I hear confessions for an hour at St Mary’s, Greenville once a week. I’m sitting there week by week, and often I’m tired and feeling dozy. I read some psalms and listen and sometimes it is pretty dull. Same voices. Same sins. Same sorrow.
Then almost every week someone comes along and boom! They’re returning to the Church, to confession, to Jesus after being away for twenty years, thirty years or more. They really mean it. They make a great confession and return to the sacraments. Or a child makes the most simple and beautiful confession that I’m stunned. Or someone creeps in and opens their heart in such a humble and beautiful way that I’m reaching for the tissues, or “Can I ask you a question father?”
“I think I’m being called to be a priest. Can you help?”
It’s beautiful, and I would sacrifice practically anything I think for this extraordinary privilege, this extraordinary grace.