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In the Confessional Booth

Some time ago I was in a confessional booth whenThere was a moment I never experienced before orSince. It was a lovely terrible haunting moment andI continue to think there was something wonderfullyHoly about it. We’d paused in our conversation, thePriest and me, and then he covered his face with . . . . Continue Reading »

Our Canaanite Woman

I made my first confession last month, and it was easier than I expected. Not that I enjoyed recalling misdeeds from 2010, or that I wasn’t nervous when I stepped away from the parishioners in the middle of Mass that morning in St. Vincent Ferrer and entered the dark quiet of the confessional. But . . . . Continue Reading »

A Distinction without Discipline

If Crosby’s reform were enacted, priests would have to judge the souls of their flock. The remarried would be divided into those whose lives have a Dostoevskian tragic resonance, and those who are merely “common adulteresses.” This cruel charade would collapse before it began. Continue Reading »

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