Writing It Down, Finding Forgiveness
At the beginning of this year, a friend gave me a sticker that said, “2025: I Live With Intention!” Whenever a year is half over, it sets me to thinking about how I’ve been living the past six months. Have I been living fully — that is, with intention — or have I been lurching from one distraction, one demand to another, losing sight of what really matters? Am I living as the person I want to be?
Another friend came to me recently wanting to reflect on whether he has been a kind enough and generous enough person. Now this friend is one of the kindest, gentlest, most generous people I know! I assured him he had nothing to worry about in that regard.
Still, my friend’s question set me thinking. It reminded me of a documentary I saw a few years ago about Fred Rogers. When he was dying of cancer, Mr. Rogers asked his wife Joanne if she thought he would be a sheep or a goat. He was referring to a parable Jesus offers in Matthew’s gospel about a future judgment in which some enter the kingdom of God and others are condemned to eternal punishment. Judgment is determined by how well one has shown compassion to “the least of these.” Those who show mercy are identified as “sheep,” while those who lack mercy are separated out as “goats.”
I wondered: if someone as good and kind as Fred Rogers could worry about being a goat, where does that leave me?
There is a beautiful prayer said at the start of the Catholic Mass called the “Confiteor” which causes us to reflect on our thoughts, words and deeds, “in what we have done, and what we have failed to do.” A practice I’ve taken up recently is to begin writing down all those actions for which I am sorry, reaching as far back as I can remember: to the times I was intentionally or unintentionally unkind or insensitive to a childhood classmate, could have reacted more generously or sensitively to an adult friend, or I failed to be present to a person who needed me.
Then there are the mistakes I perpetrate on myself: working myself to exhaustion, letting ambition rule my actions, reacting in anger when I feel hurt, disregarded or disrespected.
You might call this practice “self-confession,” admitting my failings to myself instead of to a priest in a Confessional — acknowledging my regrets and eventually coming to a place where I can forgive my younger self for her shortcomings and vow to do better.
The practice is a version of the daily “examen” originated by St. Ignatius of Loyola, that involves a mental examination of conscience at the end of each day. The examen is a chance to reflect on what we did well and where we fell short and what we’d like to try to do better.
Still, I appreciate the practice of physically writing down our failings and regrets. I also like the idea of going back into my past to recall those times I wish I had behaved differently. It is a way of seeing whether I’ve grown wiser in the ensuing years, or how much I’m still plagued by the same bad behaviors.
Sometimes the people we have failed are still with us and we can make amends in some way. Many times, though, they are not. I remember wanting to apologize for once being insensitive to a boy in my grammar school class, only to learn when I looked up his name on the internet that he had passed away. I was still able to write my apology. Even if we can’t personally make things right, we can send our repentance into the universe. And there is healing in that too.
This week, I will continue to work on my list of failings. What would your list say? What are the things you wish you hadn’t done or failed to do? Are you able to make amends with others? Just as importantly, can you then forgive yourself for your human shortcomings?
