storyshell

“Forgive me father, for you have sinned.”

“What?” came the muffled voice from the other side of the screen.

“I mean, you have sinned, haven’t you? I’m not saying that I haven’t, but in a confessional, why does it have to be so one-sided? Why can’t we both just spend a little time finding out that here in this quiet booth, we both are shielded from our fears and our little personality conflicts and compensations and that we are really just trying to get through, but, in the process, we sin. We sin like hell. Forgive me for saying that, but we do.”

“Young lady,” came the voice again, after a short pause and something like the sound of skin being scratched, harmonized by a strained inhalation. “Have you been to a confessional before? Are you aware of protocol? Or, is this just a manner of defiance? Before the Lord, defiance is a folly, because he knows your motives before you do. It seems like you are trying to cast the fetters from yourself, set yourself free, but you do it as the voice of a scoffer. I suggest that whatever point you need to make with the Lord has already been heard. So, all that’s left is myself and you. If you’re trying to make a point with me, I’m sorry, I don’t debate the Lord, I only speak His word. If you are trying to make a point to yourself, then make sure that you only include yourself in the lesson.”

“Well,” I said. I noticed that my palms were still pressed together in the prayer position. I put my nose to my fingers. “Well, I just, I mean, I want to praise God and everything, I don’t have an agenda, but, can’t we both just talk? How can I understand that sin is natural unless the very person who claims to understand sin can’t come to tell me how he came to understand. And, don’t you have to live something to understand it?”

There was another pause.

“Ten Hail Marys and Ten Lord’s prayers,” said the priest, steady in an impatient kind of way. “And, write a song.”