RETURN TO THE LORD! Not for fear of judgement and hell, but because no one loves you more.
The overwhelming call of the season of Lent is for conversion of spirit and for repentance and return to God. This period of Lent, leading up to the Triduum and celebration of Easter has a great pull for those who have lapsed from the faith. More so than at Christmas, where the secular overtones have already drowned the Gloria of the angel choirs, the final days of Lent and the unfolding of the paschal mystery of Christ’s passion, death and resurrection, tug at the heart strings of anyone who was once a witness to these holiest of days but has since turned away from the presence of Christ in their lives. And I speak from experience; the experience of being 15 years away from the faith. The yearning never leaves us completely, no matter how far we stray, even to taking refuge in other religions; the Lord never strays from us.
But returning isn’t easy. Burdened with sin and self loathing we forget that the Lord is unconditional love and compassion. We look to God as judge and rightly think that we can never be worthy, but we forget that God loves us even as we are today, blackened by sin and regret, confused and disoriented on life’s path, and doubtful of and hesitant to reach out to grasp the Lord’s forgiving hands that promise to pull us into his embrace.
We place obstacles in the path towards our return to God, some to trip ourselves, others to block progress completely. We condition ourselves into believing that we cannot reach Him and should not even begin the futile journey. We judge God’s love by the code of human conduct; how, when I don’t even love myself, shall God love me? And then we number our sins and think, how, when I wouldn’t even forgive myself, shall God forgive me? And thus we shrink from the presence of God.
What we do not appreciate is that there is no path, no journey, no obstacle, no obstruction, no distance. All we need do is to turn – where we are standing – to face the One who has always been with us, even when our souls felt furthest from his grace. Turn, turn now; He is there, He never left you, He never stopped loving you, He never stopped waiting for your return.
This is the message of Lent: to turn and see God in the wilderness of our broken lives; to know that His love and compassion is not dependent on our worthiness but solely on our ability to see Him and believe.
And there is no better place to turn and meet Christ than in that much feared, instrument of torture, the confessional. Nothing strikes fear in the lapsed catholic like this little wooden cubical. But nowhere will you encounter the loving mercy of Christ more intimately than inside it. If only you would make it more about Him than you.
My own approach to the confessional after 15 years in the darkness of my life turned from Christ was terrifying. I made a tentative return to the Church, attending Mass (although not approaching communion), periods of adoration of Blessed Sacrament, and praying the Divine Office. I resisted the Sacrament of Reconciliation for a long while, fearing judgement, fearing the shame of confessing so many years of so many sins, fearing that I could not and should not be forgiven, fearing that I could not make a full and accurate confession of my many faults before God.
I resisted for as long as I could, until the pain of not being able to receive the Lord in communion gave way to a deep yearning to be reconciled. Even then, I spent days preparing my confessional ‘speech’, working through the ‘perfect confession’ in my mind even as I sat next in line to the confessional. I knew exactly what I wanted to say and took a deep breath before entering the dim light within … it was going to be a long one.
Then in the almost haunting silence of the chamber, as I knelt before the lattice grille and looked up at the crucifix hanging above, my eyes welled up with tears. I wasn’t sobbing and everything else about me seemed normal except for the streams running down my face. I broke the silence the way I had been taught as I child, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 15 years since my last confession…”
“Welcome home, my child” came the gentle response and it was then that the sobbing started. I couldn’t get an intelligible word out of my mouth. The priest continued, “Don’t be afraid. The Lord is here and he welcomes you home.” I could not regain control of my emotions and I continued sobbing, struggling to speak. “Fall into Christ’s embrace. Listen to His heart that beats for you and let go of all that troubles your soul. What is it your soul aches to say to your Lord?”
My well prepared and memorised speech left me, “I need the Lord’s forgiveness for so much, too much that I have done” is all that I managed to squeak through by rasping breath. “Your Lord forgave you the instant you turned to him. Your tears are a reflection of the Lord’s own tears. Yours are of sorrow, but His are for joy because the son he had lost has come home. Now when you are ready, pray the Act of Contrition in front of you so that I can give you Christ’s absolution.”
I received Holy Communion for the first time in 15 years that day, and have never felt more loved by God.
I later asked my spiritual director whether I had made a valid confession that day, since I didn’t even get started on my prepared script of sins. He reminded me of the parable of the prodigal son, who returned with a prepared speech 'I have sinned against you and against God…’ but was cut short by the embrace of his all-forgiving father. “You met Christ Himself in the confessional that day. Be at peace and rejoice that Our Blessed Lord has called you home to Himself. I think that the woman who shed tears and wiped Jesus' feet with them, could repeat the same words to you that she heard from the Lord, 'MANY sins are forgiven her, since she has LOVED MUCH’.”
Return, then, to the Lord, all you who have been called by the Lord. Turn to face him and witness a love that will envelop all your fears, your guilt, your doubt, your troubles, and turn them into the pure joy of being the beloved of God.
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