Saturdays and sacraments

It was an almost perfect Polly-style Saturday morning. I got up early, took the dog out, made coffee, checked a few things before settling into my daily Scripture, spiritual reading, journaling, and Rosary. Before you think this sounds a little too holy, these mornings are often peppered with yelling at Riley for barking at shadows, going down rabbit holes on Pinterest or Amazon, or just flat out falling asleep.

At any rate, this particular Saturday morning was to be my "Confession + Grocery Shopping" day. I shoot for every other week... partly because I have heard that twice a month confession comes with some indulgences, and partly because that's the usual length of time it takes us to run seriously low on things like half-and-half and lunch meat. 

Starting the whole day focusing on God's love and mercy in the sacrament of reconciliation gives me peace, and at least for a time I don't get so upset by the usual "stuff" that comes with traffic, busy department stores, and cranky folks at the grocery. (That's the idea anyway.)

But, because time seems to have become very elastic after COVID - sometimes slowing down and sometimes speeding up - a month had gone by since my last confession. COVID also changed everything about how we receive the sacrament. They no longer offer it in the tiny confessionals, instead it is now held in a chapel off the lobby, and depending on the line they expand to other areas of the church where the priests and the penitents can social distance. 

So the line now forms in the lobby, and I was first up. I had a pitty feeling in my stomach when I knew which priest I was going to see. It was the same one I had the month before, the one who seemed exasperated with me. When I had finished my confession and was waiting for his counsel and my penance, he just kept shaking his head, shrugging, and throwing up his hands. It was as if he were saying, "what am I going to do with you."

He finally made some short comments about the nature of our earthly relationships, told me to "do the best you can" and gave me my penance: two Our Fathers and two Hail Marys. He said the prayer of absolution, I said an act of contrition, then went into the sanctuary to do my penance. Confused. 

This particular Saturday morning confession went almost exactly the same way. I finished, he shrugged and shook his head. Two Our Fathers and two Hail Marys. Absolved, but somewhat aggravated. 

There is a moment after an experience like this. 

That moment when I wonder: does Father think I'm just a whiny little lady wasting his time with things like prideful moments, vanity, and the occasional curse word?

That other moment when I think: did I phone in my confession and was it that obvious? 

And another moment when I just think: maybe I don't deserve forgiveness. Sigh.

The very next Saturday

The next Saturday was different. It started out the same (coffee, dog, readings, Rosary), but instead of heading in for confession and shopping, it was just shopping and then grocery. The plan was to grab some things we needed for a house project, then hit the store for just a few snacks I was going to make for Bob and his brother when they got back from a golf outing. 

It was a successful shopping trip for the most part. I was checking things off the list one-by-one and that always feels good. So I was not prepared for what was going to happen when I pulled into the Kroger parking lot.

I was fumbling for my mask and my coupon thingy when I looked up and saw a petite woman making her way across the lot straight for me. Even with a mask on her face I could tell she was very upset. I am usually a magnet for the lost, confused, or mentally ill, so I was not freaking out or thinking of making a run for it. And anyway, I had already made eye contact. So, I just got out of the car and stood there waiting for her. 

"Can you spare some loose change to help me and  my son," she said. "I have cancer."

"I had cancer too," I told her. I asked if she was in treatment. She said no and there was some muttered reason why. She broke down, saying that she just needed to sleep. That she couldn't sleep and couldn't take care of her son because she couldn't sleep. 

I didn't see a son. I didn't see where she came from. I didn't know where she was going. I just knew I had a twenty in my wallet. I never have cash, but that day I did. Usually when I give money to panhandlers it's all over once they have cash in hand. And that's the way this could have ended, too, but it didn't. She didn't move away from me the second she had the money. She just paused. 

Long enough for the Holy Spirit to bop me upside the head to make these words pop out of my mouth: do you want to pray together?

I asked if she knew the Hail Mary. She nodded. I started, "Hail Mary, full of grace..." She did not pray along, I'm not sure she knew what I had asked her, because it seemed she didn't know the prayer. But I kept going anyway. "...the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amen."

Never having done this with a stranger before I really wasn't sure what to do next. So I just said, "I hope that helps you." We both wandered off in separate directions - I heard her say (to herself, maybe) that she would only need a little more to have a place to sleep, and, "thank you, God" over and over. 

I prayed silently for her as I walked into the store. Then...my day just went on. I got the shopping done, I got home, made the snacks for the guys, I did some housework, and I may have even taken a nap. 

But there is that moment after these things happen. 

That moment when I wonder if I'm just a total sucker - after all she could have been lying about the whole thing. 

Then that other moment when I think maybe there was more I should have done - after all, you hear stories of people going far beyond just handing over a twenty dollar bill and then going grocery shopping. 

Oh yes, and the other-other-other moment when I think God, like the priest, might be exasperated with me. "What am I going to do with you."

Then, it's Sunday

Besides both of these stories happening on a Saturday morning in September, and both leading me to some moments of doubt or guilt, what was really going on? In the cold light of the Sundays that followed, what had I learned?

With the priest at confession, I decided to cut both him and me some slack. English is not his first language, so he probably just finds it difficult to express what he's trying to say. And it still counts. The sacrament is way bigger than either his ability to speak English, or my inability to understand what he's trying to say.

The incident with the woman with cancer who asked for money is a little harder for me to reconcile. That's because it was me having to think and act in that moment, with a ton of different ways I could mess it up. I wanted her to know she mattered, that I saw her, and that she is loved by God. I am grateful at least that I was able to blurt out a prayer with this poor woman..

In the book Abandonment to Divine Providence, by Jean-Pierre de Caussade, S.J., I find this bit of hope:

What treasures of grace lie concealed in these moments filled, apparently, by the most ordinary events. That which is visible might happen to anyone, but the invisible, discerned by faith, is no less than God operating very great things. O Bread of Angels! heavenly manna! pearl of the Gospel! Sacrament of the present moment!

What I'm hoping is that these two Saturdays make me recognize more of those moments. To see hidden in each odd meeting, in each weird little scene, in every uncomfortable gesture, a treasure of grace, concealed.