When Bonnie Lavric was growing up in a Philadelphia suburb in the mid-1960's, her mother, father, and four siblings dutifully piled into their VW Beetle every Saturday for an afternoon drive. The destination? Weekly individual Confessions at their local parish.

Though Lavric somberly remembers being intimidated by the dark, musty confessional with its heavy red curtain, she recalls the drive to church as having elements of both a lighthearted road trip and a sobering guilt trip.

"My siblings and I tried to remember all of the heinous things we had done that week," she says. "Sometimes we would punch each other on the way over so we would have something to say.

"The road to the church was really bumpy," she recalls. "And every time the car went over a bump, we'd yell out, ‘Whee!' And then we would be chastised because we were supposed to be concentrating on our sins. There were a lot of conflicting things going on in that car."

The road to Confession, for Lavric, was somewhat bumpy on a deeper level, too. "It was all very confusing and uncomfortable and scary. I don't remember it being positive at all," she says.

These days, Lavric, now 47 and living in Dublin, Ohio, has a different view of the sacrament. She uses words like "remarkable" and "rejuvenating" to describe her experiences of Reconciliation and celebrates the sacrament three to four times a year. What changed her outlook, she says, was revisiting Reconciliation as each of her five children experienced it for the first time. "Growing up, there was more hellfire and brimstone," Lavric says, "But now the focus is more on the fact that I am forgiven."

Lavric now regularly makes time for Reconciliation, as do many young parents who wish to set a good example for their children preparing to experience the sacrament. But the family drive to church for Saturday Confessions is now a thing of the past, and the Catholic population at large doesn't exactly mirror Lavric's wholehearted embrace of Reconciliation. In fact, Catholics are split almost down the middle. A 2003 survey of over 1,000 Catholics, conducted by sociologists James Davidson and Dean Hoge, indicates that while 46 percent of Catholics celebrate Reconciliation once a year or more, 53 percent never or almost never do. In addition, only 38 percent of Catholics say that private Confession to a priest is "essential to [their] vision of being Catholic."

In a 2001 article in Commonweal magazine Boston College historian James O'Toole wrote: "We seem to be in the process of reducing the number of sacraments from seven to six-by default." A closer look at the "most endangered sacrament" reveals that, though there are signs of hope, this trend isn't likely to reverse itself anytime soon.

Through new eyes
Despite the widespread national decline in the celebration of Reconciliation, parents of young children are still willing to revisit the sacrament as their children prepare to receive it for the first time, often because parish programs require it. Parents often find that their children's preparation differs drastically from the doom-and-gloom, anxiety-ridden lens through which they were taught to view Confession. Tom Weed of Merrillville, Indiana noticed this difference when he attended preparation sessions with his 7-year-old son.

"When I was young we were taught to be afraid," says Weed, 45. "But my son was taught that this is a very loving and giving thing, a gift he is receiving. The understanding of God giving total forgiveness was pushed a lot more."

Mike Madonna, a father of two living in Old Bridge, New Jersey, also noticed a fresh perspective in his son's sacramental preparation.

"It was a lot more kid-friendly, a happy occasion, and my son was so excited," says Madonna. "What I remember more from my parish growing up was, ‘You are going to get punished. Say your rosary and Our Fathers.'"

When Sean Going, 39, of Medford, Massachusetts attended his parish service for his son's First Reconciliation, he couldn't believe his eyes.

"After the children went it was tremendous to see the number of parents who took part in the sacrament as well," he says. "I don't know when I've seen so many people go to Reconciliation."

In attending the preparation sessions for his son's first Reconciliation, Going noticed that his parish emphasized a more relational approach to the sacrament than he had been taught as a child. "It focused more on it being another method of communicating with God," he says. "Back in my day it was, ‘Get in there and confess your sins.' "

Claire Lane, 38, of Gaithersburg, Maryland, learned that Reconciliation takes place within the context of a relationship with God, but also within a worshiping community.

"The idea of reconciling to your community through the priest was very new to me," she says. "I grew up having an idea of personal sin that I needed to confess and atone for and do penance for. It's almost easier to avoid the sacrament if you think of it in those terms because we confess our sins, in a way, at the beginning of Mass. But what I learned with my daughter is that in any sin, no matter how personal or private, you are not only turning away from God but you are turning away from your church community."

Lane, who previously celebrated the sacrament of Reconciliation "once a decade," says she has participated in the sacrament three times in the past nine months. "That's a lot compared to my previous life," she said. "Before I just never felt like I had a mortal sin I needed to confess."

Lane says that during the time when she was away from the sacrament she relied on her own personal prayers and scriptural reflection for spiritual sustenance. In addition, confiding in her best friend and husband took the place of sacramental Reconciliation.

"As a conscientious adult I felt that I was capable of telling people I'm sorry and acknowledging my wrongdoings," she says.