Hearing nuns' confessions is like being stoned to death with

“Hearing nuns’ confessions is like being stoned to death with popcorn.”
Thus spoke Fulton J. Sheen, the wise and witty archbishop whose words carried both humor and holiness. In this vivid and paradoxical image, he painted a picture both lighthearted and profound. He likened the confessions of nuns—pure, delicate souls burdened by the smallest of sins—to being struck repeatedly with something harmless. Popcorn, light and airy, cannot kill, yet when flung endlessly, it can overwhelm. In this, Sheen reveals the paradox of holiness itself: that even the innocent carry their burdens seriously, and that spiritual labor may sometimes come cloaked in gentle absurdity.

The origin of this saying lies in Sheen’s long years as a confessor, counselor, and preacher. As a priest and later bishop, he heard countless souls unburden their consciences before God. When the devout, such as nuns, came to him, their sins were often not crimes of malice or cruelty, but the most tender scruples—a harsh word spoken in haste, a stray thought of pride, a forgotten prayer. To a lesser man, such confessions might seem trivial. But Sheen, with humor tempered by compassion, compared the experience to being pelted with popcorn—harmless, yet relentless. He meant not mockery, but affection: a recognition that the purest hearts suffer most from the smallest stains.

Beneath the laughter, there is a deeper truth. Holiness refines the conscience, making it sensitive to the slightest imperfection. The saint trembles where the sinner feels nothing. Thus, what to others would be as light as popcorn becomes, to the pure in heart, a matter of weight. The closer one draws to the divine, the more one perceives the faint shadow between human weakness and divine perfection. Sheen understood that those who love deeply repent deeply, even for what seems trivial. His words, though wrapped in jest, honor that humility—the gentleness of souls who long for spotless communion with God.

Consider, for example, Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, the “Little Flower.” Her faults were small indeed—tiny irritations, momentary impatience—but to her, they were mountains against the holiness she desired. She wept for them as if they were grave offenses. To an outsider, this may have seemed excessive, but to Thérèse, love magnified everything. When love is great, even the smallest wound pains the heart. So it is with the nuns in Sheen’s confessionals: their popcorn sins struck softly, yet they came from souls that loved fiercely.

But Sheen’s metaphor also carries a warning against the pettiness of self-accusation. Just as one could be buried beneath a mountain of light things, so can the spirit be crushed by an excess of scruples. There is wisdom in repentance, but folly in obsession. The confessor’s task, as Sheen well knew, was to free the soul not only from sin, but from fear—to teach that divine mercy is not fragile. Even the purest must learn to laugh at their imperfections, for joy is also a virtue, and humility without joy becomes a shadow of pride.

Thus, the humor in Sheen’s words is the laughter of balance. He reminds us that faith must breathe, that even in holiness there must be levity. The divine does not despise laughter—it sanctifies it. A confessor who cannot smile at popcorn will grow weary; a soul that cannot smile at its small failings will grow hard. Sheen’s saying teaches that love without humor becomes brittle, and holiness without humanity becomes unbearable.

So, O seeker, take this lesson into your heart: do not weigh yourself down with light burdens. Be sincere in repentance, but gentle with your soul. Laugh at your stumbles, rise again, and walk on. For God is not a tyrant waiting to condemn, but a Father who delights even in your laughter. The way of the spirit is not grim—it is radiant. And when you find yourself struck by the soft rain of life’s little failings, remember Sheen’s wisdom: popcorn may pelt you, but it cannot kill you. Stand, smile, forgive yourself, and go in peace—for even holiness, to endure, must learn to laugh.