I heard eight confessions this morning. For one hour, facing a small crucifix in a spartan room, I listened to the ordinary transgressions of exceptionally good people. In the early church, these penitents would not have gone to confession. A devout participation in Eucharist would have eased their consciences, assuaged their guilt. I had ample time for breviary and meditation. Thirty years ago I would not have had time for a single decade of the rosary. I know when I...
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