2002 CONFESSIONS
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Contents © 2002
by Jim Holman.
All rights reserved.

MARCH 2002 CONFESSIONS

FLABBY IN SPIRIT, LAZY IN PRAYER

I have heard that Padre Pio was such a tremendous confessor that he would tell people their sins when they came to him. How thrilling; how terrifying. Thrilling because here is a man who truly sees with the eyes of God, who acts in persona Christi in an explicit fashion. (I think of the miracle at Lanciano, in which the bread and wine offered in the consecration were transformed into actual heart tissue and blood.) In such a case, there is no confusion about what you are doing in the box. You are confessing your sins not to a mere man -- though a man hears your words and gives counsel -- but to a man taking the part of Christ. True, the man forgives, but only by God's authority.

Terrifying because here is a man who will tell you your sins -- not the ones you have bundled up and brought as an offering, but the ones you hold back, hopefully through ignorance and tepid inquiry. (I think again of the miracle at Lanciano; the veil torn away from the sacrament, the fact of the sacrifice, the fact of blood -- blood that ought to be ours -- being shed. A painful and wonderful sight.) The infestations that have taken such hold that they feel a part of you, that you cannot imagine excising.

Recently, through some unlooked-for grace, I realized two such things about myself, habits which do not feel particularly awful in their exercise, but which tint my personality with less than Christ-like shades. As I have asked Saint Therese for help in imitating her Little Way, I seem to have gained insight into my little sins. The first sin: I am obsessive in my desires. I want endlessly and am full of anxiety and unrest because of it. When one desire is fulfilled or passes or, oh-so-rarely, is defeated, another is never long in taking its place. My heart is restless indeed. And because I am full of want, I am empty of gratitude. My offense is therefore against both my wife -- who is pricked by my apparent dissatisfaction with our life -- and God, who has given me a wonderful life.

The second sin: I am easily irritated. I grow impatient, usually with my wife and children, with alarming frequency. I have taken to fasting on Fridays. Not a proper fast; just a skipping of lunch, resulting in five or six hours of noticeable hunger. Toward the end of the day, while my wife prepares a splendid dinner (she takes pity on me) and I play with the children, I sometimes find myself flaring up at both wife and children. Even as I pursue holiness, especially as I pursue it, I am tripped up.

With the onset of another Lent, I have decided to attempt a better look at myself. This will not be pleasant, because I am flabby in spirit. The deeper I dig, the more muck I dig up and bring before Christ, the more I may obtain His mercy. This should make me cheerful -- after all, Christ wants to forgive. I should think it wonderful to be able to bring my very worst stains before Christ and have Him wipe them away. I should long to clean the festering sore, rejoice in the chance to be free. The effort ought to be exhilarating, and if I ever get spiritually fit, I imagine it will be so.

Besides discovering new flaws, I hope to probe some of the old ones better. Nearly every time I confess, I confess sloth, but how far does that sloth extend? A beginning: I am lazy in the care of my faith, confident that it will not be lost. But I find there are times I cannot bear to think of death, when I quake at the thought of leaving this life and doubt the possibility of heaven. The Eucharist is an aid in this struggle -- I have never doubted the True Presence -- and perpetual adoration is just minutes away at St. Therese parish. I haven't been.

I am lazy in prayer. A Rosary takes twenty minutes a day to say. I do not say it, not even poorly. When I do say it, it is a poor job; I tell myself that Our Lady is at least happy with the sacrifice of my time and my good intentions. But my mind wanders as I recite the prayers. If I catch myself and try to focus, I am gone again in a few minutes.

I am lazy in my work. I do not work as hard as I could, though I know my wife works hard with her job, besides spending the majority of the time with the children and keeping the house running. I sometimes resent having to help. I do not work as hard as I could, though I know that, since she handles the finances, more work (and consequently, more money) would ease her own anxiety.

Just a beginning, an initial glance into the mirror. I have my work cut out for me.

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