March 10, 2015
Monday
When I was younger, I looked forward to confessions. Because when I was younger, guilt was real - like a heavy coat, itching to be taken off. I looked forward to the day of reconciliation when the priest would ask me to confess my sins, and I would read off my list of wrong-doings. And upon making the sign of the cross to end the process, I felt a literal sense of lightness and exhilaration as I was freed from my worst feelings of guilt. Of course I would embark upon making new mistakes almost immediately, but that sense of absolute, genuine bliss after a confession was a testament to my respect for this formal proceeding.
I'm not sure when confessions became a chore rather than a sacred practice in my mind. It started much before I stopped going to church altogether when I studied abroad in Senegal. And the not going continued for a year, until recently. I began going routinely again starting two months ago. This was in part because I missed the routine and reflection process of it all. And in part because my friends and I get brunch after the mass, and there are some very good brunch spots in Atlanta.
When the penitence mass came up this past Thursday, I even went with anticipation (no food incentive provided) - as one of ten attendees at the entire Emory mass gathering. And upon going there in hopes of reconnecting with a process I once held sacred, here is what happened my recent confession:
Father: Confess your sins
Me: Ok, so, I don't call my parents as often as I should, especially knowing how happy it makes them to hear from me.
F: Yes, yes that can be very difficult
Me: Right,
F: Particularly with long distance
Me: Yes, and being a college student, I always find an excuse or say I'm toob busy
F: Well, yes, but I think trying is a good start. Do you have the financial means to call your parents?
Me: Uhm... yeah, that's not really the issue
F: Well have you found a calling plan that works? A way you can reach them that's not too expensive? I know nowadays there are some good international plans.
Me: Huh? (*internal "OHHHHH") Father, my parents live in California.
F: OH!! Well, I thought they were overseas! OK, great, call them more often.
When I was younger, I looked forward to confessions. Because when I was younger, I didn't look at the priest thinking, "OH HELL NAW HE DID NOT JUST RACIALLY PROFILE ME AND THINK I WAS AN INTERNATIONAL STUDENT BY THE ASIANESS OF MY SKIN!" And the former bliss was replaced by a feeling of annoyance that even in the presence of somebody and some spirit that is supposedly all-forgiving, there was man-made judgement.
I understand that nothing will and should hold the status of absolute mystery and awe, as framed and processed by the context of my seven-year-old mind. But this experience was a bit of a mockery to a faith that I am desperately trying to reconnect to. I would like to think of priests (despite hearing scandals all the time) as people who are above man-conceived judgments and faults. But I guess with my age, should also come the understanding that religion is a man-made institution and thereby disposed to man-made faults. And perhaps that is why I find it so difficult to accept and follow religion.
DHR
Monday
When I was younger, I looked forward to confessions. Because when I was younger, guilt was real - like a heavy coat, itching to be taken off. I looked forward to the day of reconciliation when the priest would ask me to confess my sins, and I would read off my list of wrong-doings. And upon making the sign of the cross to end the process, I felt a literal sense of lightness and exhilaration as I was freed from my worst feelings of guilt. Of course I would embark upon making new mistakes almost immediately, but that sense of absolute, genuine bliss after a confession was a testament to my respect for this formal proceeding.
I'm not sure when confessions became a chore rather than a sacred practice in my mind. It started much before I stopped going to church altogether when I studied abroad in Senegal. And the not going continued for a year, until recently. I began going routinely again starting two months ago. This was in part because I missed the routine and reflection process of it all. And in part because my friends and I get brunch after the mass, and there are some very good brunch spots in Atlanta.
When the penitence mass came up this past Thursday, I even went with anticipation (no food incentive provided) - as one of ten attendees at the entire Emory mass gathering. And upon going there in hopes of reconnecting with a process I once held sacred, here is what happened my recent confession:
Father: Confess your sins
Me: Ok, so, I don't call my parents as often as I should, especially knowing how happy it makes them to hear from me.
F: Yes, yes that can be very difficult
Me: Right,
F: Particularly with long distance
Me: Yes, and being a college student, I always find an excuse or say I'm toob busy
F: Well, yes, but I think trying is a good start. Do you have the financial means to call your parents?
Me: Uhm... yeah, that's not really the issue
F: Well have you found a calling plan that works? A way you can reach them that's not too expensive? I know nowadays there are some good international plans.
Me: Huh? (*internal "OHHHHH") Father, my parents live in California.
F: OH!! Well, I thought they were overseas! OK, great, call them more often.
When I was younger, I looked forward to confessions. Because when I was younger, I didn't look at the priest thinking, "OH HELL NAW HE DID NOT JUST RACIALLY PROFILE ME AND THINK I WAS AN INTERNATIONAL STUDENT BY THE ASIANESS OF MY SKIN!" And the former bliss was replaced by a feeling of annoyance that even in the presence of somebody and some spirit that is supposedly all-forgiving, there was man-made judgement.
I understand that nothing will and should hold the status of absolute mystery and awe, as framed and processed by the context of my seven-year-old mind. But this experience was a bit of a mockery to a faith that I am desperately trying to reconnect to. I would like to think of priests (despite hearing scandals all the time) as people who are above man-conceived judgments and faults. But I guess with my age, should also come the understanding that religion is a man-made institution and thereby disposed to man-made faults. And perhaps that is why I find it so difficult to accept and follow religion.
DHR