A Real "Present"
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In many of our modern “faith communities,” there’s one interesting—and disturbing—omission that’s pretty much consistent across the board: the absence of talk about sin.
Think about it. When was the last time you heard a good old-fashioned homily about sin, what it is, how bad it is, and the need for conversion...every single day?
What you tend to hear in church now is more along the lines of “I’m OK, you’re OK” rather than “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.” Sure, we may say those things at the beginning of Mass. We may even say, “Lord, have mercy,” and mean it. But there’s also a reason people “forget” to go to Confession until they’re faced with what we used to call the “Easter duty,” and they crowd the confessional lines around corners and out the church door.
That “last-minute rush” can be traced directly to the abhorrence of sin in our churches—not the abhorrence of practice but abhorrence of mention. And that’s sad. But worse than sad, it’s also, in itself, sin. And it doesn’t have to be that way.
How to fix this? It’s quite simple, actually. Not easy. But simple.
The payoff?
Out of this world. Not to make a bad pun.
I’ve nicknamed this method of Confession “When in doubt, bring it out.” As in, if you’ve got anything lurking in the back recesses of your conscience that you’re nor sure about...that you hedged about...that you told yourself wasn’t “that bad,” even if it happened decades ago...or that you’re not sure you ever confessed...bring it to Confession.
I came upon this method when, a couple of years ago, I found myself remembering ways and times in which I hadn’t loved my late husband the way he deserved to be loved. Times I had failed to stand by him the way I should have. Times I’d been overly critical of him, and/or joined with others in gossiping about his failings and/or my frustrations. And then, one day, quite suddenly, he was gone—and there was no way to make amends to him on this earth for any of it.
Let me tell you...there’s no guilt quite so painful as guilt that can’t be expiated with the person you’ve wronged, because they’re now on the other side of eternity. But through that heartbreak and remorse, I was brought to an unexpected grace: realizing that I could expiate that guilt, by bringing it to the One who forgives it on an eternal level.
Only there was a problem with that—because I’d tried to do it before. Been in confessions where the priest would hear “old sins” and tell me, “Now, don’t be worrying yourself about things that are in the past. God’s already forgiven those in previous confessions, even if you forgot to mention them.” Unfortunately, though, hearing that didn’t make me feel already forgiven and free. It tended, instead, to make me feel lacking in faith in God’s mercy.
So, I decided to shove that “scrupulosity” into the past, where it “belonged.” And not to consider it again. The priest knew these things, right? He was speaking in persona Christi, right? So I was “OK” already...right?
Problem was, I still didn’t feel okay. Those things still nagged at my heart. Made me feel uneasy. And I wanted—needed—to get rid of them. Not necessarily because I didn’t trust God to forgive, but because I didn’t trust myself to have been completely transparent in previous confessions...out of shame, embarrassment, or that feeling we all get that Oh, no, I can’t tell the priest that!
(Like we’re giving God a news flash He doesn’t already know? 
)
Then, I began attending a more “traditional” parish, and the question arose again in my mind. From what I had heard from the pulpit at this place, I sensed the confessor would give me a different answer about these old, “buried” sins that I was still worrying over. So, one fine day in the confessional, I asked him which way to go.
His answer? “If you’re not sure you confessed it, or if it still troubles you, it will never hurt to bring it to confession now.”
And that simple “permission” changed my life.
Now, I go to Confession way more often than I used to. (Three weeks go by, I get “twitchy”!)
Because things float to the surface gradually. But once they’re there, I know I need to go confess them as soon as possible. And this, in turn, has caused me not only to become both more sensitive to the true nature of sin...but less likely to commit the same sins over and over again.
Yes. Sanctifying grace and actual grace, poured out frequently over you, actually have that effect—one we’ve forgotten in our well-intentioned affirmation of each other as always “OK.”
Like I said...the payoff is out of this world.
So, think about that this Lent. About doing a good, thorough spring cleaning of the trash hiding in the corners of your conscience-attic. No, you don’t have to do it all at once; in fact, you won’t be able to. But don’t let that be an obstacle to getting started, either. If you’re at all like me, I’m sure you can think of several things, right off the top of your head, that still trouble you...deep inside. That you may not be sure you’re forgiven for. Or that maybe you even intentionally glossed over or lied about...because of fear.
But the perfect love of Christ, coming through the sacrament, will cast out that fear. And, bit by bit, the Holy Spirit—when given the “green light”—will both bring to mind what you need to say and give you the courage to say it, even if you think you can’t.
When in doubt, bring it out. Let light shine on all those musty places, and redeem them.
You’ll be amazed what a difference it will make in you by Easter Sunday.
Janet W. Butler is a writer, editor, and editorial consultant by day and a “small soprano” by night. She is the author of “the best two little books almost no one ever heard of”—sweet romances, both published with small presses, and both orphaned—as well as several more manuscripts presently being shopped. In response to requests from “mentees,” she’s also produced an e-book version of the popular workshop series 12 Weeks to Your First (or Next) Novel, available through Kindle Direct.
A cradle Catholic who briefly “jumped the Tiber,” she spent time on the evangelical side of the fence before “reverting” to the Church again—because she was “dying of malnutrition” without the Eucharist. She’s a member of St. Peter Church in Volo, Illinois, where she serves as a member of the St. Anne Sodality board, and even was a guest on a podcast episode in October of 2020.
She is a Chicago area native, now back home once more after a stint in northeast Indiana (where she was an editor for Our Sunday Visitor Books), and lives near one of the Chain o’ Lakes with Maisie, Fur Diva and Office Cat Extraordinaire. When she’s not writing, she’s baking the annual Christmas Cookie Extravaganza, sampling new wines, or spending quality time at the piano trying to unravel the mysteries of Beethoven, Brahms, Chopin, Debussy, Elgar, Mendelssohn, Rachmaninoff, and Schubert. She’s also a member of various choral organizations in the Chicago area, in which occasionally she hits notes only dogs can hear.
