Not long ago I read about a woman whose life would have been great material for the National Enquirer. Or, at least, Page Six.

She had led a colorful life when she was young. She’d had several lovers – some of them famous – and lived with a couple of other men for long periods of time without getting married. She had a child with one of them, and an abortion with another. This was before abortion was as common as it is today – it was not only illegal, but dangerous. She was ready to risk her own life…to take the life of another…an unborn child. I don’t know if she was an atheist, but it’s safe to assume that God was not a priority for her.

That woman was Dorothy Day.

A few years ago, just before he died, Cardinal O’Connor began the formal proceedings to have her declared a saint of the Catholic Church.

In bare outlines, Dorothy Day’s life is not as unusual as it may sound. Some of our greatest saints have been notorious sinners – from St. Augustine to Francis of Assisi. And it’s no secret the church is absolutely stuffed with sinners. You’re listening to one right now. And you’re sitting next to one. And if you look in the mirror, you’ll see one.

We are all flawed. A monk once described life in the monastery this way: “You get up, you walk, you fall, you get up, you walk, you fall. And you do that every day.” That is the Christian life in a nutshell, isn’t it? We fumble along, desperately trying to find our way through the dark corridors of human existence, making mistakes, falling, getting up, and groping for the light.

But the miracle of life is that there is light.

There is a way out. We can always change and be what God wants us to be, instead of what the world asks us to be.

We can always make the decision to be better than we are.

At some point, Dorothy Day made that decision.

And so did the woman in today’s gospel.

At some moment, she realized, as so many of us do, that: This…just…wasn’t…working. Life as she knew it was more painful and more awful than she wanted it to be. She groped in the dark …stumbling toward the light.

Until she found it. She found Christ. She was so grateful that she found Him, and so sorry for her sins, that she bathed His feet with her tears.

And Jesus’s words to her are words He wants desperately to speak to all of us:

“Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

I grew up in a family of alcoholics, and for a few years I attended regular meetings of Al-Anon, for family and friends of alcoholics. And I got to know the famous “12 Steps” that are part of recovery. Step number five is: “I admitted to God, to myself and to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs.”

Those of us who are Catholic know that step by a different name. Confession. Or, what the church now likes to call it, Reconciliation. We are blessed to celebrate that sacrament six days a week at our parish – and it is a sacrament to celebrate. Because in opening our hearts to God, in admitting to Him, and to another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs, we are given the grace to begin again. Just like the woman in the gospel.

It is something all of us need – now, more than ever.

Just last Thursday, the online edition of the magazine FIRST THINGS had an essay called “Desperately Seeking Absolution,” listing secular web sites where people could log on and type in their sins. The sites have names like ‘I’veScrewedUp.com” and “DailyConfession.com.” I can’t say if these places help people. I imagine that maybe it’s good to get things off your chest.

But it’s no substitute for standing solitary before God, telling Him what you’ve done, and asking for His forgiveness.

Computers offer wonderful conveniences. I make my living working in front of one. But I have yet to find one that offers sanctifying grace.

But Confession does. It gives us a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. And a millionth. It’s the way we turn the messy page of our sins and face a clean blank piece of paper – a fresh beginning.

A couple years ago, I read a priest describing one confession he heard early in his priesthood. A man came into the confessional, sighed and said, “Father, brace yourself because I don’t think you’ve heard THIS before.” The priest was a little surprised, but said, “Well, you’re probably right. I was just ordained two days ago.”

It took several moments for the man to stop laughing. I can just imagine what the other people in church thought.

But the embarrassing fact is: most of our sins aren’t as unique as we think they are.

Dorothy Day began her autobiography “The Long Loneliness” by describing the experience of confession – the sounds, the smells, the sensations. She notes, accurately, that “Confession is hard.” And she writes what we need to say: “I have sinned, and these are my sins…ugly gray drab monotonous sins.”

These are the sins that cause all of us worry and doubt and dread. These are the sins that bring us to our knees. And they are the kinds that brought the woman in the gospel to the feet of Jesus.

But if we own our sins – if we admit them, and confess them and seek to repent – then we, too, can share in the grace that woman received.

We, too, may be able to hear Jesus say to us:

“Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

Image: “Magdalene” by Georges de La Tour (1638)