CONFESSION OF A GERMAN WIDOW
Rosa Hoffberger would be late for Mass.
It couldn’t be helped; cold weather set in and her movement was twice as difficult with arthritis.
She hadn’t attended Mass since the bombing had ended months ago. Rosa hadn’t worried.
She mumbled to herself as she trudged up the cathedral steps: “A confession before I pass means a state of grace with the Lord.”
Two long hours inside the church. She shifted her weight in the pew impatiently.
Finally Rosa’s turn in the confessional booth with the priest!
After preliminary recitations, she got down to business.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She paused as though a weighty matter were oppressing her mind.
“Go ahead, my child,” Father Herrman urged.
“What grave sin weighs upon your conscience this morning?”
The priest smiled to himself.
Elder people in his village often amused him with their strange notions of what sin was in their daily lives.
The widow’s rustling dress fabric filled the silence of the Confessional. She cleared her raspy throat a few times and began a faltering narrative.
“I need to confess... and receive the blessing….
Because … I never once brought anything up in confession before. About this - I mean...
I’m having heart problems now and I don’t want to go to my grave unclean before our Lord.”
The old priest, Father Herrman, had known Rosa since before the Great War, when she was a small girl in the farming village outside Berlin. Her mind seemed often confused and her memory sometimes faltered.
He would willingly bring peace to her few remaining days on earth.
“Go ahead, tell me what is troubling you.”
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I … I hid a refugee in my cellar."
“But that was not a sin, my child—it was noble. An act of compassion!”
“Father, I did not tell my husband.”
“I knew your husband. I understand. Such deception would be necessary. His views are well known.”
“I hid a young Rabbi… with considerable money. I made him pay me 50 marks a week!”
The priest rolled his eyes, "Well, I admit that certainly wasn't the most selfless thing to do, charging the man to save his life -- but you did save his life and that is a good thing. Such weaknesses God forgives."
Momentary silence passed and the priest could tell there was more to come.
“Is there anything else?”
Father Herrman listened as she continued clearing her throat. Hesitating …
“You have eased my mind, Father. There is but one more question. . .”
The priest waited patiently for a full minute.
He finally prompted her.
"None of us is without sin, my child - you risked your life for one not of our faith. What else bothers you?”
“Yes, I know Father. But, you see, I—um . . .”
The priest suddenly threw up his hands with an insight which suggested itself to him.
“Emotions rise to the surface during war which otherwise are unthinkable. I knew your Otto, a difficult man—a cold personality. You will receive no judgment from this priest, I assure you!”
A long sigh heaved on the widow’s side of the screen.
She suddenly seemed to grasp what Father Herrman was really saying.
“Oh no, Father! Nothing of the sort ever happened. Lord no! It’s nothing like that, I assure you. It’s just—I um . . . “
The patience of the old priest grew short.
“You have to confess and we’ll put it right in the eyes of our good Christ.”
“Rabbi paid me 50 marks every week. Throughout the war he never seemed to run short. Nor did he quibble in the least that I was charging him. In my defense, after all, I’m feeding him home cooked meals! He wasn’t made to suffer in the abominable camps like the rest of his lot.”
“Yes. True. Go on. . . “
The lady seemed to straighten; her voice was clear and filled with confident energy. She’d made her mind up.
“Thank you, Father. Since I’m a poor widow and all, I was wondering about all that. And asking your advice.”
Father Herrman cocked his head curiously. “Very well - what is it?”
“Is it okay if I wait until his money runs out -before- I tell the Rabbi the war has ended?”
The cathedral bells rang out over the hillside into the village.
Father Herrman swallowed hard.
He croaked. “Oh, my dear God!”
___The End___
By Terry Edwin Walstrom
