Seventy times seven

Inside the room, an old Jesuit priest waited for me.

I took a seat. I opened my mouth. But no words came out.

Only a flood of tears. The pains of my soul.

It wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. He asked my why I was crying.

"I don’t know, Father. I don’t know."

He took my hand, cold and trembling, and clasped it with his, warm and comforting.

Then he whispered, "Tears are a gift from God."

Looking back, I think I wasn’t there to confess my sins. I was there to confess their sins against me.

Absolution should have been denied because I could not find it in my own heart to forgive.

~
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