The Joys of Confession

(My peeps, I am here to trumpet the virtues of a much-maligned sacrament. Bear with me while I make sweeping generalizations about the human race with little to no apparent scientific backing. Also, my theology is not the most profound.)

Society at large is fond of dissing confession. It tells us that reciting one's personal failings to a man in a dark little room is weird and twisted (then promptly heads off to its therapist's couch). Not so, gentle readers, not so. The human being is wired for guilt when wrong has been done -- it is not the sole province of Catholics. So, after accumulating guilt-burdens in assorted sizes, humans feel the intense need to tell all, whether that be through memoir, drunken family-reunion tirade, or psychologist's probing. Fortunately, we Catholics have a simpler (and cheaper) way out: confession.

It's a basic formula, really. Humans, as the fallen, flawed creatures that we are, screw up. This should not surprise us, sad as it is. We fall, we feel guilty, and, on a purely minimal level, we try to make the guilty feeling go away. Except with confession, it's not just the relief of letting the cat out of the bag, it's also actual, honest-to-goodness forgiveness from someone (i.e. God) who has the power to forgive you. Sure, there are still consequences and penances to be dealt with, but that's as it should be. Warm fuzzy feelings don't fix broken windows.

(No, duh, disclaimer: of course you should regret your wrongdoing because it is a sin against God as well as against your fellow-humans, and if we were all saints, we would all have perfect contrition every time we went to confession [or for that matter, if we were all saints we wouldn't need to go to confession because we wouldn't be sinning. But I digress]. But we're not, and I'd just like to point out the fact that, given that oddly persistent reality that Man is body AND soul, confession works wonders not merely moral [although that in itself is reason enough to go], but mental. This is just the way being human works, people.)

How does this relate to little ol' me and the college life? Because, like I said, confession isn't exactly the most popular sacrament. First Communion cakes, dresses and parties? Check. First Confession cakes, dresses and parties? ::crickets:: Confession naturally precedes Holy Communion. It's like washing your hands before dinner -- elementary and essential. But, because we are human and easily lose track of what is important and what is not, confession quickly falls by the wayside. It can be icky and awkward, although less so than you think. Come on. He's a priest. How many times do you think he's heard the same litany of sins over and over again? Unless you're an exceptionally wicked person, nothing you say will shock or scandalize him. Still squeamish about spilling your less-than-stellar beans? Go read the life of St. John Nepomucene.

Minimal wince factor aside, confession is incredibly liberating. Picture this: you've just made an honest, humble confession, said your penance, and, as you're walking out of church, you get squished by a falling piano. (This could totally happen) What now? Well, unless you committed a sin between penance-saying and piano-squishing, you go to heaven, and, even if no wayward instrument snuffs out your life, you're still on good terms with God and full of grace. This is an incredibly good place to be, and all for the time investment of roughly fifteen minutes. Eternal life for fifteen minutes? I think it's worth it.