The Seventh ConfessionFather Michael’s fingers trembled as he lit the candle in the confessional. The old church was silent, a cavern of shadows and lingering incense. It was past midnight, but the call had been urgent. A soul in crisis, the voice on the phone had whispered, a soul needing the final sacrament of penance.The grate slid back. In the dim light, he could see the silhouette of a man, head bowed.“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” the voice began, calm and measured. “It has been one week since my last confession.”The man proceeded to list his sins. They