Forgive Me, Nosferatu, For I Have Sinned

Lent is typically a time when Christians engage in fasting or self-denial and reflect on the ways in which we need to repent. In the most unexpected place, a Nosferatu-themed party hosted by a friend of a friend, I encountered an opportunity to engage in the Lenten practice of repentance.

Within the Christian faith, at least within a formal church setting, there is a liturgical element that I’ve never experienced: the sacrament of reconciliation — a practice more commonly known as confession. Rather than sitting in a traditional confessional booth alongside an ordained priest, I made a confession while sitting in a random bedroom. A flimsy blue curtain divided me and the person playing the role of the priest. It was arguably irreligious, a party trick meant to satirize the Catholic Church.

When I had entered the soundproof bedroom confessional at the party, the person on the other side of the curtain didn’t tell me, “Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace.” But they did listen to my secret and ask thoughtful questions in response. There was one that stuck with me: “Based on what I’ve heard from you, it seems like upholding justice is central to your values. Do you think your sin bothers you so much because when you commit it, you are placing yourself above other people?” There was no condemnation in his voice, simply curiosity. I didn’t make a prayer of contrition or the sign of the cross at the conclusion of my confession. Instead, I simply thanked the person on the other side of the curtain for listening to me, for their understanding.

In my confession, I experienced a moment of spiritual healing and renewal. It reminded me of the image of God in others. Most importantly, in receiving someone else’s compassion, I was also reminded of the image of God in myself.

I’ve been raised Christian all my life, but I’ve grown tired of the church. I’ve tried out so many denominations — Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Quaker, and Pentecostal. These were rounded out by visits to nondenominational services. There are pieces of beauty I find in each, but I couldn’t bring myself to commit to any of them.

Sometimes I follow the liturgical calendar, and sometimes I don’t. But during Lent, my soul hungers for a deeper connection with God. In this 40-day period, Christians are typically invited to partake in rituals to bring us closer to God. But does a sacred ritual always have to be within a formal church setting? My playful confession at this vampire-themed party stirred something real within my soul. As I dug deeper, I wanted to know: Was the experience I had outside of the traditional church setting a legitimate encounter with God?

Technically, the sacrament of reconciliation can only be administered by diocesan priests who receive explicit permission from their bishop at the time of ordination. And because I have not been baptized in the Catholic Church, I am not allowed to partake in this rite.

I’ve had conversations about this with my Catholic friends, and many have expressed qualms with some of the regulations around the rite of reconciliation. They mainly seemed to struggle with the fact that they had to meet with a priest. Why couldn’t they just confess directly to God? Why did they have to do it through another human being? So, I reached out to two Catholic priests to learn more about a sacrament that has been around for centuries.

In March, I spoke with Father Jacek Orzechowski (Order of Friars Minor), who is the associate director of Laudato Si’ Center for Integral Ecology at Siena College, over the phone. I didn’t tell him all that much about my experience at the party, because I was honestly a bit embarrassed to talk about such a flippant experience with an ordained priest. But we did discuss the concept of sacramental imagination. Father Jacek explained that God speaks to us through “the mountains, the air, [and] the beauty of God’s creation,” and all of this “is a caress of God’s love.” God speaks through nature, history, and other people.

Father Jacek emphasized that God is the one who is always taking the first step toward us, and that humans have the opportunity to respond to this divine love. Whether through the sacred, such as reading scripture, or the profane, simply appreciating the beauty of nature — these are all valid ways to celebrate God’s love.

This felt reasonable to me, but it wasn’t quite the answer I had been hoping to hear. As silly as it seems, what I was hoping for Father Jacek to tell me is that my confession at the party resulted in a genuine encounter with God. He urged me to trust in my heart “as a compass,” as I continue searching for opportunities and rituals to connect with “the mission of Jesus.”

Still seeking to answer my question, I spoke on the phone with Father John Heagle. With Father John, who is ordained with the Diocese of La Crosse, Wisconsin, I shared more about the first confession I had experienced. A secret had been lying heavy on my heart the night of that party, and I had tried to process it on my own by journaling. But processing it alone wasn’t enough. Because I barely knew anyone at this party, I felt I had nothing to lose. So, I unburdened myself and left feeling freer, lighter. I think I just wanted an affirmation from another human being. I wanted someone to listen to me and assure me I wasn’t evil — that I was just a normal person.

Much to my surprise, Father John told me that I was describing something that he would consider “religious before being religion.” He spoke of the deep human desire to unburden ourselves of struggles and failures, and how speaking about them with someone else allows us to heal. He found it striking that at this party, which was in a secular setting and even meant to poke a bit of fun at the church, I experienced what he believes the sacrament of reconciliation is all about: “a genuine encounter with another person in whom somehow the mystery of acceptance, the presence of love, is mediated through that person.” God is love, and one way God speaks is through love from other people.

There’s a fierce cognitive dissonance within me: a desire to grow closer to God alongside a growing desire to leave the church. From all the services I’ve attended, from all the late-night talks about spirituality I’ve had with my friends, I’ve picked up my own little rituals along the way. And I’ve found that these rituals and this community allow me to feel the presence, acceptance, and love of God in my everyday life.

So, I was admittedly surprised, and truthfully, a little alarmed, by the intensity of the hunger in my soul to experience a true confession. But Father John told me, “Reconciliation doesn’t belong to Catholics. Reconciliation is a human need and a human way of growth.” Then he joked that his bishop would likely be quite upset with him for what he was about to say, but he confessed that he had nothing to lose because he plans to retire soon anyway. “I honestly believe that there was something sacramental about your encounter.”

Maybe confession isn’t about going through the proper channels or doing it the “right” way, about hearing that my sins have been absolved and crossing off the act as if it is part of some arbitrary to-do list. Maybe it’s really about the spiritual transformation you experience simply through a moment of authentic human connection. That, for a brief moment on this earth, we get to experience the grace of God through another person.