“Wow. You’re going on a Jubilee year” said a co-worker whose words did not register with me at all. He was excited for us. I had no idea what he was talking about.
To plagarise information about religious events straight reverend google:
A jubilee is a special year of remission of sins, debts and universal pardon. In the Book of Leviticus, a jubilee year is mentioned as occurring every 50th year during which slaves and prisoners would be freed, debts would be forgiven and the mercies of God would be particularly manifest.
That’s right, there’s 49 other years we could’ve chosen with less religious significance. But by accident we chose a jubilee year.
Random peer’s elation about our totally randomly chosen time for this event was probably the precise moment I thought that I probably need to make sure I’m not behaving in a way that would get me struck by lightning.
As you know, I decided to do The Camino because it sounded cool. 499,000 people made this official pilgrimage last year. Google also taught me that this pilgrimage has been ongoing since medieval days as an act of atonement, devotion, purification, or penance. Me,…picked it because IT SOUNDED COOL.
The last thing I want to do is to make light of anyone’s religious journey regardless of the ways they’re working on it. It occurred to me that just walking to walk could do that. I’ve been intentional in trying to avoid over-researching what we’re in for, but have seen enough to know that lots of mental expansion or spiritual growth even for those trying to avoid it. Nonetheless, you know,…wanting to avoid the lightning got me looking at some things.
I was baptized Catholic at 4. In 1994 I did the Catholic protocol to become fully fledged. Brian wanted to get married in a church and I was Catholic-ish so I represented us on that front. Kind of like when your friend has a Costco Card but you don’t.
The ritual of mass and dedicated weekly focus on trying to be a good person set well with me, but not enough that I stuck with it. I took the kids for a while when they were little, but knew I was missing the mark in giving them a church foundation when pre-schooler Daniel asked “who’s the naked guy?” referring to the crucifix in the front of the sanctuary.
Getting ready for this trip got me looking at the end point, the Cathedral at Santiago de Compostela. They have beautiful services there and out of nowhere, it occurred to me, I should probably go through mass like a proper pilgrim when we get there.
This led to me calling the church where they just give you an appointment with a priest who references Star Wars in regular speech and in his fancy Mass chat. He let me know my proverbial card only required one punch to be able to fully participate, confession.
So we’re clear, I haven’t been to confession in 30 years. To say I was excited about the thought would be a lie. Which, if you didn’t know is something you’re supposed to confess when you do. Regularly.
I won’t pretend I’m a theologian or fully understand any of it, but if you’re thinking any ill about confession it bears noting that Team Catholic doesn’t corner the market on the benefits of making sure people don’t try to resolve things in isolation.
In the many years I’ve worked in Child Welfare, the families that consistently do best are the ones who stop trying to pretend they can hide their problems and reach out for support. Since the dawn of time, people have done well to get out of their heads and share their woes out loud. Friends, therapists, bartenders, sober sponsors, dogs, hairdressers, and much more have also heard a lot of confession.
The trip is soon, and I was running out of time to do the dang thing. My increasingly ridiculous reasons why I “couldn’t” get there told me I was procrastinating. I missed one opportunity because I wanted to repaint the garage door but Brian used all the paint. No, that certainly does not make sense, but it was an excuse I used nonetheless.
Yesterday, I dragged my sinning ass down there filled with terror. I got there in time to see the priest walking in to the church across the parking lot. My internal utterances were worthy of a separate confession of their own.
I didn’t know there was a line. When people entered behind me and figured out that I was a noob they offered to let me go ahead. I politely waved them off whilst thinking “it’s been 30 years, another couple minutes will be okay.”
Having other transgressors patiently waiting there was comforting. I was a great reminder that we all fuck up in our own ways and it’s frankly self-centered to think otherwise. That whole “everyone is fighting a battle that you know nothing about” mantra is real.
I leaned against the cool of the church walls taking it all in. The stained glass windows at Sacred Heart in Anderson are really fricking cool. There was enough break in the cloudy day for the sun to be caught in every angle giving each vibrant color a chance to show off. The sanctuary was filled with a repeating song that stirred the soul with its beauty. I didn’t consider where the repeating hallelujah came from, but the social worker/manager in me recognizes white noise machine tactics when she sees them. My office has a need to buffer noise. I turn on the ocean at least once a day to cover some conversation.
I was glad to know there was a sound buffer because 30 year confession gaps was about to hit like a napalm air strike.
My turn was getting increasingly closer when suddenly the angelic singing voices stopped. Sacred Heart church was built in 1956. I’m not sure the current rules of acoustics for privacy applied at that time. From my spot waiting to get into the confessional, I could hear murmurs. The priest came out, took a Bluetooth speaker off a shelf, fiddled with it, then declared mostly to himself that the battery died.
My eyes immediately went upward to the sunshine illuminated stained glass Jesus at the top of room. I’m not sure the degrees of mysticism I believe in, but I instantly thought the dying speaker was an act of humor. I giggled in my head and may have said another curse worthy of it’s own confession.
My time came and it really was painless. I’m sure he’s heard it all and again, it would be offensive on my part to think my wrongdoings or myself are special. There was no bell that rang loudly proclaiming me as the sinner of the week or anything.
I’m not sure what happens next for me in any of this, but I’m glad that I did it and I’m glad that it was a random side quest that popped up out of nowhere on what I was just taking a cool walk.
If you’re in the market for some confessing, I highly recommend it. You may just want to bring along a battery pack to support that speaker.
Thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 