[Grem] the Confessional (a gyónás) / Why Catholic guilt is good for you ...

[Emoke Greschik]

Why Catholic guilt is good for you
by *Michael Davis <http://www.catholicherald.co.uk/author/michael-davis/>*
posted Thursday, 7 Sep 2017
http://www.catholicherald.co.uk/issues/september-8th-2017/
why-catholic-guilt-is-good-for-you/
Since becoming Catholic, I’ve fallen madly in love with the confessional
(Getty Images)

'Since becoming Catholic, I’ve fallen madly in love with the confessional'

Nothing quite irritates the spleen like that phrase “recovering Catholic”.
It used to be that folks who drifted away from the Church were lapsed – not
a phrase you hear much in, say, the Cof E, where it is assumed that one is
not practising unless otherwise stated. Now everyone’s “recovering”, as if
Catholicism were a close relative of alcoholism.

What exactly are they recovering from? Why, the guilt, of course – the
infamous Catholic guilt. When they were only young, Father McSomething
would stoop up to the pulpit and explain how their girlish little sins
would land them an eternity stewing in Lucifer’s pot roast, which is mostly
potatoes and the meat is white with fat.

I met many recovering Catholics in the Anglican churches of my youth. They
are a natural home for people who like the trappings of Rome but prefer
Canterbury’s moral relativism: “Only God can judge you, but He’d rather
not. Here: throw some more incense in the thurible.”

I don’t pine for the full *Angela’s Ashes* treatment, but I wish I had had
some Catholic guilt growing up. The only thing worse than an overbearing
parent is a negligent one. As a mainline Protestant in Catholic schools, I
was made to sit through all the First Confession classes, the teachers
listing the sins one must tell the priest or else Catholic Jesus would be
extremely cross. (Don’t swear, don’t touch yourself, don’t put your elbows
on the table, etc.) It made me feel inadequate. Didn’t Protestant Jesus
care whether I was a good person?

I found myself dwelling on one chapter from early childhood: that blissful
period when you’re old enough to tell right from wrong, but on a purely
theoretical level. I found a $20 bill on my counter top and aimlessly
shoved it in my pocket. Then, an hour later, Dad called me into the
kitchen. “Michael, have you seen the 20 I left here?” I shook my head no;
but, seeing how distressed he was, I took it from my pocket and said: “You
can have mine, though.” The look of unfathomable disappointment he gave me
was worse than any slap on the rear.

The Church teaches that there are two reasons to avoid sin. One is fear of
hell, which is sufficient; the other is love of God, which is perfect. The
former is what everyone means by “Catholic guilt”, and should really be
called Catholic fear. The latter, the love of God, is Catholic guilt – and
it’s a wonderful thing.

Guilt isn’t, after all, the feeling you get when the headmaster calls you
into his office for fighting in the playground, which I relished. I
strutted down those hallways bursting with pride, jutting out by bruised
jaw and looking down my bloody nose. Fear is imperfect, if only because we
might find the sin is worth the sanction. Guilt is the feeling you get when
Dad finds out that you – his child, for whom he’d give his very life – have
pilfered a measly $20. That’s perfect contrition. Fear is born of
selfishness; guilt of love.

Anyway, because I knew God loved me, I knew I had it in my power to
disappoint Him. But my Anglican pastors refused to tell me how. In fact,
they seemed more intent on telling me what God wouldn’t be upset with me
for. He’d love me even if I was promiscuous, or drunk, or Buddhist. And no
doubt they were right. But I could get all that from Miley Cyrus and Lady
Gaga. Surely the Church doesn’t exist to tell God how to be a good Father,
but to teach us how to be good sons and daughters. I fell into a state the
Church calls despair and became what she calls scrupulous. I was obsessed
with the sins I wasn’t sure I was committing. My prayers were very little
more than, “Please, God, whatever I’m doing wrong, forgive me.”

Which is why, since becoming Catholic, I’ve fallen madly in love with the
confessional. The Church has this down to a science. She follows the
formula every mother knows: “Your Father’s upset with you for X, but don’t
worry. Do Y to show how sorry you are, and never do it again.” Then,
finally, that blessed assurance: “Of course He still loves you. Don’t be
silly.”

Imperfect as we all are, we can’t help but disappoint those we love most.
There are only two ways to shake off that guiltiness: reconciliation or
apostasy. We can either confess our sins and do penance, or we can turn God
out of our hearts altogether.

This is my plea to lapsed (or “recovering”, if you must) Catholics: please
don’t run from your guilt. Don’t turn your back on God. Just go talk to
your Mum. She’ll know what to do.

*Michael Davis is the Catholic Herald’s US commissioning editor*

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