Guilt Isn't a Pleasure

“Guilt is the sorrow, ‘tis the fiend, the avenging fiend, that follows us behind, with whips and stings.” ~Nicholas Rowe, English dramatist, appointed Poet Laureate 1715 (1674-1718)

He sat on the cold marble floor hugging the body to his chest rocking rhythmically back and forth; like a mother quieting her new born child. Occasionally he would pull away from the blood smeared face intoning a pleading litany. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know; I’m sorry, forgive me.” Then he would hug the body tighter and rock even faster, repeating his litany. Sirens could be heard in the distance coming relentlessly closer. He continued to rock, begging the body for forgiveness: “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

The sirens stopped right outside the building, then fell silent. Four car doors slammed shut. Moments crept by. Suddenly the double doors at the back of the sanctuary burst open and in stepped four uniformed policemen. Glocks at the ready. They pointed their weapons in each direction they looked, methodically "clearing" the sanctuary, finding no one as they went.

Then, from behind the altar, came what sounded like a whimper. They paused. The squad leader nodded toward the sound motioning silently with two fingers. Quickly, down the center aisle they went, glancing furtively into the rows of pews. Stopping at the base of the stairs leading to the altar, the squad leader motioned for two of the officers to make a wide berth around the outside of the staircase. With the remaining officer, up the stairs they went, guns poised, safeties off. Stealthily the two moved around the altar toward the place where they had heard the sound. Then, in one swift practiced maneuver, they slipped quickly around the altar pointing their guns at the open spot behind.

There sat 11 year old Jason Masterson. His eyes were red, his cheeks stained with tears and his nose was running. A deep sob shook his body. Dressed in his school uniform, he was seated cross legged on the cold marble floor. Wrapped in his arms was, what appeared to be, a life sized wooden mannequin. One of the officers quickly noticed it was the corpus (the body of Christ), from the crucifix, which Jason was cradling in his arms. Jason had apparently pulled the spikes out of “Jesus’” hands and feet, torn the metal crown of thorns from his head and tossed it aside. Now he was holding the wooden sculpture and apparently apologizing to it. The police holstered their weapons.

A side door flew open, “That’s him officers, that’s him.” I want him arrested for vandalism.” A skinny man in an ill-fitted suit, Principal Atwater, strode up to policeman. “He needs to be arrested” he added for emphasis. “Is he a student here?” asked one of the officers. “Yes, he is…and not a very good one. Now arrest him.”

The officers glanced at one another and shrugged. Two helped Jason to his feet while a third gingerly removed the wooden body of Christ from his arms, laying it carefully on the altar. They handcuffed Jason and gently led him back up the center aisle.

The squad leader paused in front of Atwater. He removed a white business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to the blustering principal. “Call the boy’s mother and tell her where we’re taking her son.” “The address is on the card.” The policeman hesitated a moment, “I trust you’re going to drop the charges as long as the family makes restitution…aren’t you?” Surprised, Atwater stammered out a “Yes, of course.” The policeman gave a curt nod and without another word followed the others up the aisle and out of the church.

Jason was not a vandal, but a victim. Somewhere along the way Jason was told the reason Jesus was hung on a cross was because of his sins. The boy had taken this teaching literally making Jesus’ demise his personal responsibility.

For years we have made jokes about guilt: Catholic guilt comes from what you do and Jewish guilt from what you don’t do (like not calling your mother). Presbyterian guilt comes from not working hard enough, etc. “Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving” (Erma Bombeck), but it is no laughing matter. It is destructive and hurtful. It feeds addiction and incites neurosis. Practicing our faith should help us to alleviate the negative consequences of guilt. Yet sadly, there are those who, rather than eliminate guilt, employ it. Wielding it like a weapon.

There are those who cultivate guilt in the name of stewardship in an effort to increase offertory or to encourage others to support a particular campaign or cause. I have caught myself saying “we’ll guilt them into it,” only to feel “guilty” later for having said it.

This approach is misguided. Guilt should never be inflicted on another accidentally let alone purposefully. We already inflict enough of it upon ourselves. “Guilting” another into doing something is the equivalent of torturing them until you get what you want. And even the best results will be short lived. Healthy, sustainable, responsible actions can never be motivated by negative emotions like guilt.

Real stewardship grows out of gratitude, not guilt. It grows out of the healthy realization we are really not entitled to anything we have. That everything we have is temporary and we have it, not because we deserve it, but because a gracious and loving God wanted us to have it. We are called to be filled with gratitude because God sent His one and only child into the world to die for us; not to make us permanently neurotic, but because he loved us beyond our comprehension.

Christian Stewards are called to save the world. To do so we need to share the good news. And if that news is truly good, it will not make others feel guilty. Guilt needs to be left in the confessional where it belongs. The confessional is the place to say I’m sorry for what I have done and to be forgiven for it. Gratitude stands with us at the altar. Here, as we gaze upon the Cross, we can say, thank you for what you have done for me.

Dear God: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I knew it was you. Thank you!

“If it makes you feel guilty, it isn’t a pleasure.” ~Unknown

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.