Young Tommy attended church every Sunday with his beloved grandmother. One day, he reached an important milestone: his first confession. His grandmother explained that he would enter a small booth, tell the priest his sins, and receive forgiveness. Tommy listened carefully, though he was a little nervous.
Inside the little booth, the lesson his grandmother had explained suddenly felt much more serious to Tommy. It was one thing to understand that he should tell the truth; it was another to begin listing his own misbehavior aloud. He had arrived with the small troubles he could remember, unsure how the priest would react once he heard them.
When he entered the confessional, Tommy sat quietly until the wooden screen opened. The priest smiled warmly and said, “Go ahead, my son. Tell me what’s on your mind.” Tommy took a deep breath and began. “I took a pencil from school without asking, used a bad word, and told my mom a lie.”
The calm response made it easier to continue. Tommy no longer had to worry quite so much about the first few things he had admitted, and the question about anything else sent him searching through his memory again. Each pause seemed to produce another example. The list was becoming less like a frightened admission and more like a boy gradually remembering the details of a very eventful week.
The priest nodded calmly. “Those things can be forgiven. Is there anything else?” Tommy thought for a moment. Then he remembered something. “I threw my sister’s Barbie out the window and told her it ran away.” The priest struggled not to laugh.
“Anything else?” the priest asked. Tommy continued thinking. Suddenly, his face brightened. “Oh, yes! Last night I put toothpaste on Grandpa’s dentures while he was sleeping.” This time, the priest could barely hide his amusement.
The priest finally said, “All right, my son. Say three Hail Marys and make an honest effort to be a better boy.” Tommy nodded proudly. He felt relieved that his first confession had gone so well. He thanked the priest and stepped out of the booth.
By the time he was told to say his prayers and make an effort to behave better, the booth did not seem nearly as intimidating. Tommy had discovered that he could speak honestly without the terrible reaction he had apparently imagined. Unfortunately, feeling more confident about confession was not quite the same thing as having remembered every last thing he ought to confess.
His grandmother was waiting outside with a warm smile. “How did it go?” she asked. Tommy grinned proudly. “Piece of cake, Grandma!” he replied. Then he lowered his voice and added, “But I don’t think that guy behind the screen knows half the things I’ve done!”
His grandmother tried not to laugh as they walked out of the church together. Tommy had gone into confession nervous and worried, but he came out feeling much lighter. For him, the experience had been far less frightening than he expected—and his grandmother knew there would probably be many more “confessions” in Tommy’s future.
