The Doors We Lock

As a child, and even for a while as a teenager, I experienced an enormous amount of anxiety whenever I went to confession. For so many years I feared it. For so many years I waited in the confession line trembling, feeling sick to my stomach.

In the upper room after Christ’s Passion and death, the anxiety of the disciples was so strong that they locked themselves away. But still Christ found a way into their midst. He would not be prevented from bringing mercy and hope to a place shrouded in despair. No door barred in a moment of fear could keep him out.

This is the genius of the sacrament of Reconciliation — and of all sacraments, really. Here we are, restricted in so many ways by an existence that is woefully physical. We feel fear, and our body reacts, just as we feel anger and our body reacts.

How can God deliver mercy to us in this flesh-bound state? Through that very flesh which can feel so confining. Through confession, which requires a physical action, and the physical participation not just of the penitent but of the priest.

I don’t know how or why my anxiety around the sacrament has lessened over the years. Sometimes, I still feel it come roaring back unexpectedly, and maybe one day it will come back to stay. It doesn’t surprise me: after all, I am in the flesh, and I will, as Peter says today, “suffer through various trials.” But in all of them Christ will find me. He will not be kept away. 



Let the house of Aaron say, “His mercy endures forever.” — Psalm 118:3

©LPi