If we could rewind to early March, I would go back and go to Confession before the pandemic shutdown began. We haven’t received any sacraments since mid-March—and our family hadn’t been to Confession since Advent.
That seems like a lifetime ago.
Last week the weight of that hit me. I can’t even explain why. I’ve been missing receiving Jesus in the Eucharist for months, but last week I found myself longing for God’s grace. I decided I would try to find a way to receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation.
I looked for places offering confessions outside. Within driving distance of our home, I found the Shrine of St. Anthony in Ellicott City, Md. and St. John’s in Westminster, Md. I love the Shrine, but St. John’s seemed a little bit closer, so I decided to try their drive-through confessions on Saturday afternoon.
Our older son, who’s 12, said he would join me. So, off we went.
We waited in a line of cars, inching forward toward two separate cars with priests sitting inside. I had brought earmuffs for my son and me to wear so we might not hear each other’s confession, but I saw one family was parked and taking turns standing outside their van to receive the sacrament, so we decided to try that ourselves.
We pulled up by the priest’s car, and I parked and climbed out. I explained that my son was going to come next, and the priest nodded. He was masked, and I was masked. I remember briefly feeling safe—and then not thinking of that again because here I was, standing in an outdoor confessional, talking to Jesus.
Maybe I should have kneeled, but it didn’t occur to me at the time. I was just so excited and in awe and grateful to be there. I stood on the asphalt and started the familiar words in this unfamiliar location.
There’s something about the sacrament of confession that stirs my soul. I get nervous to bring my sins forward and share them, but I also look forward to the relief that comes with unburdening myself. The priest listened without speaking—as priests almost always do. Then he reminded me to turn to Jesus in prayer, especially now. He gave me a simple penance—five Our Fathers—and we said goodbye.
I climbed into our car, and my son climbed out, and he stood there, as I had, making use of this makeshift confessional in a parking lot on a sunny autumn afternoon. Then he got back into the car, and we headed home.
As we headed home, I felt that rush of relief, that emotional release, that extraordinary gift of being surrounded by God’s love and mercy.
Pandemic life is not easy. Being a wife and mother and daughter and friend and colleague during this time of anxiety is challenging. Living a life of selflessness and holiness and love seems so difficult right now.
But God knows that. He loves me completely. He forgives me. He was waiting for me on a parking lot in Westminster. And every morning He gives me the grace to start another day and try again.
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