Why Sin Is Not the Worst Thing In The World

'Sin is not the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in the world is the denial of sin....  If I deny that there is any such thing as sin, how shall I ever be forgiven? The denial of sin is the unforgivable sin, for it makes redemption impossible.' 

                                                                       Venerable Fulton Sheen

Painting: Jean Béraud, The Magdalen at the House of the Pharisees, in US public domain due to age

If We Fail 50 Times A Day

'Even if we happened to fail 
fifty times a day, 
we must still, 
each time, 
get back immediately 
to Our Lord and make acts of love.'

Dom Marmion

Painting: Arthur Hacker

I Am Partly Sorry

I often sang along with the radio in my youth.  Never mind that I was a far from engaging vocalist.  Never mind that I was shockingly oblivious to lyrics as well. 

I remember croaking along merrily with a soft ballad describing "white on white, lace on satin, blue velvet ribbons on purple cake..."  I even went so far as to discuss this unusual lyric with a friend.  

"Doesn't that sound like the ugliest wedding cake ever?!," I tsk-tsked, never questioning the validity of my perceptions.  Either my friend had the same hearing problem as I, or she was too kind to correct me.  But we seemed to both envision a towering cake of dark purple, ringed round with turquoise bows.  I'm ashamed to admit how old I was before I found out the truth about this, but let's just say that it was my husband who told me.  And we were already married.  "...it's 'blue velvet ribbons ON HER BOUQUET'," he clarified.

Oh.

It seems my hearing lapses were not limited to lyrics.  I learned the Act of Contrition in first grade, and recited it in Confession at least bi-weekly.  I was in fourth grade when the priest on the other side of the dark shadowy veil stopped me just after I'd begun my usual:  "O my God, I am partly sorry for having offended Thee, and I..."  

He broke right in.  

"Are you only partly sorry?", he asked.  I knelt there in panic.  Well... well, of course!, said I.  That's what the prayer says, that's how I learned it, yes Father I'm sure I must be partly sorry, I'm at least partly sorry and that's a good thing isn't it Father? (am I passing this test?).

Father was kind in his correction.  And I've been heartily sorry ever since.  Although...

There are times when I think about Father's gentle question.   It's not a bad one for an examination of conscience.  I mean - how many times do I confess sins and faults for which I'm only partly sorry?  If I'm really honest with myself, how much thought do I give to what I have done, to the pain it might have caused someone?  To the pain it might bring to Our Lord?  

Yes, perhaps I have before me a good point for reflection.  If I said the Act of Contrition right here, right now, and if I were really honest with myself... what kind of sorry would I be? 


Painting: Alexei Harlamov, in US public domain due to age
© 2015 Nancy Shuman.  thebreadboxletters.blogspot.com

This gently re-edited post was originally published on September 6, 2012. I share it here in order to link up with Reconciled To You and Theology Is A Verb, where a great group of Catholic bloggers re-post favorite articles on “It’s Worth Revisiting” Wednesdays.

On the Morning of Confession

'When our Lord is with us, 
light is poured abroad
on life's path, 
light is shed around
in the house of our soul,
His own living Tabernacle.... 

'On the morning of Confession, 
show Him round the house; 
show Him what needs repair;
show Him where thieves 
break in and steal; 
be busy telling Him all, 
and beg of Him the grace 
of perfect contrition.'

(from Fervorinos From Galilee's Hills, compiled by a Religious, Pelligrini, Australia, 1936, p. 223)



This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Monthly Linkup

The Joy of Lent

It is nearly Lent, and I'm ready to dance and run and turn a few backflips.  This year (for once), I know what I hope to do:  take extra time in prayer with Scripture.  I'm asking to be shown areas of my own sinfulness, parts of my life that need changing. 

Think of it.  Conviction!  Correction!  Mortification!  Recognition of faults and failings!  Oh, surely it must be time for the Dance of Joy!

No, I'm not being sarcastic.  Not in the slightest.  Nor have I lost my senses.  I suspect it's much more likely that I've found them.

I have enough sense to know that joy is not what 'the world' equates with pleasure, entertainment, success.  I have enough sense to know that repentance and acceptance of God's forgiveness brings a joy like no other.  I have enough sense to know that Our Lord saved me by His death and resurrection.  That realization alone should send me dancing. 

By the sheer grace of God, this year I have the good sense to run toward the genuine joy of Lent. 

'Be merry, really merry.  The life of a true Christian should be a perpetual jubilee, a prelude to the festivals of eternity.'   Theophane Venard

'Count it pure joy when you are involved in every sort of trial.  Realize that when your faith is tested, this makes for endurance.  Let endurance come to its perfection so that you may be fully mature and lacking in nothing.'  James 1:2-4 

'In God alone is the primordial and true delight, and in all our delights it is this delight that we are seeking.'  St. Bonaventure

'Confession heals, confession justifies, confession grants pardon of sin.  All hope consists in confession.  In confession there is a chance for mercy.  Believe it firmly.  Do not doubt, do not hesitate, never despair of the mercy of God.'  St. Isidore

Laurel and Hardy Dancing illustration in public domain.  

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup blitz

Blue Velvet Ribbons on Purple Cake

I often sang along with the radio in my preteens, long before most of you were born (really).  Never mind that I was a far from engaging vocalist.  Never mind that I was shockingly oblivious to lyrics as well. 

I croaked along merrily with a soft ballad describing "white on white, lace on satin, blue velvet ribbons on purple cake..."  I even went so far as to discuss this unusual lyric with a friend.  

"Doesn't that sound like the ugliest wedding cake ever?!," I tsk-tsked, never questioning the validity of my perceptions.  Either my friend had the same hearing problem as I, or she was too kind to correct me.  But we seemed to both envision a towering cake of dark purple, ringed round with turquoise bows.  I'm ashamed to admit how old I was before I found out the truth about this, but let's just say that it was my husband who told me.  And we were already married.  "...it's 'blue velvet ribbons ON HER BOUQUET'," he clarified.

Oh.

It seems my hearing lapses were not limited to lyrics.  I learned the Act of Contrition in first grade, and recited it in Confession at least bi-weekly.  I was in fourth grade when the priest on the other side of the dark shadowy veil stopped me just after I'd begun with my usual:  "O my God, I am partly sorry for having offended Thee, and I..."  

He broke right in.  

"Are you only partly sorry?", he asked.  I knelt there in panic.  Well... well, of course!, said I.  That's what the prayer says, that's how I learned it, yes Father I'm sure I must be partly sorry, I'm at least partly sorry and that's a good thing isn't it Father? (am I passing this test?).

Father was kind in his correction.  And I've been heartily sorry ever since.  Although...

There are times when I think about Father's gentle question.   It's not a bad one for an examination of conscience.  I mean - how many times do I confess sins and faults for which I'm only partly sorry?  If I'm really honest with myself, how much thought do I give to what I have done, to the pain it might have caused someone?  To the pain it might bring to Our Lord?

Yes, perhaps I have before me a good point for reflection.  If I said the Act of Contrition right here, right now, and if I were really honest with myself... what kind of sorry would I be? 

"If we are truly humble our sins will infinitely displease us, because God is offended by them"  (St. Francis de Sales)

© 2013 Nancy Shuman.  All Rights Reserved. thebreadboxletters.blogspot.com


(Jean Etienne Liotard painting in US public domain)