I remember the day clearly. I was on a Motherhood retreat in 2022. It was the end of summer and I had asked my own mother to make the hour plus drive to attend with me.
We had a lovely first day that concluded with adoration and confession. The leaders told us which priests from the Archdiocese would be hearing confessions and which room they were in. Fr. Linn was going to be in the room right off the adoration in the back, and was introduced as “the guy” to go to if you hadn’t been in a while.
Over the last few years I had started going to confession more regularly; about once a month. I felt however, that my sins were too grave to be forgiven. My warped thought process was that a repeat offense of a venial sin must therefore be a mortal sin. Was I ever really contrite if I were to commit the same thing again? And therefore ever really forgiven?
Adoration had just started. It didn’t take long until I was arguing with God. Could I really love Him and serve Him when I continued to fall? Was I wearing His patience thin? Was His unconditional love real? Had I already been forgiven 70 x 7 times? How could I really be made clean again with a penance of three Hail Mary’s? Did no one understand the gravity of the offenses I had committed? Did no one seem to care about the pattern of sins over and over again? Before I was aware of where my feet were taking me, I was standing outside the door of the confessional.
Fr. Linn greeted me with a smile and a gentle presence. Through the tears in the back of my throat I went through my list. I was hoping all the while that my penance this time would be something harsh for the wrongs I had committed. That I could be affirmed that my sins were indeed horrible, especially because of their repetitive nature. When I had finished, I looked up ready for a worthy consequence. Instead, he asked me, “What is it that you’re actually afraid of?” The words came out before I had time to really consider them. I replied, “That He won’t let me in; that there is no room for me in heaven”
In that moment, when Father could have laughed, or made me feel small, Jesus Christ shone through him brilliantly. Lovingly, in persona Christi, my fear was not pushed aside, considered childish, or breezed over. My fear was met with a loving and gentle tone paired with, “Do you know how crazy that sounds? How much God really loves you?”
I wish I could tell you what my penance was. There was no direct answer to my misconstrued view of sin. There was a fountain of mercy. I felt the love of Christ’s blood poured out for me in the absolution. I will always remember that time in the confessional. It was truly experiencing Christ, the perfect high priest, through a man with ordained hands striving for holiness.
