Patience is not my strongest virtue, in fact my lack of it may reach the level of a vice! Having realized this, I have tried to be more conscious of any annoyance arising in me as I wait in grocery check-out lanes, the ever-increasing airport security labyrinth, and cashiers at various stores. Over time I have gained sympathy for the haggard and harried employees (who are usually just doing their best under their own circumstances) and for other waiters. I practice trying to accept the wait and to appreciate the time given and I attempt to spend it more wisely, in relaxation or even in prayer. Most importantly, I try not to make my own impatience (when I fail to keep it under wraps!) unpleasant for those around me. I am far from perfect, but I have gotten to the point where I can recognize the other, huffy impatient individuals in the line with some pity and can try to make life easier for whoever is working on the line.

One unusual line I have encountered with increasing regularity is the line outside the confessional. I am happy to report that in each successive parish I have found in my journey through life, the confessional lines continue to increase. The line remains shorter than the lines to receive Holy Communion, although in this most recent parish, there are frequently those who do not go forward. Far from condemning them (as I used to think would happen to me if I ever abstained from Communion!), I appreciate those who do not go forward for whatever their reason (failing to make the appropriate fast or not feeling prepared or in the proper state of grace) and the reverence they show the Eucharist. As a child, I rarely made use of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and did not appreciate the connection between confession and Holy Communion. I made my first confession two years after my first Holy Communion (which I now know to be wrong–confession should have preceded Holy Communion, as these documents show). I did not understand the importance of confessing before receiving Holy Communion, and even though I attended Catholic school, I would go years between confessions unless the school provided a Lenten service.

With the help of much grace, I now find my way to the confessional every month, or even more frequently. I would have been mortified to write about confession even a few years ago, but as I go more and more regularly, I find a peace and acceptance in this humble sacrament. The increasing frequency of confession is not a product of increasing sin (usually!), but rather a greater awareness of sin, and a greater hunger for virtue and for the grace of the sacrament, which seems to bolster and sustain me in my daily tasks. Previously, I would have been embarrassed to make eye contact with fellow penitents. Now, I have on multiple occasions found myself in line behind different friends and enjoyed catching up for a few minutes before quieting when only a few people remained ahead of us.

This past weekend, I arrived about halfway through the hour allotted for confessions, to find a line of about twenty people (it was a First Saturday, so the line was a bit longer than usual), none of whom I knew. A few others trickled in behind me, including an elderly woman supported by a cane. With a pew in one hand and the cane in the other, she prepared for the long wait. I could tell that several of us wanted to help, to either tell her to sit and that we would hold her spot, or let her move on ahead of us, but no one seemed comfortable enough to break the silence or catch her attention. And what exactly is the etiquette on inviting someone in line in front of you, when it would then delay all the people between you and the invitee without their consent? Finally, a brilliant and chivalrous anonymous man, neither young nor old, several spaces ahead of me switched places with the woman. He thus gave of his time, letting her go ahead. Almost everyone else ahead of him similarly advanced the woman, who was observably grateful to be able to stay off her feet and attend the sacrament. The thoughtfulness of that nameless man struck me. His simple act took thoughtfulness and a degree of courage to implement, and is the kind of attentiveness I hope to cultivate in my own life and in my family. I just thought I would share the extraordinarily ordinary moment with both of you gentle readers as encouragement for the day!