My parents were Catholics and Catholic parents, according to the Cannon Law,  are expected to raise their children as Catholics. Therefore, each of my six siblings and I were baptized as infants, then made our first confession, and first communion before the age of ten. Later on during our adolescent years, we were confirmed, making us members of the Catholic Church.

 Who Knew?

My first confession, though, was a most sobering and confusing experience. Catechism classes, the instruction in the precepts of the Catholic Church, were supposed to prepare me for this big event, but I was not prepared for what I experienced. 

Then, the day of first confession dawned and I was frightened. We walked across the street from the school to the church entering in two orderly lines. I watched and waited quietly as each of my classmates went in and out of the confessional without dropping dead; which was my biggest unspoken fear. 

When it was my turn, I knelt down inside the dark confessional booth and hearing the wooden panel on my side of the confessional slide open, I knew it was my cue. From the memorized script that Sister Mary had drilled into our heads I said my lines; “Bless me Father, for I have sinned, this is my first confession and these are my sins.” Then, my head went blank. What were my sins?

Though we’d learned the ten commandments, we hadn’t rehearsed personal sins. Consequently, while the priest waited expectantly, I went over the list of the few commands I could remember. I was too young for adultery and I’d never murdered anyone. Then, with relief, I remembered that telling a lie was one of the “thou shalt nots” and though I could not remember specifically lying to anyone, I confessed that I’d lied to my mother. I felt awful about lying to the priest, but I couldn’t very well confess that I was lying to him at that very moment.

 I left the confessional, knelt and said my prayers of penance, but I did not feel any relief or release from the guilt and shame that accompanied my little, unintentional and venial sin.   

My first confession taught me about the problem of sin, but not the remedy. Resolution from sin or to put it another way, unbelief in God who created and sustains life, does not come as a result of doing the right penance. Instead, the remedy for sin comes when we believe that Christ’s death on the cross takes care of my sin and reconciles me to God. 

Why bother noticing when we do wrong? Back in second grade, I knew that lying was wrong and now I know what makes me right; believing Jesus’ death on the cross makes, not my piddly penance.