Isaac Roy after receiving his First Holy Communion at Our Lady of the Assumption parish, in Port Coquitlam. (Scott Roy Photo)
We had something special to celebrate during Advent. My Isaac received two sacraments.
December sacraments are a tradition for him. Isaac was born on the 8th of December, the feast of the Immaculate Conception, and baptized four days later, on the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Now he has two more things to celebrate between those dates: his first confession on the ninth, and his first Communion on the tenth. I wonder what the eleventh will have in store for him in the future.
Isaac had been preparing since last year, reading about the lives of the saints, Bible stories, and learning his catechism. I’ve always appreciated the straightforward and clear answers that can be found in old-school catechisms. They assume a depth of soul within a child, believing that the child wants to grow and understand the truths of the faith. Isaac has a good memory for his catechism questions. Some of the answers are perhaps a bit wordy, and need a little prodding to get through, but they allow an opportunity to really speak about God’s eternal love for us. The conversations can go into all sorts of directions if the child is thoughtful, but it stays beautifully centred on the faith.
As the weekend was getting closer I found myself feeling a bit overwhelmed, like there wasn’t enough time. I hadn’t found a moment to make a First Communion banner with Isaac, or thought about making a cake. Would he remember his Act of Contrition? The day just came so quickly.
On the Saturday morning of his confession I let Scott take over. He helped Isaac with an examination of conscience, and before Mass walked him to the confessional to peek inside. Scott showed him that he could kneel in front of Father and speak face to face, or he could go behind the screened divider. Isaac surprised us by choosing the divider. He told Scott that he really wanted to feel, “like he was talking straight to God.”
He approached me and whispered, “You mean that once the priest says, I absolve you, my sins are erased forever?”
“Yes, Isaac, gone forever.”
“Well, at first I was nervous, but now I can’t wait to go!” he responded, with his eyes wide. He kept pulling at my arm, like a child waiting in line for ice cream.
As Mass went on, Isaac’s anticipation grew. He kept squeezing my arm and looking at me with joyful alarm in his eyes. Finally, the moment came, and Scott took him, and a few of the others, across the sanctuary. Of course, he wasn’t in there for too long. He came out and knelt to do his penance. Then he made his way back to me. I gave him a big hug and asked him how it was.
“That was really nice,” he said, “I liked it a lot.” Then he hugged me again and gave me a beautiful, glowing smile.
Throughout the day, Isaac’s joy grew. He would grab my arm and kind of hop up and down. “I can’t believe I went to confession! I really, really, really liked it!” Then he would hop and smile a bit more, and hug me again.
Every confession should be like that, don’t you think? I wasn’t surprised by his joy, but I was still gifted by it. It made me think of the people who experienced the touch of Christ, in person. When they heard the words, “Your sins are forgiven,” don’t you think they welled up inside with a relief and gratitude, and overwhelming peace? I can’t believe they resented him for the insinuation that they needed his forgiveness, and I can’t imagine they feared him for it.
Confession has a bit of a bad rap sometimes. I think it has been portrayed as a scary thing, or an unnecessary thing – an outdated, medieval lording-over by power hungry priests trying to scare their people into line. People often resent it, or fear going, instead of seeing it as an invitation to really hear the voice of God, through the priest, reassuring us of his love.
Through God’s grace, my son experienced the truth of the sacrament. He was invited to hear the voice of God calling him his son. Any trepidation he may have felt was overpowered by an excitement that those words of consolation, “Your sins are forgiven,” gave him. Isaac knew he was a part of Christ’s Church, and that he was being given the gift of sanctifying grace. That meant something real to him, and I pray that it will mean something more to me the next time I’m in line.
So, despite my lack of preparation, regardless of Isaac saying or not saying a perfect Act of Contrition, God took over and did his work. He had a willing and open heart, “couldn’t wait” to go to him and receive mercy and love, and can’t wait to go again. Isn’t that, maybe, how it’s supposed to be?