I stole the holy water.
Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. I stole the holy water.
I was new to the small dark confessional booth when my seven year old knees pressed into the cold leather kneeler. A thick brown velvet curtain separated me from those who lined the walls awaiting their turn. Hopefully, the other confessors would not eavesdrop, but there was no guarantee. I prepared to utter my shameful secret. I stole the holy water.
This was not an oops. It was a full-blown premeditated… I am going to get some of that holy water. I came prepared with a small faded green Tupperware container with a lid that actually fit. If I was going to sneak the holy water, I did not want it to leak out on the walk home.
I halted at the back doors of the church where I dipped my fingers into the water to be blessed. Should I go ahead and take the holy water or not? The fact that I had to hide my container underneath my coat shows that, at least part of me, considered it wrong. On the other hand, I thought Jesus was okay with it. I weighed the moment… and yielded to impulse. I scooped the water, closed the lid tight, and high bolted it out of there. (Geez-minitly… It is fifty-six years later and I am still shallow breathing while writing about it.)
All was fine… until it wasn’t. I put my holy water near a small statue of Mary and proceeded to bless myself over and over. If stolen water is sweet at first, that was the case. It did not take long, though, until my mother demanded to know how I got the holy water into her Tupperware. Wellllll….. you can imagine how that went. Soon the whole family was yelling. You stole the holy water?!?! I argued to no avail. No! I didn’t steal the holy water. I took it. And Jesus doesn’t care. He likes me to have it. Nonetheless, my own conscience joined in the guilt, which brings me back to the beginning of this post.
I was seven years old at my first “real” confession. It was different from the other times when I made up lies to confess because I did not know what to say. This was gut level… shame.
A dim red light surrounded the priest’s profile that was easily detectable through the screen. Most of the parish priests were old and plump (at least to a seven year old mind.) Only one was young and skinny enough to ride a bike around the church parking lot. I relaxed a little when the profile on the other side was skinny with a pointy nose. He had to be the young one, even though we were not supposed to know which priest it was.
It turns out that the young priest obviously knew who I was too. He heard my shameful confession and blurted out, Mary!!! Why did you steal the holy water? My voice quivered back, I wanted to bless myself anytime I wanted. The kindly priest proceeded to let me know that I did not have to steal holy water to be blessed. All I had to do was to bring a container with regular water. He would bless it each time. Of course, I still had to say a few Hail Mary’s for penance but, Hey! I could get as much holy water as I wanted. And I did!
I thank God for my early Catholic roots that embedded in me a responsibility to own where I am wrong and to walk in enough humility to be honest. It also created in me the knowledge that certain things are holy and are to be treated as such.
This memory led me to the song you’ll find below. Be forewarned. It’s a total nerd alert. It goes back to my spiritual formation in the 1970’s during the Jesus People movement and the Catholic Charismatic Revival. I gathered often with teenagers throughout the area as, we swayed with linked arms and hearts to this song. Come to the Water!
“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.”
“Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.””