The Old School Confessional

Feeling depressed and out of sorts lately, I thought it would be a good idea to go to confession. It's been a couple of months since my last personal reconciliation. For the most part, I've remained "good" with the exception of frustration on the roads! I've allowed my patience to wear thin and used the car horn a little too frequently. I'm driving too aggressively. To put it bluntly: I simply hate driving! I hate paying for gasoline and tolls. If I could afford a personal driver or a helicopter, I'd hire them in an instant. Forget my adolescent days when I used to love driving to the grocery store to pick up anything, even if it was for a box of sanitary napkins! Driving is a stressful necessity. The sprawling Dallas area makes public trans pretty much a no go unless one is fortunate enough to work Downtown. Unfortunately, I've allowed idiot drivers and transportation woes to make me irritable and cranky.

My regular Confessor is now at a new parish. This past Saturday I travelled quite a way to attend his church's reconciliation schedule. (More driving!!!) I was shocked the church still has the old school confessionals from the 1950s with the red light green lights! I'm used to the modern reconciliation rooms where I can sit face to face with the priest. I find this so much more comfortable than the cramped little confessional box with the screen. Being a Catholic convert and not at all aware of how the old school confessional box thing works, I spoke to a kind man in line who told me what to do. Two priests were available: my Confessor and then the visiting priest. I nervously prayed with my rosary in hand, "Dear Lord, please make sure Father's door opens so I get a chance to talk to him and not the visiting priest!" To this day, reconciliation is the most difficult thing for me to do as a devout Catholic. However, I'm much less nervous and queasy in the tummy when I can go to my regular priest. The line was long and moving very slowly. I noticed two people walked into separate doors on either side of the priest. I was told one person would be in confession while the other person was waiting for the booth screen to open up. (Wow, this takes me back to watching all of those movies with the old confessionals, and I was about to go into one for real life!)

To my relief, Father's confessional door opened up when it was my time to go in. (Divine providence at work!) I walked into the very small room and latched the lock. In a strange way, I felt like I was entering a port o potty when I engaged the lock. The confessional was brown, cold, and very narrow. I wonder how any heavy set person could comfortably fit in this room! I kneeled in front of the closed screen with a crucifix overhanging and the Act of Contrition taped on the kneeler railing. I could hear softly yet clearly the priest speaking with the other penitent! Thank goodness he was only giving her a penance. I would have died if I could hear her entire confession from start to finish. Obviously, no sound barrier in the walls within these rooms. No surprise considering the age. How strange it felt to tell Father who I was when the little screen opened. Most folks don't do this in the old school confessional thing, but I wanted that personal touch I was used to with my priest face to face. I kept the confession brief and concise. Good thing because I didn't like the idea of the person on the other side of the thin walls hearing all of my sins. Despite the uncomfortable arrangement of the confessional, I still felt so much relief after I received absolution. I would have liked to see my Confessor's warm smile but I'm sure he was smiling in his heart as much as I was in mine! I think it's rare these days to find a good Confessor who takes the time to provide real guidance instead of the standard Our Father and Hail Mary penance. I pray in thanksgiving that my Confessor is still within reasonable driving distance. I may not like driving but with God's grace and my own thoughtfulness toward others I can remain calm on the hectic roadways.

-J.