A funny thing happened on my way to Confession.
When I was a college freshman in – as my children call it – Bible times, I did a lot of not so bright things. Now if you think for one minute that I am going to list them here, you've got another thing coming. (But did you know you can detonate an explosion in your dorm room and not blow out your windows; and, that no matter how hard you try, you can't hold a blender blade still with your hand.) I am thankful to be alive and even more thankful that Al Gore hadn't invented the Internet yet to memorialize these things.
But one college memory stays fresh in my mind: Medical vocabulary with Dr. Darren. I don't know her first name. Heck, I don't even know if she had a first name. Dr. Darren struck terror in the heart of any student who took her class. Now you may envision some oafish Amazon. Not so.
Dr. Darren, a woman in her late forties, was five feet of aesthetically pleasing charm. From her perfectly coiffed ebony hair to her constant smile, she was unmistakably pleasant. She stood with her fingers intertwined, arms bent at elbows in a perfect right angle, and her feet perpendicular to each other, the way ladies who have been to charm school stand. Her well-tailored suits (at least that's what guys call them) exuded professionalism. And if you showed up for class unprepared she would cut your heart out of your chest so fast you could watch it beat before you died. And if you weren't prepared it was better to get it over with than to prolong the agony by trying to fake your way through.
She never raised her voice. She never let the smile leave her face. Early on in the semester she set the bar though. She called on one poor chump (besides me) to answer a question. He nervously stammered out that he wasn't prepared. Everyone held their breath. Everyone except Dr. Darren, who looked over her half reading glasses and uttered the words of anathema: “Oh, I see.” All that was left of my classmate was a pile of smoldering clothes.
It least that's how I remember it.
Her final exam was at 8:00 a.m. and it was cumulative. So I stayed up all night studying (which is only slightly wiser than the dorm-room detonation). I finished at about 6:30 in the morning so I went and took a shower and got dressed for class. Since I had time to catch a little power nap, I set my alarm for 7:45. What could possibly go wrong?
As I regained consciousness to the sound of my buzzing alarm, I realized that it was 8:45. My alarm had been sounding for an hour. Words can not describe the ensuing flood of emotions. I ran to class at a world-record pace that remains unbroken to this day. Up three flights of stairs just in time to see Dr. Darren leaving the room where my final had just taken place. She looked so peaceful, so sure. Her fingers clasped, her hair perfect.
I blocked her path, reached down, put my hands on her elbows and picked her up until her face was level with mine, our noses almost touching. “Dr. Darren,” I gasped, “I just slept through your final.” Despite the fact that her feet were dangling a foot and a half off the ground and my wild-eyed, hyperventilating countenance probably reminded her of a zebra on the run from a pursuing lion, Dr. Darren smiled; she was still in control. Without missing a beat, she sweetly told me, “You may take the final exam with my next class.” I thanked her profusely and returned her to Earth. Just like that I was absolved.
It wasn't until after I finished taking the final that I came to appreciate the enormity of what I had done. I had picked up the Dr. Darren . . . and lived. Not only did I live, but I passed the final exam. All I could say was, “Yippee! I'm free.” Brilliant, I know. Maybe it could be on my tombstone.
About three years ago I converted to Roman Catholicism. It was a long and not always easy journey. In fact, there were several emotional and intellectual speed bumps for me along the way. One of the biggest ones was the whole idea of Confession. Partly because of my misunderstanding of this Sacrament; but mostly because of my own pride, I really wrestled with this one. Looking back, it's kind of funny to me now.Let me just say this: I wouldn't have done have the stuff I've done if I knew I was going to have to tell someone. If you are allowed to have favorite Sacraments, this is one of mine.
Last night was a Penance service at church. Priests were available to hear confessions and the sinners were out in force. Sometimes at these services, the lines get so long you can wait a couple of hours. Prior to the service, I was asking God to help bring to mind the sins I needed to confess and for an appreciation of the enormity of my offenses in the face of a holy God. When you're a prodigious prodigal like me, some of those sins tend to run together.
Having reasonably collected my thoughts, I got in line. So I'm standing there being reflective and looking holy and all that when this diminutive older woman starts walking toward me – backwards. She literally pushes herself in line – in front of me. It really ticked me off. First, I just muttered (so she could hear), “Grace hog.” Then I thought about just picking her up by the elbows and moving her behind me. Then I remembered my prayer about a full confession and added anger to my list. Be careful what you pray for. God might just back some old lady right into you.
So I got through Confession. And, just like that, I was absolved. Thanks be to God!
And thanks to Dr. Darren and to Grace Hog, all I can think of is, “Yippee, I'm free.”
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But one college memory stays fresh in my mind: Medical vocabulary with Dr. Darren. I don't know her first name. Heck, I don't even know if she had a first name. Dr. Darren struck terror in the heart of any student who took her class. Now you may envision some oafish Amazon. Not so.
Dr. Darren, a woman in her late forties, was five feet of aesthetically pleasing charm. From her perfectly coiffed ebony hair to her constant smile, she was unmistakably pleasant. She stood with her fingers intertwined, arms bent at elbows in a perfect right angle, and her feet perpendicular to each other, the way ladies who have been to charm school stand. Her well-tailored suits (at least that's what guys call them) exuded professionalism. And if you showed up for class unprepared she would cut your heart out of your chest so fast you could watch it beat before you died. And if you weren't prepared it was better to get it over with than to prolong the agony by trying to fake your way through.
She never raised her voice. She never let the smile leave her face. Early on in the semester she set the bar though. She called on one poor chump (besides me) to answer a question. He nervously stammered out that he wasn't prepared. Everyone held their breath. Everyone except Dr. Darren, who looked over her half reading glasses and uttered the words of anathema: “Oh, I see.” All that was left of my classmate was a pile of smoldering clothes.
It least that's how I remember it.
Her final exam was at 8:00 a.m. and it was cumulative. So I stayed up all night studying (which is only slightly wiser than the dorm-room detonation). I finished at about 6:30 in the morning so I went and took a shower and got dressed for class. Since I had time to catch a little power nap, I set my alarm for 7:45. What could possibly go wrong?
As I regained consciousness to the sound of my buzzing alarm, I realized that it was 8:45. My alarm had been sounding for an hour. Words can not describe the ensuing flood of emotions. I ran to class at a world-record pace that remains unbroken to this day. Up three flights of stairs just in time to see Dr. Darren leaving the room where my final had just taken place. She looked so peaceful, so sure. Her fingers clasped, her hair perfect.
I blocked her path, reached down, put my hands on her elbows and picked her up until her face was level with mine, our noses almost touching. “Dr. Darren,” I gasped, “I just slept through your final.” Despite the fact that her feet were dangling a foot and a half off the ground and my wild-eyed, hyperventilating countenance probably reminded her of a zebra on the run from a pursuing lion, Dr. Darren smiled; she was still in control. Without missing a beat, she sweetly told me, “You may take the final exam with my next class.” I thanked her profusely and returned her to Earth. Just like that I was absolved.
It wasn't until after I finished taking the final that I came to appreciate the enormity of what I had done. I had picked up the Dr. Darren . . . and lived. Not only did I live, but I passed the final exam. All I could say was, “Yippee! I'm free.” Brilliant, I know. Maybe it could be on my tombstone.
About three years ago I converted to Roman Catholicism. It was a long and not always easy journey. In fact, there were several emotional and intellectual speed bumps for me along the way. One of the biggest ones was the whole idea of Confession. Partly because of my misunderstanding of this Sacrament; but mostly because of my own pride, I really wrestled with this one. Looking back, it's kind of funny to me now.Let me just say this: I wouldn't have done have the stuff I've done if I knew I was going to have to tell someone. If you are allowed to have favorite Sacraments, this is one of mine.
Last night was a Penance service at church. Priests were available to hear confessions and the sinners were out in force. Sometimes at these services, the lines get so long you can wait a couple of hours. Prior to the service, I was asking God to help bring to mind the sins I needed to confess and for an appreciation of the enormity of my offenses in the face of a holy God. When you're a prodigious prodigal like me, some of those sins tend to run together.
Having reasonably collected my thoughts, I got in line. So I'm standing there being reflective and looking holy and all that when this diminutive older woman starts walking toward me – backwards. She literally pushes herself in line – in front of me. It really ticked me off. First, I just muttered (so she could hear), “Grace hog.” Then I thought about just picking her up by the elbows and moving her behind me. Then I remembered my prayer about a full confession and added anger to my list. Be careful what you pray for. God might just back some old lady right into you.
So I got through Confession. And, just like that, I was absolved. Thanks be to God!
And thanks to Dr. Darren and to Grace Hog, all I can think of is, “Yippee, I'm free.”
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3/16/2010 6:27 PM
uberVU - social comments wrote:
This post was mentioned on Twitter by mrhirsh: Confession: Yippee! I'm free. http://mrhirsh.com/2010/03/10/a-funny-thing-happened-on-my-way-to-confession.aspx #lent #Christian #catholic
Confession is like getting a friend request on Facebook . . . from God!
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