I’m a cradle Catholic, and I have Shakespeare – yes, that Shakespeare – to thank for my appreciation of Confession.
Shakespeare didn’t use stage directions.
Ever.
Shakespeare had a gift. He could express the human condition through subtext, relying on language alone to tell the tale. He knew what it meant to be human, and transmitted our triumphs, our joys, our failings, and our fears through the use of dialogue alone.
If you’re familiar with any of his plays, you’ll know what I’m talking about:
Romeo and Juliet: Several directors have Lord Capulet strike Juliet when they argue in III.iv. The indication comes from the man’s violent exclamation (“My fingers itch!”) and Lady Capulet’s admonition: “You are too hot!”
Hamlet: Polonius is losing it, and there’s no narrator to tell us that. We make that assumption courtesy of his constant insistence on cliched and aging proverbs.
Macbeth: While the witches reveal a great deal to the audience, they never tell us the love of Macbeth’s life will have a hand in his undoing. We just watch, dumbstruck, while Lady Macbeth’s secret counsel consumes and destroys them both.
This is how life works. There are no stage directions for our own experiences, no disembodied voices relaying an associate’s private thoughts. Even the divinely inspired writers of the Gospel relied on subtext, especially John, who takes us inside an intimate moment at the well between Savior and self-professed sinner.
The Woman at the Well
Do you know what noon is like in the desert?
Really, stinking hot. And frankly, ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna be out running errands at a time like that.
Except, of course, if you’re an outcast, a known adulteress living in very public sin.
Or unless you happen to be the Savior of the world, endeavoring to save this woman from herself.
John never reveals Jesus’ interior motives, at least not directly. He only describes our Lord as “tired from his journey,” seeking a place to rest.
We know that Jesus was fully human, subject to the every human experience. But he was also fully divine, providing him with knowledge only God could have. According to my pastor, Fr. John DeCelles, Jesus must have been not just physically exhausted from a very long journey, but spiritually rent as well.
He would have felt the sins of those around him. He would have known this woman was coming to slake her thirst, and he would have wanted to heal it.
John’s characterization is deft. Through their conversation, we come to know a strong-willed, intelligent woman. Though she may be embarrassed by her life of sin, she isn’t afraid to challenge male authority. She questions Jesus from the outset, the slightest hint of humor in her provocative retort:
“Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this cistern and drank from it himself with his children and his flocks?”
Jesus takes her challenge in stride. He doesn’t lash out at her as he did the pharisees (“You…whitewashed tombs…beautiful on the outside, but full of dead men’s bones and every kind of filth,”), nor does crouch in the dirt and draw, presumably to write out her sins.
No, he responds with a challenge of his own, a glimpse into the character of the God made man:
Jesus said to her,
“Go call your husband and come back.”
The woman answered and said to him,
“I do not have a husband.”
Jesus answered her,
“You are right in saying, ‘I do not have a husband.’
For you have had five husbands,
and the one you have now is not your husband.
What you have said is true.”
His eyes are gentle. His gaze, piercing. His lips upturned in the faintest hint of a smile.
This man is a prophet, perhaps even “the Christ”.
And he has been waiting for her.
The Quality of Mercy
My parish hosts soup suppers every Friday in Lent: a potluck meal followed by Stations and confessions. Two weeks ago, I sat at a folding table with G, watching her push forkfuls of Mac and cheese back and forth across her bowl. She had fought with her sister earlier in the day, and was still brooding over her role in the fray long after it had dissipated.
Our parochial vicar stood a yard or so away, chatting with another parishioner. He excused himself, saying he had to run up to the church to prepare for confession.
G dropped her fork and was on Father’s heels, out the door and up the stairs.
She knew Jesus was waiting for her.
We know he was waiting for the woman at the well.
We know he waits for us, too:
“The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath.”
Like Christ’s encounter with the woman at the well, the beauty of confession lies in the subtext. It is the story behind the words – the gentle embrace of a loving father – which brings us to the living water freely given in the heat of the day.
Shakespeare knew a thing or two about humanity.
He knew a thing or two about language.
He knew a thing or two about mercy.
We don’t need stage directions to find it.
Anni says
Ooohhhh!!
“Like Christ’s encounter with the woman at the well, the beauty of confession lies in the subtext. It is the story behind the words – the gentle embrace of a loving father – which brings us to the living water freely given in the heat of the day.”
That was super deep! I love it!!
And, I also love how G skipped off to attend Confession – it’s a stark reminder that we are asked to have faith like a child’s. She knew she needed Him, and so she followed. I think adults (myself included) could take some cues from that example…
Also, I really liked the idea that Jesus was spiritually/emotionally spent… I’ve always considered Mary to be exhausted physically and emotionally at the sins being committed around her, but had never considered Jesus joining in that exhaustion. It makes sense, though!
Awesome post!
Ginny Kochis says
I’m glad you like it. I was worried it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else!
Kirby says
This gets to such a great truth about confession, and what makes a great confessor. The really amazing ones, the ones who seem to see straight to the heart of your struggles, are masters of reading that subtext. I love the comparison with Shakespeare!
Ginny Kochis says
Thanks, Kirby!
Anne Kennedy says
Love the Shakespseare – who knew?
Leslie says
This is written so beautifully. I love that your little girl isn’t afraid but finds solace in confession.
Ginny Kochis says
I love it, too. I hope that trust remains.
Kristi @ Hail Marry says
Ginny, you’ve done it again! I love the complexity here! Excellent commentary on Shakespeare as he relates to confession. <3 <3 <3
Ginny Kochis says
Thank you! I can’t let go of the literary critic….
Strahlen Grace says
I love thinking of the woman at the well as a strong willed, intelligent woman with a sense of humor. I often think a sin must be visibly written on a person, but you’re right! Sinfulness is even found in those of us who are confident and seem to have it all. We never know what someone is struggling with behind the scenes. Jesus is waiting to heal us all. If the woman was that way before, imagine how strong-willed, intelligent, and humorful (Is that a word?) she was after accepting Jesus! I think I’d have liked to hang out with her! 🙂
Ginny Kochis says
So true.
Emily Davis says
I guess instead of thinking, “exit stage right”, I need to stand center stage and confess more often. (my poor attempt at identifying with the theatre references). Anyway – this was great Ginny. I love the story of the well as a confession reference. It’s true, I have kept our Lord, who is waiting for me, Waiting – long enough. And that was a very poorly written sentence.
Blessings,
Em
Ginny Kochis says
Don’t be so hard on yourself, girl. That sentence was like one I would write!
Sarah Damm says
Lovely post, Ginny! We really were on the same page, weren’t we?! 😉
Have you read “The Well” by Stephanie Landsem? It is a Biblical fiction about the woman at the well. AWESOME! Stephanie has three novels, and they are all incredible. They are stand-alone stories, but I would read them in this order: “The Well,” “The Thief,” and “The Tomb.” She weaves a few details throughout all of them, which aren’t essential but really enhance the reading experience.
Ginny Kochis says
I haven’t! I’ll have to check them out.
Monique G. says
This is a beautiful post. I have to admit that I’ve never thought of Shakespeare with confession.
MY kids don’t fear confession and I love seeing that. I remember having so much fear as a little kid. I think it says something about our faith and priest when we look forward to going to them.
Ginny Kochis says
Agreed!
Kate says
This is such an awesome and insightful explanation. I love how you described the Bible stories.