So I had a couple of bad days having to deal with a difficult person. Surprise, surprise! Obviously, that’s what led to my last blog post. And yes, that was a facetious list on how NOT to deal with such people. I was attempting to cheer myself up by making light of the situation, and it helped, for a little while at least. Consider that my blog therapy. For anyone curious as to what I really did to deal with the situation, it was fairly simple, albeit somewhat misguided. I went into major avoidance mode, at least until things blew over. It wasn’t incredibly difficult at all. I observe a certain level of avoidance anyway with this particular person, so keeping my distance just comes naturally. The avoidance was and continues to be a good thing. Healthy even. What wasn’t healthy however, was feeling all angry and bristly inside. While I managed to bite my tongue and take the “high road” in this person’s presence, I went the other route in the privacy of my own home, in my head, and in my heart. I complained to my husband, I made snarky remarks (some were made on here for all to see), and I sighed deeply and loudly at the mere mention of said person’s name. I just wasn’t myself, and I was starting to feel rotten. I don’t like holding grudges. It’s completely counter to my nature, and it serves no purpose. And while I believed that I had already forgiven this person in my heart, I didn’t really have that sense of closure yet. And no amount of making light of it was going to end it either, despite the laughs.
It was immediately obvious that I’d benefit from going to confession. I like to refer to it as Catholic therapy. You walk in all broken, bearing the burden of your faults, and come out brand new. I love that. The line to confess was long, so I had plenty of time to go over my examination of conscience, and reflect on my sins. While I was on line, I became distracted by the sound of a woman's voice at the front of the church. I had seen her before at least a dozen times. She’s a fixture at our church. Her life has been hard, plagued by addiction and mental illness. People kept kindly urging her to keep her voice down, and she would try her hardest to remember, and then her voice would just gradually get louder again. Then she decided to walk over to our line (it was a large penance service, so there were four lines to choose from), and she zeroed in on me immediately, asking if she could cut in before me. I was about sixth in the queue, and of all of those present, she chose me to approach. I told her that of course she could cut in, and made room for her. In between showering me with praises, frequent hugs, “I love you’s”, and kisses for allowing her to cut in line, she proceeded to detail random little vignettes about the horrors of her life. Immediately, I felt guilty over, quite frankly, the insignificance of my own problems, and particularly for having allowed them to consume me the way they had. So what if I had a less than ideal encounter (or series of encounters) with someone. It was apparent that this woman’s every waking moment was a torment. Her "difficult person" is more than just one entity. I could see in her eyes that she was getting overwhelmed with sadness over the stories she was relating. And when she was most upset, she proceeded to tell me how she wasn’t worth Christ’s sacrifice or forgiveness. Those words just shot straight into my heart. Who could be more worthy? Here she was humbling herself, acknowledging the faults that had in one way or another contributed to her monumental problems, while others so easily turn and blame God for much less. She was taking the responsibility, even though from her story, it was apparent that there were other contributors. I found myself telling her, over and over again, that of course she was worthy of forgiveness. Me! The very person who had felt so rotten and unworthy just earlier. On a good day, it's easy to know we all matter and that we are worthy of forgiveness, but a bad day clouds everything. It was serendipitous to have had that encounter with her. It softened me. I had still been holding a bit of a grudge; I just hadn’t realized it before. There’s nothing more humbling than coming face to face with someone whose problems dwarf your owm. What a weird, roundabout way to feel grateful for the cards you’ve been dealt.
After her confession, she was beaming. Were all her problems fixed? Of course not, but I believe she was given the grace and the hope to endure a bit longer. I don't know how much longer. A lot of it depends on her. Addiction is huge, and awful, and insidious, so she has a very hard road ahead of her. She will need spiritual maintenance. We all do.
And then it was my turn to bear it all. My turn to say, "Hey, I've been a real jerk, and I'm really sorry for it." As I think about it now, it was probably one of my best confessions ever, thanks in large part to the humbling encounter I had with that woman. The priest was very kind and responsive, and he even chuckled a bit at something I said (a relief to me as I took it as a sign that he's heard much worse). He offered me the best advice, and helped me to put things in perspective. And then I was absolved, and the weight was lifted. I found myself, as I often do after confession, feeling deeply relieved and settled for the first time in weeks. There is no downgrading the effect bitter feelings have on a person, and nothing beats the peace of finally letting them go, and in this case, really knowing you’ve been forgiven for them. And so I was repaired, for a little while at least, until I find myself stumbling again.
This story reminded me of a talk we recently listened to by Archbishop Fulton Sheen on how the repression of sin affects our minds and bodies. And that made me think of the many people out there who don't take part in frequent confession. I'd be a mess, obviously. Allowing my anger to fester was a form of repression, because it meant I was hyper-focused on someone else's guilt whilst downplaying the role I was playing in not just letting it all go. The longer I held onto it, the more bitter I felt, and the snarkier I became. Others repress guilt by over-scheduling, keeping themselves busy to the point that they haven't a moment to spare to think of where they've gone wrong. Things just keep getting swept under the rug, with the hope that they'll disappear. But they don't. They just build up. And still others repress their sins by pointing fingers, placing the blame elsewhere.
Today it seems that no one really wants to discuss sin, as if it doesn’t even exist. It may seem unpopular, or medieval to many. Often it’s an issue of semantics. It’s okay to say you’ve got “issues” or "problems" but not okay to say you’re a sinner. Archbishop Sheen, in his talk (see below), suggests that sin is at the core of most of our unhappiness…that our unhappiness can be tied to our incapacity to bear responsibility for our thoughts, actions, or inactions, and that the build-up of guilt can manifest itself in a number of ways, physically and emotionally, at any time throughout the course of our lives. I believe he’s right. We allow our guilt and righteous anger to fester, and then unable to contain it, we act out by continuing to make poor choices. Guilt has sort of gotten a bad rap, and that's unfortunate. Guilt has a very humane purpose, particularly when acknowledged, addressed, and ultimately let go. It is the sign that someone has a working conscience. There’s nothing scarier than someone without a conscience. Pinocchio, as cute as he was, would have been the stuff of nightmares for me if Jiminy Cricket weren’t around to help keep him on the straight and narrow. (Okay, maybe I just think marionettes are creepy, but that’s beside the point). And I’m sure all of us, at one time or another, have questioned the perceived lack of conscience in others, particularly when it leads to horrible acts of violence. The recent news story of the young boy being set on fire on his way home from school is one such example. Thankfully for us, conscience can (and often does) kick in after the fact, and I hope that this is the case with the perpetrators of that particular crime. It’s sad enough to think of the victim in this story, without adding the brokenness of the perpetrators into the mix.
Now about that “Catholic guilt…”
There have been times in my life when upon learning that I’m a practicing Catholic, people have commented on the so-called issue of “Catholic guilt,” as if guilt is something unique to Catholicism. Obviously, it’s not. There’s even a Wiki article about it, and apparently it’s an idea still so current, that it even warranted an entry in Urban Dictionary. It’s my guilt that invariably leads me to returning my shopping cart to its designated area, especially on a rainy or blustery day when I’d much rather just shelter myself in the car. Identifying as Catholic has little to do with it. It does have to do with good old common courtesy and a smattering of guilt at the thought of some teenage employee catching a cold because he's spent an hour returning dozens of carts, including the one I had used.
I'm not addressing Catholic guilt in the form of scrupulosity here. That's a whole other ball of wax, deserving of its own post, better left for another time. Besides, if you're scrupulous, you don't need to be sold on the idea of confession. You're already going. Often.
Anyway, I’ve digressed enough for one day. I’ve added Archbishop Sheen’s talk below for those willing to give it a listen. It’s a good one, although I must say, I’ve never heard a bad or even mediocre talk of his. I doubt one even exists. And boy was he funny, too, and I do appreciate a bit of levity.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
*Edited to change a word or two (or three).
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