Our parish was hosting a Lenten “day of mercy,” confessions available from noon to 9 p.m. All day long, multiple visiting priests would tend to those in need of forgiveness. On that day, Eucharistic adoration was moved into the main sanctuary and so I held my Holy Hour there, praying amidst the souls visiting the stations for confession scattered throughout the church. It was a lovely grace to be in the presence of so many seeking the merciful face of God.
But this was my favorite moment:
A young family came in — several children, mom and dad. They filed neatly into a pew, and all knelt. Among them was a girl of about 10. She was clearly a bit distressed. Her mother and father leaned over her reassuringly, but she would not be comforted. At one point, the mother got up, left, and returned a few moments later with our parish priest, a lovely, thoughtful young man.
Smiling, and ever so gently, he knelt in front of this little girl, his cassock spilling onto the ground. I was seated in such a way that, with the young girl’s back to me, I could see our good shepherd make himself low so that he could look up into this precious child’s face. Her shoulders were slouched and quivering. She was clearly frightened to go to confession. But this beautiful young priest smiled up at her with such authentic reassurance, even I was moved by the gesture half a church away.
They spoke for a moment, all the while our priest looking up at her, so kind and attentive. And then, after a moment of her own quiet prayer, she sheepishly approached a station, sat humbly face-to-face before a priest, and confessed her 10-year-old sins. Walking back to her pew to rejoin her family, the relief was palpable. She knelt and prayed once more with the kind of sweet earnestness only the forgiven possess.
The justice of the Almighty is indeed a fearsome thing, but his mercy kneels before us with tenderness and kindness everlasting — “his mercy endures forever” (Dn 3:89). “With fear and trembling” we work out our salvation, (Phil 2:12); and yet, “‘Come,’” my heart says, “‘seek his face!’”
“Your face, Lord, do I seek. Do not hide your face from me” (Ps 27:7-9). I thank the Lord for that priest, for his posture before that child, that she would seek the face of the Lord in the priest who heard her confession and offered her absolution. It might change the course of her life, and all that she will contribute to the Church and the world will be colored by it. Bless you, Father.
Lord, make aright my fear, that I may tremble at the thought of offending you who gives me life eternal and rejoice in the light of your mercy. Do not hide your face, O Lord, from those who seek you with an earnest heart. May I always be counted among them. Amen.
Stanchina is the author of more than a dozen books. Visit her website at Lizk.org or follow her on Instagram at LizKToday.
