Christ Behind the Screen

I swept out of the confessional and said my penance prayers.

I swept right out of the chapel.

I walked around Pittsburgh for close to an hour, feeling lighter than air. I stopped to admire all the wedding parties getting their pictures taken out front of all the fancy buildings. I peeked into Heinz Chapel, to admire the stained glass. I walked into the Cathedral of Learning, telling myself over and over again not to stand in the middle of the first floor and look up like a typical tourist, but of course I did. I tried to figure out the elevators and ended up on the third floor; I peeked down at the first floor over that stone balcony despite my terror of heights. That building is like something out of Myst. They ought to charge admission to let people try to figure out the elevators.

Eventually I found my way down, across the lawn, up the street and back to the church in time for the vigil Mass.  I was still grinning from ear to ear. I felt like I could do anything in the world.

I felt happy, fearless, human. Loved.

I felt bold enough to ask the priest who was going to say Mass to put out a Celiac chalice, rather than being too shy to ask and making a spiritual communion from my seat. I don’t know if that priest was the same one I’d had in the confessional. But this priest was very reasonable and kind as well; he put out an extra chalice so that I could receive Christ in Holy Communion without getting sick, and he didn’t act like this was a bother.

I got to receive Christ, after going to Confession and wandering blissfully around a beautiful city, and I didn’t feel worried or ashamed to approach Him.

I wonder if priests fully realized that they’re in persona Christi— really, honestly in pesona Christi. They always are, when they hear confessions and say Mass, whether they behave well or not. Christ is still in them, and the sacraments are still valid, whether they conduct themselves in a Christ-like way or not.  But the image of Christ they present is not the same.

I wonder if they realize what that looks like from our end.

I wonder if that priest, or those priests if they were two different people, will ever find out that they made my whole day by not being jerks– that, by being understanding in the confessional and easygoing about the Celiac chalice, they allowed me to see the gentleness of Christ in them so easily. I wonder if the priest in the confessional knows that, besides healing my soul, he gave me an hour of bliss wandering around Pittsburgh and feeling truly loved by God. That he quieted my scruples and anxiety, as Christ surely wanted. That I won’t be so nervous the next time I go to confession, because of him. I wonder if the priest who set out the Celiac chalice knows that he calmed my anxiety and made me feel like less of a freak, even with all my limitations, as Christ would have.

I wonder if priests who are rude or harsh in the confessional or at Mass, understand that they make Christ look rude and harsh. Never mind priests that are truly abusive; that’s a thousand times worse. But do priest that are cross, arrogant or petty when they administer the sacraments, fully understand what they’re doing? We sneak into confession, nervous and ashamed, to meet Christ in the weird little box. We shuffle into Mass, joyfully or fearfully, to receive Christ in the chalice. And we’re met with things that Christ wouldn’t do.  We come to the Wedding Feast of the Lamb and find the holy Bridegroom looking put-upon and impatient with His bride.

Once, when a woman I know went to confession, the priest decided to be harsh with her and tell her repeatedly how “irresponsible” she was. Hearing Christ calling her names didn’t spur her to repentance; it just made her afraid to go to confession.  Once, when another chronically ill friend was having a bad flare-up, she went to receive Communion but and accidentally bumped the chalice in the priest’s hands. He gave her such an angry glare, she was afraid to approach Christ in Holy Communion again for weeks. It was just as if Christ Himself had condemned her for her illness.

Every gift from God can be twisted into a blasphemy, if that’s what humans choose to do with it. The more wondrous the gift, the more hellish the blasphemy. The priests’s gift of being in persona Christi when he administers the sacraments, is a gift more wondrous than human tongue can tell. It can be turned to unspeakably damaging effect if that’s what the priest wants to do.

But when a priest really tries to be kind as Christ is kind, while he is standing in persona Christi— what a brilliant and wondrous gift. For a few hours, I could really feel loved by Christ, because the vessel Christ chose remembered to act like Christ.

(image via Pixabay)