No discussion of a typical 1950s pre- or early-teen Catholic boy’s Saturday agenda in Flushing is complete without mentioning the sacrament of Penance and the rite of Confession that went with it.

I confessed my sins to a priest approximately every other Saturday between 4 and 6 PM, from about 1951 until 1957. How did that work?

Well, my church, St. Luke’s, had four confessionals in the rear of the church. A confessional was a tiny room, about as big as a large closet. A priest sat inside, with a screen in front of him that could be opened and closed. Some kind of sign showed that a priest was present, usually with his name on it.

There was always a long line outside Father Martin’s confessional. He was nice and didn’t scold too much. Hardly any line outside Father Dillon’s booth. You figure it out. I always got on Father Martin’s line. It moved fast because he didn’t yell at you.

When you entered the scary booth, you knelt and waited for the screen to open. When it did, you saw the silhouette of a person and took it on faith that it was Father Martin. Was it?? He might greet you, or he might just remain silent.

You would say,
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was two weeks ago”
(or two months, years, whatever).

He might respond, or not. Then you went on with your list of sins. The hard part was figuring out what actually counted as a sin.

Would you believe getting angry was a sin? It was. Some sins were venial, which meant “not so bad.” Getting angry, telling a fib, sassing your parents or teachers, disobeying them.

Then there were Mortal Sins.

The rule was: if you died without confessing and doing penance for a mortal sin, you couldn’t go to Heaven. That was a biggie.

Some mortal sins were obvious, like killing or seriously hurting someone (not in a war situation) or committing a major crime. Most were based on violations of the Ten Commandments.

Some were not so obvious, like missing Mass on Sunday.
(I never did buy into that one. Could God really be that unforgiving?)

So, suppose you missed Mass last Sunday. How do you confess that?

Easy. You pile a bunch of venial sins in front. Then you quickly mumble “missing Mass” and follow it with a bunch more venial sins.

It never worked.

A perfect example is in the movie Moonstruck. In it, Cher, playing Loretta goes to confession:

Loretta: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two months since my last confession.

Priest: What sins have you to confess?

Loretta: Twice I took the name of the Lord in vain, once I slept with the brother of my fiancé, and once I bounced a check at the liquor store, but that was really an accident.

Priest: Then it’s not a sin. But… what was that second thing you said, Loretta?

No dice.  Somehow, they always picked up on the one thing you hoped they wouldn’t.

Then came the penance.

Your penance could be something like, “Say five Hail Marys and a good Act of Contrition.”
If your list was long, it might be, “Say the Rosary three times.”

If you want to know more about the Act of Contrition or the Rosary, text or email me.

The feeling you had after confession and penance was phenomenal. I truly believed that if a car ran me over and I died, I’d go straight to heaven.

That was a great feeling, one of invulnerability that I experienced many times over six or seven years in Flushing, NY.

Enuf.