone, totally forgiven. I bet the Protestants are kicking themselves for not inventing this.
In Catechism class, when we are all fully prepped and excited for First Confession, Sister Margaret drops an awful bombshell, something I never thought would happen: our next sacrament will not happen at the majestic Little Flower Church but right here in our school gymnasium.
“That makes no sense, Sister!” (I say that in my head, not out loud —a venial sin nonetheless.)
I plead with Mom at the dinner table that there must be some mistake: there are no beautiful wooden Confessionals at my school. Mom is my highest authority so it always unnerves me when she defers to the wisdom of the nuns and priests. I suppose they will simply transport those big Confessionals from the church here to St. Thomas School for this epic event.
All of us penitents are happily vibrating in our wooden chairs in the gym, waiting for our turn at this Life Event. We all have our confessional cards in our hands, ready to recite the moment we enter the Confessional. My card has already started to dissolve in my nervous sweat.
Darryl G next to me gets up and walks away. I am next. A few moments later, I stand up and walk to my destiny. I exit the gym, turn down the hallway, and am confused when a Sister points me towards the gym equipment room. I stop dead, not knowing where to go, certainly not into that room. I am firmly pointed again into the room and I obey.
I enter and see the Priest sitting on a chair, a prie-dieu (portable wooden kneeler) before him. To his left in this very narrow room are hula-hoops and floor hockey nets and climbing ropes; to his right, boxes of volleyballs and basketballs and softballs and the port-a-pit. I kneel on the prie-dieu and he hands me a new confessional card.
“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. This is my First Confession. These are my sins …”
I go blank; absolutely dumb. The Priest asks me to state my sins. Holy Christ, I don’t think I have any.
“David G, state your sins,” he demands in a pleasant but hurry-up-there-are-people-waiting sort of way.
In a sweaty panic, I blurt out: “I beat up a kid” and am given three Hail Marys and one Our Father.
I leave the room teary-eyed and terrified —not because it wasn’t the spiritual experience I thought it was going to be, but I committed a sin in my very first confession.
Lying to a Priest in a Confessional — it doesn’t get any worse than that.
