Confession

“Good morning padre. I have come to confess my sins.” The young man approached hesitantly.

“Good day to you my child. Is this your first confession?” The cleric asked kindly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well you seem to be unfamiliar with the procedure. Please kneel and come closer so we can hear each other properly.”

“Can I ask you something before we begin?”

“Of course.”

“It isn’t an actual question, more like a confession.” He chuckled. “A confession before the confession.”

“Go on. What is troubling you son?”

“With all due respect, it’s just that, even though I’ve come here to confess, I cannot say I believe in God. Not anymore at least.”

“Not anymore you say. So there was a time when you did. What do you remember of that time?”

“I remember a simple time, when I believed in God because I thought I had no choice. Do not mistake me, I didn’t feel trapped in my sort of religious way of life. My family never was very religious to begin with. My father may have been a little more strict as for the typical things such as the holy communion or the cross every time we passed by a holy place. But none of them ever made me accept anything without considering what it means. My first teacher at preschool used to tell us of the parables every now and then, or about the life of Jesus, about miracles and good deeds. From quite early I learned the value of doing good, helping others without expecting anything in return. Not argue with those who believed different than me but reconcile, even though it very seldom brought much of a result. I found myself praying under my breath for petty things and sometimes I felt ashamed about it. Gradually I realized that those thoughts were foolish and whatever happened in my life was a result of my own actions and of those around me. Not of some guy whose face I had only seen in paintings inside the roof of a giant building. I started ignoring Him and soon I was free of all regret or thought. I read some controversial books like Dan Brown’s and I buried the image of God under the crimes of the past and the misfortunes and suffering of the present. I cannot tell if I did it out of weakness or realization but what I can tell is that I felt free to do things without hesitation. Not that I had in mind foul deeds, I just started enjoying some things differently. With no guilt of someone watching me or taking note of my every thought and action.”

“Excuse my interference but listening to your feelings makes me wonder why you have come here.”

A few moments of silence passed until anyone spoke. The lack of sound did not feel uncomfortable as both men understood the weight and the difficulty of the question. The silence almost felt like a mother’s hug to the young man. There to comfort him, assure him that it was the right thing to say what he really felt. For if he did utter those words, he knew that his way of thinking would not be the same anymore, because he would doubt and banish parts of himself that had made him grow, endure and survive. Not physically but mentally, and for all he knew, the latter was the important one.

“Because I miss those times. I miss being naïve and hoping that God or the universe existed for a reason. I miss being guided by a force that existed within me and could only be unlocked through the power of my faith. I do not feel weak of heart. I do not wish that my path was different, I respect every single decision of mine for it forged the person I am today. And yet I feel tired. And what I fear is that the thing I am looking for may not suffice to offer me what I need to rest.”

“And what is that?”

“Someone to love the way I need to.”

“My child.” The priest turned to look at the young man. “It’s not about chasing the right goals where your Demons dwell, but whether you feel worthy of achieving them. You struggle with all these thoughts tormenting yourself over the storm wrecking your boat but you lose faith believing you don’t deserve peace.” He paused. “You are never unworthy of peace.”

The kneeling man looked at the priest with tears in his eyes. He didn’t know how to answer. Whether to break or to hold back. Whether to thank him or doubt him.

He stood up and hugged the priest. His cheeks were now wet with tears, but he did not care.

After a long time he felt strong.