Once a year at my Catholic elementary school, all the second, third, and fourth graders would head down to the school chapel, where we’d sit in the pews in alphabetical order and wait for our turn to confess our sins. It was easy to tell when you were up next, because our chapel didn’t have confessional booths. Instead, two priests sat in folding chairs on either side of the altar. Two by two, we’d head up to the front of the room, sit next to a man we’d never met, look out at a crowd of our peers, and whisper our most shameful secrets, hoping our voices didn’t carry. Our religion teacher told us that the priest was just a conduit for God’s mercy, but it felt like you were sitting up there with a judge, while a whole courtroom of second graders stared back at you. Your sins were between you, God, and everyone you knew.
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