Twenty-four hours into the silence I was settling into that pattern of staring off into space in thoughtlessness, then ‘coming to’ with moments of deeper thought and attention. Going to confession on the second day of retreat meant that I had time to do a proper examination of conscience, remembering actual moments rather than the vague fog of imperfection that usually characterizes my self-assesment.
I live with the conviction that I have certain bad qualities and that I repeat their manifestations over again, and in a way this is true. But it keeps me from putting faces on those I have wronged, whether they know it or not. And perhaps it also obscures the face of the God against whom I sin, because it turns sin into my possession, my very self, even as it keeps me from knowing God better. It ends up pretty boring, and must make for a boring confession: I’m mouthy, I’m envious, I’m willful.
It’s far more intimate to bring those I have wronged into my confession: “here are the people I have spoken harshly to. These are the people whose successes I have begrudged. Oh, and let’s not forget God, the one whose will I still can’t quite trust.” And just for a moment I’m free from the self-centeredness that is at the root of all of these sins anyway.
There’s a funny dance you’ll see on those rare occasions when there is a line outside the confessional. The line wiggles its way through the seats or the pews as one after another enters and exits. This evening, as we move from seat to seat, worming our way closer to the sacrament, the light hits a little differently from each perch. Every spot is an opportunity to see anew. Perspective can become tired and overused. It helps to look from a different angle, to see new shapes in the light and shadow.
For the next few weeks I’ll be sharing photos and reflections from a week of silent retreat at Gethsemani Abbey. Check back on Tuesdays for more or subscribe.
