The church confessional was a familiar place to Beatrice – almost comfortable. She had experienced so many days like today, so many Ash Wednesdays and Good Fridays over the years, when she stepped quietly into this small, dark private space to reconcile herself anonymously to God and community. Perhaps she found reassurance in the fact that this process never changed; it was one aspect of her life that was constant, right down to the precise details of the wooden confessional itself.

She began this process as a child, initially for first communion. Confession during her teens and young adulthood became more trying, as she worked her way through the awkward, often misguided phases of burgeoning sexuality. Now, Beatrice was in her late 30s, married, with two children. Life had calmed down, for the most part. But sometimes… every so often… there was still something to get right with the Higher Authority.

Beatrice stepped inside the small booth, making sure the velvet curtain was closed completely, and sat down. Immediately her eyes perceived the familiar pale blue glow of the Console. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and made the sign of the cross.

“Forgive me, oh God, for I have sinned,” she offered quietly. She opened her eyes and touched ‘Continue’ on the screen.

At this, the silent screen before her changed. It asked her what language she preferred for this process. Beatrice pressed ‘English.’  The screen changed again.

The Console then asked how long it had been since her last confession. Beatrice reflected momentarily, wrinkled her nose, and reluctantly pressed ‘More Than Six Months.’  The screen went black, as it always did at this time. Beatrice took the opportunity to relax. She took in a slow deep breath… and let it out, making the effort to focus her mind and heart on this important process.

A new screen came up now, The List, with the heading ‘Please select any and all that may apply… and remember, try to be honest with yourself, and with the Lord.’  The List was extensive.

Here Beatrice took her time. After a thoughtful review of her options, Beatrice highlighted ‘Taking the Lord’s Name in Vain’ (in traffic), ‘Abuse of Electronic Entertainment’ (that virtual reality no-no, ‘I Spy, with My Little Eye, A Guy’) and – what really brought her to this place today – ‘Sloth, in Recycling/Proper Nuclear By-Product Disposal.’

Last weekend, in a hurry, Beatrice had tossed in with the regular trash a whole canister of used ionized fuel from her car, and it had bothered her ever since. Throughout the week, images of a quart sized cardboard container glowing neon green on a landfill somewhere nagged at her conscience. Perhaps it was because she worried about her children’s future…  Or perhaps it was because of the environmental work she did as a college student in 2019, under the Juarez Administration. Either way, she was glad to jettison this weight from her spirit.

Satisfied that she had been honest and forthcoming in her confession, Beatrice looked at her highlighted choices once more and pressed ‘Enter’ with conviction. The informed Console was now ‘Working on it…’

What a great way to clear oneself, Beatrice thought, almost in awe, as she waited for her penance. The Console quietly buzzed, ruminated, considered and finally released the small yellow piece of paper detailing reflection, personalized advice and prayer.  Beatrice took the paper, looked at it, nodded, and slipped it into her wallet for future reference. Moved by gratitude for this process, she sat silently as the Console granted her Absolution. She let the familiar words wash over her, taking in the soothing cyber-voice:  “I forgive you all your sins...."

Beatrice again made the sign of the cross. Her heart glad and light, she exited the confessional as carefully as she had entered.

Stepping out of the church and into the open air of Lexington Avenue, Beatrice happily surveyed her Manhattan neighborhood with a cleared conscience. She tightened the belt around her khaki raincoat, raised her umbrella against the gentle February rain, and began to walk.

For a moment she recalled the memories of her childhood, of how her grandmother (like many other women of her time) was called to the priesthood, back in the 1990s, but wasn’t allowed to follow the call. In fact, the Church endeavored to restructure clergy in every way imaginable to avoid the ordination of such a woman as Nana Callahan. How funny, Beatrice thought, watching her black leather boots step along the wet sidewalk… How odd. She smiled with a furrowed brow as she considered the Church’s quirky – and human – history.

The Church made up for its perceived lack of priests by letting technology take over some of work. The new system worked very well – so well, in fact, that shortly thereafter most parish priests were downsized due to this massive and inspiring modernization. It was all over the news then, the Church and its ‘Superhighway to the Third Millennium.’

God’s will, Beatrice thought. It’s a powerful thing.

Although Beatrice remembered her grandmother’s deep sadness about the situation, she never understood it. She honestly could not relate to it – she had never known that kind of antiquated priest that was at the center of so much commotion. Beatrice loved the Console dearly and couldn’t imagine the experience of confession, or communion, any other way.

After all, this was all she had ever known.

This was… tradition.

_{Copyright © Caer Hallundbaek}