Below the ritual
is their raw trauma;
I offer God’s ear.
As each wonder comes in
I slow to match their pace
or race to catch up.
One doesn’t stop to breathe
hammers home his complaints
nailing me for God’s punishments.
Another sums up her life story
as she sees it coming to an end.
She needs to rehearse her eulogy.
I put aside the gavel of judgement
offer one big ear to let them in,
to hold their pain.
Some need the low-lit privacy
to reveal their mental illness
to let me hear the voices in their brain.
Sure, some bring peccadillos,
the crumbs of scrupulosity,
to brush from their laps.
But a mother breaks my heart
with her adult heart break.
Next, her seven-year-old girl,
a miniature of her mom,
makes her first confession
so sweet it hurts.
All are absolved, their regret
is their penance. I pray they find
God’s grace on the far side of hurt.
Confession is a sacrament of healing. That’s how I’ve always approached it and I hope this poem reflects its healing power; to be listened to, accepted and forgiven.
I debated about publishing such a poem since confession is a confidential time but I don’t point to any one individual. I just recall an amalgam of people and situations from over the years to paint a picture of a powerful experience.
Let me know what you think in comments or email or a heart.
Please, share a poem with a friend.
