For I Have Sinned?
Not to pile on the bad news bandwagon which has ravaged my local church for the past 11 days, but one moment sticks out in my memory which has always been one of confusion, one of... something... and I've never known what to make of it. I entrust it to your judgment, because it seems it deserves some kind of figuring out.
First, a Rock Primer: Being Catholic and Italian, I was imbued from a young age with a double-shot of in-built guilt. In my younger days, I felt bad about everything -- a brief lash-out at my parents, paraphrasing the textbook in answering homework questions, not saying "hi" to a neighbor who would greet me on a grumpy day. Being as involved -- and, at the time, doctrinare -- as I was, this (excess of?) guilt brought me to the confessional booth with a pretty solid consistency; twice a month or thereabout.
One Saturday afternoon when I was 12, I queued up and, after a short wait, entered the Reconciliation Room. I came face-to-face with one of the parish priests, and I started recounting the thoughts, words and deeds which, in my estimation at the time, cried out to God for mercy.
Once I was done -- my speaking part was relatively brief -- the priest told me that it was important to "figure out my psychology." Even though it had nothing to do with the things confessed, he started to interrogate me about my sex life. Remember, I was 12.... My "sex life" was basically non-existent at that point, or at least that's how I remember it.
The questions kept coming for a half an hour, and not the "yes" or "no" kind. Though I felt qualms -- significant ones -- I was taught to believe that the confessor, in his role as Christ the Judge, had the right to ask whatever questions he felt appropriate in order to mete out the due penance. Keeping that in mind, the penitent answered the questions, however weird it felt. And on top of this, we were taught that you never said "no" to a priest, especially in the exercise of his sacred ministry.
At the end, I felt like I was punched in the gut. All I came for was absolution, not a deposition. He closed with a monologue about how it was his "favorite time of year," (it was Christmas), talking about all the lights and the happy people, and how important it was for us to be happy.
"Merry Christmas!" he said, sending me forth after the sacramental formalities had finally concluded.
Admittedly, I came out feeling violated, guilty, ashamed, and patently unhealed, unforgiven, much worse than I felt going in. Aside from the other priest of the parish -- a saintly man who valiantly battled alcoholism and won -- who would always ask in a very heartfelt, pastoral way "Is there anything else bothering you or troubling you?" I had never been asked a question of any kind in the booth. And I never looked at my interrogator, or the parish church in which I was baptized and received my sacraments, in the same way again. And the priest never really talked to me again, and I was always left with the feeling that it was because my "psychology" had marked me out as unworthy and defiled in his eyes -- that I wasn't really living my faith as best I could.
Remember, I was 12.
I've always seen cases of inappropriate conduct on the part of clergy in degrees, and never thought this was worthy of a report -- I've never seen myself as being victimized -- because, well, I wasn't bent over and raped, I wasn't physically touched, but something still felt awry about the whole thing... it still feels awry.
The priest left the parish about a year afterward and remains in active ministry. And I keep asking myself questions: Should I have put my foot down? Did I have the right to say "no"? Does this classify as abuse, or just a priest briefly run off the rails, or possibly one with good intentions? Was this a "normal" confession? Was this a normal process for the discernment of a penance? And, above all, was this necessary and why?
I'm still left with more questions than answers. I don't know if I'll ever figure it out, or if I'm just repeating something in my mind which wasn't really anything at all. I honestly don't know.
-30-
First, a Rock Primer: Being Catholic and Italian, I was imbued from a young age with a double-shot of in-built guilt. In my younger days, I felt bad about everything -- a brief lash-out at my parents, paraphrasing the textbook in answering homework questions, not saying "hi" to a neighbor who would greet me on a grumpy day. Being as involved -- and, at the time, doctrinare -- as I was, this (excess of?) guilt brought me to the confessional booth with a pretty solid consistency; twice a month or thereabout.
One Saturday afternoon when I was 12, I queued up and, after a short wait, entered the Reconciliation Room. I came face-to-face with one of the parish priests, and I started recounting the thoughts, words and deeds which, in my estimation at the time, cried out to God for mercy.
Once I was done -- my speaking part was relatively brief -- the priest told me that it was important to "figure out my psychology." Even though it had nothing to do with the things confessed, he started to interrogate me about my sex life. Remember, I was 12.... My "sex life" was basically non-existent at that point, or at least that's how I remember it.
The questions kept coming for a half an hour, and not the "yes" or "no" kind. Though I felt qualms -- significant ones -- I was taught to believe that the confessor, in his role as Christ the Judge, had the right to ask whatever questions he felt appropriate in order to mete out the due penance. Keeping that in mind, the penitent answered the questions, however weird it felt. And on top of this, we were taught that you never said "no" to a priest, especially in the exercise of his sacred ministry.
At the end, I felt like I was punched in the gut. All I came for was absolution, not a deposition. He closed with a monologue about how it was his "favorite time of year," (it was Christmas), talking about all the lights and the happy people, and how important it was for us to be happy.
"Merry Christmas!" he said, sending me forth after the sacramental formalities had finally concluded.
Admittedly, I came out feeling violated, guilty, ashamed, and patently unhealed, unforgiven, much worse than I felt going in. Aside from the other priest of the parish -- a saintly man who valiantly battled alcoholism and won -- who would always ask in a very heartfelt, pastoral way "Is there anything else bothering you or troubling you?" I had never been asked a question of any kind in the booth. And I never looked at my interrogator, or the parish church in which I was baptized and received my sacraments, in the same way again. And the priest never really talked to me again, and I was always left with the feeling that it was because my "psychology" had marked me out as unworthy and defiled in his eyes -- that I wasn't really living my faith as best I could.
Remember, I was 12.
I've always seen cases of inappropriate conduct on the part of clergy in degrees, and never thought this was worthy of a report -- I've never seen myself as being victimized -- because, well, I wasn't bent over and raped, I wasn't physically touched, but something still felt awry about the whole thing... it still feels awry.
The priest left the parish about a year afterward and remains in active ministry. And I keep asking myself questions: Should I have put my foot down? Did I have the right to say "no"? Does this classify as abuse, or just a priest briefly run off the rails, or possibly one with good intentions? Was this a "normal" confession? Was this a normal process for the discernment of a penance? And, above all, was this necessary and why?
I'm still left with more questions than answers. I don't know if I'll ever figure it out, or if I'm just repeating something in my mind which wasn't really anything at all. I honestly don't know.
-30-
posted by Rocco Palmo at 03:00
3 Comments:
Ditto for all answers to your questions above.
This is not "just a priest briefly run off the rails, or possibly one with good intentions" -- the man needs help, and soon.
Considered in light of Can. 979, "In asking questions the priest is to act with prudence and discretion, taking into account the condition and the age of the penitent..." it would seem that this priest was--at least--imprudent and indiscrete.
I think at one time some priests might have asked very specific and awkward questions into people's sex lives to make sure that they made a full and valid confession, but that must be fairly rare (rightfully so) nowadays. I've never experienced that sort of thing, thank goodness. And, for teenagers, it really is an awful thing to do, given the awkwardness and embarassment that so many have towards sexual matters. But it sounds like your experience has gone further than that, and I have occasionally heard similar stories.
As I tried to say before, but was prevented by stupid Blogger....
If you feel creepy about something, there's usually reason to feel creepy. Boys don't get this kind of survival training as often as girls, and they should.
It's likely that this person was pruriently interested in young boys or young people in general, or perhaps in sex lives in general. It's quite possible that this priest was in fact hunting for a victim, and you, fortunately, didn't expose any weakness sufficient for victimhood. (Thank God.) It is also possible that this priest had just taken a stupid class on how pre-teen kids have sex lives, and was worried about this. However, in such a case, he probably would not have made you feel creepy.
I would say something.
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