Waiting in Line for Forgiveness

To Christians, Good Friday is a day to remember what was done on behalf of our sins and shortcomings and to seek forgiveness and mercy. Catholics believe the way to receive forgiveness is through Confession. It is a time to privately express your regret for those times you turned away from God and a commitment to be reconciled through some act of charity or penance.

While the experience can be quite liberating, going to confession, as many Catholics can attest, can evoke the same kind of dread as going to the DMV. But Monday night going to confession and going to get your license renewed became a much more similar experience.

(You didn't think I was going to go on a spiritual treatise, did you?)

Let me explain, every Catholic church on Long Island opened their doors on Monday from 3pm to 9pm for people to go to Confession. With that wide of an invitation -- and the promise of going to a homemade soup supper afterward -- the Catholic guilt set in and I walked straight from the train station to the church after work. I'd been to past Holy Week confession sessions, usually sparsely attended and extremely efficient. You could get God's mercy faster than a Domino's pizza.

My past experiences combined with the plethora of priests my church is blessed with (3 plus a Hispanic minister) I thought that I would be able to do what I needed to do, eat my soup and be home for whatever comes on TV at 8pm.

To give you the lede, I waited for two hours to have my 5 minutes with a priest. As soon as I walked in, I knew this wasn't going to be a drive-thru service. There were about a 15 people on each priests line. A kind older woman explained to me the matrix, Father so-and-so's line starts here, Monsignor so-and-so's line is here. I didn't really care who the priest was, being new and not knowing any of them well. So I sat in line for the young associate pastor.

And sat. And sat. I looked across the way and saw some of the other lines moving a little quicker, but sat as quietly as I could where I was. "Good," I thought. "People are telling their sins and being forgiven. Not the most convenient time for me, but good for them."

But the longer I sat there -- half-hour, 45 minutes, an hour and 15 minutes -- the more I realized EVERYONE was in there for 20 minutes each. Some people sitting next to me started complaining. A couple of people stood up and left (I guess they only had an hour allocated to salvation.) But I didn't want to add to my sin list and hold everyone up, so I bit my tongue and tried to people watch as much as I could considering the circumstance.

At 90 minutes, things changed. I realized, like the DMV, that this had turned into a game of survival: do whatever is necessary to get the job done. I saw a gap in the line of another priest. It was like I was in the grocery store: do I jump ship now or will karma bite me and suddenly the line I'm in speed up? I went for it; it really didn't matter except that my sins are forgiven and I can get home in time for reruns of 16 and Pregnant.

I looked over to the Hispanic minister's line which was empty. "I wish I spoke Spanish," I told the woman sitting next to me, "because I'd go see Fr. Fernando. He's got no line."

"I'm sure he speaks English," she said.

"Yeah, but it's kinda like using the handicapped bathroom. The one time you go in there is the time when someone else needs it," I said.

At a quarter to nine, I finally received my penance. I did it, and moved on to soup and home to sin no more.

I didn't realize the population density issues of Long Island extended into the Confessional. But sometimes forgiveness takes a little bit of effort and a lot of patience.

Happy Easter.