Dec 21, 2010
Yesterday I headed down to Franciscan Monastery in Washington, D.C., for a pre-Christmas shrivening. Nothing lightens the heart and the mood like sacramental confession.
Confession is confession and grace is grace, but some priests unquestionably have a gift for it. Last afternoon my "favorite" Franciscan was in the box. Call no man happy before he dies, but he has the marks of holiness: joy and utter simplicity.
No matter how down you are about what you tell him, no matter how "stuck" in the same stubborn fault, he manages to do three things: take your sin seriously; lighten your heart by reminding you that grace is stronger and helping you laugh at yourself (everyone comes out of his box laughing, and you can hear them laughing while they're in, too, though of course you can't hear what's being said); and make you feel that he accompanies you in your struggles.
He's modest, too. When I tried to thank him for helping me through a rough year, he wouldn't take the praise. "Thank the Almighty," he said in an aw-shucks tone, "…and pray for the priest."