Almost a confession

Arriving in Cambrai I parked Rocinante right outside Église Saint-Géry de Cambrai and went in to pray (the Cathedral would have been wonderful, but it's closed for renovations).

There were a few people already there and one of them, a nun, warmly waved me over. Good Anglican that I am, I thought: 5pm, time for Evensong. I figured I could pray along somehow while they worshipped in French. 

Some of you may already be ahead of me with this story. An elderly priest came in, put on his surplice and a purple stole, and for some strange reason came and sat behind us all. Then, after a bit, the nun got up and joined him. I could hear a whispered conversation going on. Then it dawned on me. 

This was confession. I was third in the line.

Not really feeling up to confessing all my faults in French, I slipped off elsewhere to say evening prayer, and then crept towards the door. At the last moment I looked back to see the priest still sat there, an enigmatic look on his face which I took to mean: Hanging on to those sins then, my son?

Ah, forgive me father ...

///windows.crashing.school