on confession--scribbling distractedly

--afternoon

rubbish.

the sacrament of confession is a many splendid thing. indeed, for all of the glorious medicinal offerings the orthodox church and life brings to the ailing soul, confession, i think (my perspective is limited) has been the most effective. i say that keeping in mind the fact that the Eucharist probably does me more good but as i still am more attached to my emotions more than anything else, i stand by my point. always, especially the first time or two, approaching the confessional is terrifying and shame works against you, as well as the fear of being accosted by a less than merciful priest. but even this being the case, when i am faithful and approach, as i should, i immediately am calmed and leave feeling enriched in mind body and soul. 

it's something that can almost be looked forward to, it's just obviously beneficial. and my father confessor, though he can be necessarily stern at times, has never employed guilt or shame against me and is always merciful; the purpose for confession is healing and that seems never to be confused in the mind or intention of the priest. i mean really, to be honest, i don't think i know hardly any people, men especially, who are really wise. i mean gandalf wise, noble and true and just, and whatever else. men who seem to be tapped into some kind of ancient knowledge. it seems like both of the priests at st. barnabas fit rather neatly into this category. i mean, i'd pay money to sit in a room with them and, if they didn't feel like talking, just listen to them breathing and hope to absorb some of that sweet holiness that shines forth from their pores and orifices and wherever else.

all that to say, confession seems to work and glory to God for the mercy He gives to priests that allows them to listen to the sins of those they shepherd without anger, malice or condescension.