Experience of Confession
A fascinating response on Google+ (from Joseph Anthony) to the question I also posed here on Tumblr: What's the best advice you've ever heard in confession? Here's what he says...
Most stuck with me? Hmmm...that's a toughy.
Priests have been so wonderful to me in confession-- especially my confessions in the last 2 years have been filled with good advice. A few things that have really stuck with me:
"That is not a sin." (That one bugged me quite a bit, but it was one of the most thought provoking things said to me, alone with "Confession is for the sure", which I hated, but caused me to do my examen a lot better).
"Remember the poor. Always remember the poor." (exactly the right advice for the circumstances)
"So you did that...okay. No big deal. It isn't your sin that's the problem so much as that you don't know how to love. Yes. You love yourself a lot. You're very good at loving yourself. What you need to learn is how to love other people. Don't condemn yourself. Don't hate yourself. God forgives you too. Just remember, your problem is a lack of love."
"I'm not so much worried about what you've confessed as I am worried about your vocation. You need to figure that out."
"I've been where you are. I've heard it all. I've done it all. Don't loose heart. God's mercy is greater than all your sin. Keep hope, keep persevering."
"God wants faithfulness. It's good to do small things with great faithfulness. I want you to pray three Hail Marys, and to pray them every day, no matter how bad your spiritual state is, even if you think you're in mortal sin."
I always appreciate it when I've just confessed something that I expect the priest to focus on when he instead focuses on some of the things that I don't give much attention to. This happens more than one might think to me. I go in, make my confession in order of gravity of sins, and the priest picks out something I had thought really small, giving me an uplifting exhortation concerning it. The priest did that last Sunday based on the virtue of obedience. Then he touched on the things I thought were important, but just briefly.
More often than not, I go to confession with great condemnation and agitation of soul, and the priest gives me words of consolation and encouragement. I don't usually remember what they are. They're often on a mystery of faith: this past Sunday Father told me, "For your penance, pray prayers of gratitude for the mercy of God and for His presence with you. This is a joyful sacrament, so I want you to pray the joyful mysteries," or words to that effect. A few times a priest encouraged me by reminding of the passion of Christ, and followed it up with an exhortation to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet.
To be quite honest, some of the most moving confessions were the times when the priest didn't say anything. I remember one situation. Every Sunday, the line would have around 40 people in it. They had gotten confession down to a science at that parish, but they would still have to turn people away sometimes. I got into the habit of making a confession every week, partially because I had a friend who wanted to go to confession, and I didn't want my friend to feel embarrassed cause he was going every week, partially because I needed confession quite a few of those weeks. The priests who regularly heard confession at that time would say only a few sentences at most. I remember at least once going to confession, confessing sins I expected to be reprimanded for, and then hearing the priest give my penance. That was such a joyful experience for me, cause I went in, so convinced of the magnitude of my decisions, and discovered that they were so easy to absolve that the priest didn't even need to make special mention of them. That's always nice for me.
I guess my experience of confession has been overwhelmingly positive, and so much of it has stuck with me.
But what has most stuck with me is the feelings. I am humbled by how much mercy, love, acceptance, forgiveness, goodwill, positive belief, compassion, understanding, and charity I have experienced in the confessional. The words might pass right by me sometimes, but the mercy doesn't.