I just returned from a busy ones trip to New Orleans. The city, to be sure, is perhaps one of the most diabolically inclined places on earth. I know this with certainty because I ended up checking into the only hotel in the French Quarter that did not have a bar.
Kidding aside, I caught an early break from work and decided to head back to the airport. As I was leaving the venue, I asked the Blessed Mother to find me a place for confession. Regular readers know that when I ask her for anything like this, she delivers in spades. looking online, I found a church three blocks from me that offered confession from 11:50 to 12:10. I have expected it to conclude with, “alternating Wednesdays on the surface of the moon.”
But upon entering the church, I knew this was the right place. Very first thing to catch my eye was a giant statue of my girl, St. Rita. While it is true that the priest who heard my confession was wearing shorts, not much else was amiss. Sidenote, I know he was wearing shorts because rather than the six beautiful old school confessionals in the name of the church, I had to make my confession in a reconciliation room in the vestibule. When I entered that room, I was confronted with a screen. I knelt on the penitent side, but could see the legs of the priest sticking out from the other side of the screen. 
I thought I would leave you with some beautiful images from this church – Saint Joseph’s in New Orleans, in the shadow of the Superdome.
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 