Last week, Kenny recited to me this scene verbatim from Little Rascals:
I countered his display with, "How's your 'Act of Contrition?'"
"Not so good," he confessed. Maybe if I turn it into a TV program, he'd learn it.
No matter. It ran more like a seasonal penance service, with a communal recitation of the prayer.
The Gospel was an edited Prodigal Son. I tried to follow along in my New Testament but Fr. Mike wasn't actually reading from a printed text. He just spoke from his selective memory.
During the homily, he brought up two volunteers and asked students to name common sins. As each sin was named, Fr. Mike loaded up the volunteers with bundles so labeled until they were uncomfortable. Then he described asking Jesus for forgiveness and the parcels coming off.
I had to close my eyes for a few moments in hopeful gratitude at the prospect of that sin burden being lifted. But the articulated motivation struck me as more consistent with Christian hedonism than love.
Kenny sat next to his friend from school who, turns out, was nervous and scared. Kenny got Fr. Mike rather than one of the visiting priests. Nice for him, I guess.
Kenny was so completely excited to receive this sacrament for the first time. I couldn't help but think that his expectations were wrong. I mean, his emotional level didn't jive with how an experienced Catholic approaches the sacrament, with quiet hope and joy.
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