Confessions

If walls could talk...they wouldn't. Seriously, what would be the point?

How can I put this delicately? Walls like myself are experts in human behavior. We have literally seen and heard it all. Like good therapists, we could easily straighten out humanity if people would just listen to us. Unfortunately, we can't because they won't.

If there's one thing I've learned from observing humans over the last one-hundred-fifty years, it's that they're completely and utterly unwilling to learn from their mistakes. Even if walls across the world suddenly started speaking up, nothing noteworthy would get accomplished, other than freaking out all the poor souls who assume walls are nothing more than inanimate objects.

I'm not a religious wall, myself, so I'm sure you can appreciate the irony in the fact that I'm one of four walls that form a confession booth inside St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City. The other three walls embrace lofty ideals such as justice, forgiveness, mercy, and repentance. I'm much too jaded for that nonsense.

Let's get real. Even if there was a God, it's not like people would ever really bow their knee or let someone else tell them what was right and wrong. Humans are a mysterious bunch. They talk a good talk, but at the end of the day, they do what they want to do. If someone suggests what they're doing is wrong, they always find a way to justify their actions or minimize the pain they cause.

How have I come to such conclusions, you might ask? Let me explain.

I've spent my entire existence inside this tiny confession booth---a stuffy yet ornate little room where people come to tell the priest all the bad things they've done. They recite a canned prayer to show their remorse. The priest assigns some sort of penance they must perform to earn forgiveness and then offers them absolution for their sin.

To religious people, this process is a holy sacrament. To me, it's simply a handy way for people to resolve their guilt, or perhaps to ward off bad karma by telling on themselves before natural consequences come knocking.

The whole ritual seems disingenuous to me because of the secretive nature of the confessions. There's a dividing barrier between the sanctimonious guy wearing the collar and the poor schmuck nervously unloading the truth about their awful behavior since their last confession. Priest and penitent speak to each other through a hole in the barrier covered by a metal grate. It's a far cry from a forthright, face-to-face meeting...it's all shadows and hushed whispers and partial glimpses of somber faces.

I honestly don't understand humanity's need for smoke and mirrors. I've been listening to the same boring nonsense, over and over, for more than a century. Literally nothing shocks me anymore. Why are people so ashamed? Why do they insist on keeping their sins a secret from the world if they really want to do things differently?

One of the main reasons I'm convinced that human beings never change and can't be reformed is that I see the same people confessing the same sins over and over and over. Sometimes they are nonchalant. Sometimes they are tearful. Sometimes they actually seem tormented and appalled by their own behavior. But without fail, no matter how torn up they are or aren't, I see them again the next week or the next month groaning over the same indiscretions. Exhibit A for the irreparable nature of mankind!

So what if they lied on their resume to land their dream job, dined and dashed, or catfished someone on a dating site? Why whisper to someone about it behind closed doors? That's no motivation to change! Saying fifty "Hail Mary's" or giving up cheeseburgers for penance isn't going to magically turn them into a better person either.

If I were handing out penance, I'd make sinners shout their sins from the roof top or create a TikTok (cause that's the thing now) on the many ways their selfish behavior has hurt other people...something that would hold them accountable to more than one bored priest falling asleep on the other side of the booth.

Most of the confessions I've heard over the years fall into one of these six categories:

1) Foul language and verbal abuse

2) Sexual misconduct

3) Lying and deceiving

4) Stealing and cheating

5) Violence and murder

6) Not having gone to confession regularly enough

A good deal of what I hear is petty sins, although I've heard my fair share of the heinous stuff as well. Though I'm sick to death of listening to people yammer on about their transgressions, I have to admit there have been a couple of memorable confessions. There was the elderly nanny who fell in love with the child's handsome young father and decided to plant fake evidence of an affair to break up his marriage. Then there was the amateur magician who was riddled with guilt about accidently cutting off his assistant's appendage during a poorly planned trick.

Oh, wait! Here comes someone to confess! This will be the perfect opportunity for me to make my case to you regarding the hypocrisy of humanity. Let me give you a blow-by-blow accounting...

He's just now stepping into the booth and kneeling. He's not your typical stuck-up guy in a church suit...this juvenile seems pretty comfy in his sneakers and T-shirt. Probably the gangster type. Or maybe a teen runaway.

He crosses himself and kneels, clearing his throat.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

Right to the point. No groveling. I can respect that.

"I've never made a confession before."

Wow, a heathen. This will be interesting.

The priest is stifling a yawn on his side of the booth, staring straight ahead with glazed eyes. Everyone knows eye contact during confession is taboo. "Proceed."

"This is going to take awhile, Father. I've been bad. Very bad."

Par for the course, really.

The kid is scrapping the kneeling position and plopping down unceremoniously on the bench. His demeanor is unnaturally flippant.

"I work a regular job, but I don't pay my taxes. I find loopholes because I feel entitled. I feel like I'm above such things."

He's displaying above-average self-awareness for a kid.

"Anything else?" the priest mumbles.

"I ignore people who need me. I've been treating my son like he doesn't exist ever since he was born."

Wow, a teen dad. He's obviously been around the block a time or two.

"I'm not married, obviously, so people assume I'm innocent..."

The kid is starting to sound a little bitter. Self-hatred, maybe?

"...but I'm actually chin-deep in porn. I delete my search history regularly. You know, to keep up appearances. I hide inappropriate pictures of young girls around my house."

Typical teenager really. When is he gonna pull out the bad stuff?

"I'm supposed to be a good listener, but I don't pay any attention to people who talk to me. In fact, I don't know that my own son is talking to me right now."

The priest is sitting up straighter, peering curiously through the grate. He seems a little stiff. "What are you talking about?"

Grinning, the young man smooths back his jet black hair. "I got a teenage girl pregnant two decades ago. A girl who trusted me. I took advantage of her even though I knew it was wrong."

The priest's face is full of fear and disbelief. He jumps to his feet, shouting, "Who are you?!"

I'm honestly not sure what's happening, here. I've never seen or heard anything like this before!

The boy is stubbornly refusing to answer the priest. He crosses his arms and casually continues. "When she told me she was pregnant, I pressured her to get an abortion. I was so worried about how it would make me look, I didn't care how she was feeling or what she wanted."

The priest is collapsing into his chair, eyes wide, white-knuckling the arm rests.

"She had a son, which I found out later through a private investigator I hired. I sent her a handwritten letter, threatening to put a hit on her if she ever told anyone I was the father. Take a look for yourself. Recognize the hand-writing?"

The boy is pulling a time-worn letter from his jacket pocket, rolling it up tightly, and shoving it through a gap in the barrier. The priest grabs it and reads, his lips moving silently in horror. The color drains from his face, and the pages fall to the floor. "God, help me..."

Sarcasm drips from the young man's tone. "So exactly how many Hail Mary's do I owe for these iniquities, father?"

Wait! What? The kid here is the priest's SON? The supposedly celibate holy man?? Wow, this is even worse than I anticipated! Nobody, and I do mean NOBODY, has ever come in here and confessed the PRIEST's sins.

The priest is shoving his face up against the metal grate, desperate and fearful, his voice shaking. "I'll do anything, boy. Anything! Just don't tell anyone about my indiscretions. I'll lose everything!"

Typical human! Acting as if no harm has been done as long as no one finds out! Everything that happens inside this booth is a sham!

"There's no such thing as sin without penance," the boy says darkly. "There is always a price to be paid."

A boy after my own heart! Let the blackmail begin!

The priest is wringing his hands. "What do you WANT?"

The young man's angry face is collapsing into grief. He clenches his fists, and turns his back to his father to hide his tears.

"Well, when I was small, I wanted a real dad, but I got a selfish pervert instead. When I was older, I wanted a real life for my mom, but she had to live in fear. Since I didn't get either of the things I wanted then, I'll just have to settle for what I want right now."

The boy is turning to look back over his shoulder, leveling his gaze at the father he never knew.

The anticipation is literally killing me!

"I want your reign of terror to end. I want the world to know what a scumbag you are. You may not have learned from your mistakes, but I have. You may not be willing to change, but I'm not giving you the option of doing this again."

The boy is lifting up his T-shirt, revealing a wire taped to his chest. He's smiling triumphantly. "There will be no more secrecy. No more hiding behind that collar. I think the IRS, the NYPD, and the Pope will all be interested in listening to our conversation."

If I had hands, I'd be applauding right now! Justice will finally be served!

The priest is sweating bullets. His mouth hangs open, but no sound emerges.

"My mother and I have suffered long enough for your sins. We refuse to keep your secrets and pay your penance." The boy is raising his chin defiantly. "I have quite the following on social media, so people all over the world will hear your confession. You will answer to the human justice system, and if there is a God, you will answer to Him as well!"

Mic drop! And they say the internet is of the Devil.

The boy's eyes travel around the claustrophobic space. "What happens in this room doesn't actually change anybody." He points to the door of the booth, his arm shaking with emotional intensity. "REAL justice, REAL remorse, REAL forgiveness...they can't be found in here. They're found OUT THERE."

The young man exhales a shaky breath, straightens his shoulders, and exits the room. The priest sinks to his knees, holding his head in his hands, and cries out loudly, "Oh God! What have I done?"

A human being actually spoke what's been on my mind for a century! Which is good, because right now I must confess...

I'm speechless.