And this Wednesday night, I am seated at a wooden bar with a wall of sixteen ounce glasses arranged neatly on a green rubber mat. I am amazed at the names of some of the beverages offered for sale by the bottle. I am very amused by the permanent, never changing weekly specials: fifty cent tacos, twenty-five cent wings, half price cheeseburgers.
All around me voices collide with my ears. Men are ordering pitchers of beer; women are asking about tables; the staff listen, smile, and respond or listen and respond. The cacophony is not loud, not overpowering. It is just loud enough, just overlapping enough to be background noise. There is nothing distinct or original or interesting about any of the conversations. They concern sports, wives, bosses, daily commutes, bosses, coworkers, husbands, children, girlfriends, holiday trips, holiday mishaps.
And I am thinking about confession. Behind a poinsetta one of the servers processes a credit card transaction and I wonder about all of the transactions of my life, all of the times when I act purely, honestly altruistically not wanting any recognition or reward; I wonder about if goodness is present in my life and I wonder about all of times of quiet dignity, sincerity, and humility. And I am thinking of confession. Looking up at a floating widescreen television I watch two basketball teams run back and forth and appear to make a basket. I wonder about all the times when I thought about sinning, planned to sin, actually sinned, rationalized sinning, blamed my mistakes on someone else.
The bartender accidentally drops some change and it slides across the bar towards me, toward my computer. Somehow the coin is stopped by the green mat. The voices raise up as if in competition with each other. It is a happy crowd. I can hear a woman laughing at a nearby table.
How do I see myself? How do I see the world? Sitting here typing at a bar, I am silent, strangely anonymous, totally forgettable as I worry about spelling, grammar, and attending Mass tomorrow. What analogy can I create which describes my experience? Is there a simple metaphor? I am drinking soda, patiently, calmly thinking about finding more ways to be of service to God, thinking of saying a prayer that all of these people get home safely, that I get home safely.
In the background there is an uptempo love song with a strong beat and good guitar line with a strong male lead singer probably British. It is December, Advent. Each day should be a day of preparation. Each day should include some meditation on what it means to be a Christian.
The voices become louder.
Outside, there is darkness, street lamps, silence, time to imagine, time to reflect in the cold December night with the slight breeze.
Confession in the end is not only about declaring your sins per se, but about being more and more free of them! Viewed positively, confession should be seen as an exercise in freedom, which is what it turns out to be. Gradually, the sins and bad habits that have a grip on me lose their grip on me when I face them. I become ever more free, and I FEEL ever more free! That is the gift we are offered.
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