An elderly Italian man walked slowly into his parish church one afternoon and asked the priest if he could hear his confession.

“Of course, my son,” said the priest.

The old man took a deep breath.

“Well, Father, at the beginning of World War Two, a beautiful woman knocked on my door and begged me to hide her from the Germans.”

The priest listened carefully.

“I hid her in my attic,” the old man continued, “and thankfully, they never found her.”

The priest smiled warmly.

“That was a brave and generous thing to do. You risked your own safety to protect another person. There’s nothing to confess about that.”

The old man shifted nervously.

“It gets worse, Father.”

The priest’s smile faded slightly.

“I was weak,” the man admitted, “and I told her that if she wanted to stay hidden in my attic, she had to pay the rent with sexual favors.”

The priest sat quietly for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

“Well,” he finally said, “those were terrible and dangerous times. What you did was wrong, but you also took a great risk by hiding her. I believe God, in his wisdom and mercy, will weigh everything and judge you kindly.”

The old man visibly relaxed.

“Thank you, Father. That’s a load off my mind.”

He stood up, adjusted his coat, then paused.

“Can I ask another question?”

“Of course, my son,” said the priest.

The old man leaned closer and asked,

“Do I need to tell her that the war is over?”.