Christine M. Flowers: No love for Blessmefather.com

FOR Catholic kids, making your first confession is a big deal.

Not as big as your First Holy Communion (parties, money, the miniature bride's outfit), but pretty big nonetheless.

It's the first time we knowingly seek, and accept, a sacrament. We get baptized without our permission, and you can tell by the way some babies react to getting doused with sacramental oil that, given the choice, the invasion of our personal space is not exactly welcome. Marriage comes later, and Holy Orders are reserved for a special few. We won't even discuss Last Rites, since the whole subject is a downer.

But back to confession. Catholic children prep for at least a year before they're allowed to purge their tainted souls before a priest in anticipation of receiving the Holy Eucharist the following week.

And, despite my flip tone, there's a great deal of gravity connected to the sacrament. For those of us who grew up in the '60s and '70s, it was a rather frightening prospect to enter that draped closet, look at the dark screen and tell the disembodied voice on the other side that you had sinned.

I REMEMBER my first time.

Not having actually done anything terrible enough to, in my eyes, warrant absolution, I went in to the confessional with a plan. I would make up a plausible story about stealing something from the cafeteria, express my regret, and pay close attention as the priest gave me directions for saving my soul.

Worked like a charm. I went in, recited the magic words ("Bless me, Father, for I have sinned"), then gave a detailed version of petty theft of two pretzels and a peanut butter Kandy Kake. The priest was understanding, told me to say three Hail Marys (my favorite!) and sin no more.

The relief I felt as I left the confessional was quickly replaced with paralysis. I was a miniature Lot's wife, fixed to the spot.

The only thing missing was the salt, although with the sweat pouring down my 6-year-old neck, there was some sodium in the picture.

I was struck by lightning - I'd lied to a priest in the confessional. Under oath. My first sacramental experience was a lie. I'd perpetrated a fraud on the representative of God on this earth. It was a Do Not Pass Purgatory, Go Straight to Hell moment.

Of course, I survived. After explaining my plight to Sister Augusta, it was explained to me that while I'd made a mistake, this was only a practice run and God would understand. I can't begin to describe the relief I felt at hearing I was going to be able to actually spend eternity with my family and not just have to wave to them from the basement.

I write this, tongue firmly in cheek, to explain why I was so deeply offended to hear that someone had created a "Confession" app for the iPad. Patrick Leinen created Confession: A Roman Catholic App to, as he put it, "invite Catholics to engage in their faith through digital technology."

And my response is: Are you kidding me?

Generations of Catholic kids were forced to go to catechism and CCD classes to grasp the solemnity of the sacraments and appreciate their role in our lives.

Sure, a lot of those mini-Catholics have since left the church because it became too onerous for them to practice their faith with honor and respect, but there are enough of us left who think that reducing the relationship between a penitent and his confessor to a button on some handheld gadget is ridiculous, wrong and a slap in the face. (I wonder what would happen if someone came up with a bar mitzvah app, by which you could do interactive Torah readings and register for presents at the exact same time.)

Or maybe we could be treated to Mecca.com, which, with a click of a button, you could convert to Islam (it would of course have to have separate Sunni and Shia versions of the program since you don't want to have to then click on HolyWar.com).

Not pretty when someone starts playing around with your faith, is it?

Fortunately, the Vatican has come out forcefully against this travesty. As a spokesman in Rome noted, "It is essential to understand that the rites of penance require a personal dialogue between penitents and their confessor. . . It cannot be replaced by a computer application."

Of course it can't. I mean, just imagine if your computer malfunctioned and you downloaded the wrong penance? Eight hundred thousand Our Fathers would be cruel and unusual.

Christine M. Flowers is a lawyer. E-mail

cflowers1961@yahoo.com. She blogs at philly.com/philly/blogs/flowersshow.