As Easter approaches, and with it the Catholic’s Easter duty, I think of the sacrament of confession.

 

I remember a summer day when I was 10. I spent what felt like hours riding bikes and climbing trees with kids from the neighborhood. I was an idyllic childhood moment, until I pedaled home and saw my sister waiting for me in the driveway.

 

“We’re going to confession in 10 minutes,” she said, and I burst into tears.

 

What could have seen so horrible about confession for a 10-year-old? I may have crank-called a teacher during a slumber party, or said a bad word to myself, but it wasn’t a terrible word. Somehow, with only seven or eight confessions behind me, I had developed a sense of dread.

 

I have since attempted to psychoanalyzed my fifth-grade self. I know I feared hell, and the process of confessing forced me to confront that fear. Or, perhaps it wasn’t so deep. Who wouldn’t cry about having to announce the things that most ashamed her to a man who intimidated her?

 

As I matured, confession still made me nervous, but I also came to see it as a source of great freedom. I walked away from confessions feeling strong, loved, courageous and genuinely forgiven.

 

In that spirit, I have decided to begin a Confession Hall of Fame, a celebration of priests who took away my fear of confession and helped me see it for what it was meant to be. Feel free to contribute your own confession memories.

 

The “Forgive You” Priest

Not too long ago I felt really rotten about something I had done. I went to talk to a priest about it, and true to my 10-year-old self, I cried. These were grown-up tears of guilt. The priest heard me out and then said, “God has forgiven you. What he needs now is for you to forgive you.”

 

The “Pay Attention to the Last Line” Priest

When I was much younger, I felt so guilty about something that I decided to confess it twice. I told the priest it had happened a long time ago, and that I’d already confessed it, but that maybe I hadn’t been as detailed in the first confession as I should have been.

 

From the opposite side of the screen, I could hear him scratching his head and sighing. He asked me to pay close attention to a particular line in his absolution. “You are forgiven ALL of your sins,” he said. That was my last confession rerun.

 

The “Me Too” Priest

If I had to pick an absolute favorite confession moment, it would be when I told a priest one of my sins, and he said, “Me too.” That rocked.