In keeping with the past few weeks and the theme of “perpetual conversion”, tonight I’m going to talk to you about the power of confession, and why it’s my favourite sacrament. Rest assured: I’m not here to judge. Like the Pauls who came before me, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the foremost.” (1 Tim 1:15) If you knew my rap sheet, you’d know I don’t have much to boast about. For this reason, I’ve long considered posting about my first confession—my longest rap sheet to date—but alas, I no longer have that bit of writing. It is fortunate, then, that God has given me ample opportunity to fuck up and repent since then.

I had one such occasion recently. Like my first confession, I wasn’t planning on going at the time: I was in a Church, saw the line, and thought I’d go. This particular sin had left me a complete wreck for some weeks beforehand, but truth be told, it had been eating away at me for the better part of a year. My sins were not such a long list this time, but they cut deep: it is perhaps the most shame and regret I’ve ever felt in my life. So, I stood in line and waited. Then, I waited some more. (This priest really took his time.) As I stood in line, I did my best to keep it together, but as I said, I was a complete wreck. Eventually, it was my turn, so I stepped into the confessional.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession. These are my sins: x, and y.” Now, it’s time for the big one: z. “I’m not sure what you would classify this as,” I said, “but it’s been really weighing on my conscience for a while now, so I’ll say it.” Here come the waterworks. I would have liked to burst out sobbing, but didn’t: I tried to keep my calm. I did that little face-twitching thing that people do when they’re holding back tears, and spoke to him as best as I could, saying at last, “That’s it.”

As the Priest began to speak, I was practically drowning in the tears of my own guilt and shame. He said (and I’m paraphrasing), “You’ve shown a lot of courage coming here for this. Sometimes when a sin comes up from the past, it’s the Devil trying to discourage us. He wants to stop us from bettering ourselves, and sink into despair. Other times, the Holy Spirit brings it to our attention so we can know God’s healing and be renewed by it. I think, in your case, it’s the second. This confession seems like a sign of renewal in your spiritual life. God bless you. You can make the act of contrition.”

Stumbling over the words in my repentant state, I did just that. Then, he made the prayer of absolution, like music to my ears:

“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, ♱ and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Go in peace.”

“Thanks be to God,” I replied. “Thank you, Father. God bless you.”

By this point, it was very difficult to hold it together, so I quickly ran out of the Church to the bathroom downstairs. Thankfully, no one was there. I fell quickly towards the floor, crouching, and with my hands covering my face, I began to sob. I still felt sadness, regret, and a desire to make right my wrongs. Don’t get me wrong: the Priest didn’t wave a magic wand or anything of the kind to fix things completely. Given the chance to make it right, I would. I still hold regret. But one thing that God took away was the hatred I had for myself because of it. So, crouched down and pouring my heart out, all I could bring myself to say was “thank you”. I was free: free to live with myself, to be sad about it, and to make it right, if I can. That is God’s mercy in action.

Confession has long been my favourite sacrament for this reason. Lots of times, it’s easy to get trapped into the routine of sacramental life. You go to Church, do what you’re supposed to do, and that’s that: nine times out of ten, your life is not going to experience some supernatural change, but that one time it does, you don’t forget it, especially when it’s confession. Lots of us have things we regret, which sometimes shake us right to our core. We can carry these regrets with us for a long time, ignoring it or worse: letting it cast us into despair, feeling as though we’re already torn apart by the flames of Hell. Confession, on the other hand, even if God has already forgiven us without us knowing, can set us free from this dreadful state of mind. It can give us the courage to persist when all hope feels pointless. It can and does renew us.

I know the Church has guidelines on what people need to confess, and sometimes when we go beyond this, priests will tell us that it’s superfluous. To tell the truth, I have no clue if what I said was mortal or even grave sin. I don’t think it was, but it certainly felt that way. So, find yourself a good confessor, and beyond what ought to be said, say what’s been weighing you down. Let even your most regrettable failures made in good faith be forgiven. The good Lord said, “Ask, and it will be given to you,” (Mt 7:7) so ask for that healing from God as well as the people you’ve offended.

During Lent, in the Eastern Catholic Churches, there is a period at the end of Divine Liturgy when people line up and say to one another, “If I have offended you, please pardon my offences,” and the people forgive each other. When I tried this, it was extremely powerful. There are people who weren’t present that I desperately want to say this to. Because reconciliation isn’t limited to the confessional: in the Our Father, we ask God to “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us”. It’s in this desire for forgiveness and our desires to be forgiven that we must live our lives.

In short, confession can be one of the most powerful and freeing experiences that you will have. It doesn’t promise you happiness. It doesn’t promise you that everything will be fixed overnight. But it is a very good start. Someone close to me told me that they hope I seek healing in God. I have done so, and I hope others do the same. In the hopes of this, I also hope that people can be inspired to right their wrongs as best as they can, that it ignites a fire in them that converts them into someone better than the person they were.