Penitence, true sorrow for the things we do wrong, isn't easy; I know it isn't easy. Sir Elton John wrote: 'What do I say when it's all over? Sorry seems to be the hardest word.' Much as I hate to disagree with a fellow Watford FC fan, actually sorry isn't a very hard word to say at all. But being sorry, true penitence, that can be tough.
One of the things that can make it so tough is that just as exile presupposes a sense of home, so too penitence presupposes a sense of shame or regret. However, we've become people whose regrets are few, too few to mention. And shame? Well shame itself has become shameful, something to be rejected. I know that there are good reasons why we've reached this place. Shame has been horribly misused for generations, not least by the Church, but I'm not sure that tossing it out altogether is a very clever thing to attempt. We have no shame, but we're very into shaming and 'cancelling' others; ideally from the comfortable distance of our social media accounts. But if we don't feel a sense of regret, shame even, when we do things wrong and hurt others or ourselves, then we're unlikely to feel penitent. If we don't feel a sense of penitence, then we're unlikely to feel the need to repent. Without repentance we become trapped in our weaknesses and failings.
The other thing that makes penitence hard is anger. To truly face and acknowledge our failures can be at best uncomfortable and at worst deeply painful. None of us likes to feel pain, so it's all too easy for us to turn those feelings outwards; the step from shame to blame can be a small one. So many times I've heard people take five minutes to tell me about something they regret doing, and then twenty-five minutes telling me how it's someone else's fault. In case I appear to be staking a claim to the moral high ground, I'd have to acknowledge that that's something I've found myself doing. I start to explore my own sense of failure and so easily that exploration mutates into ugly blame and sometimes anger. Anger at the time I'm apart from my boys. Anger at the petty spitefulness of some people. Anger at the loss of friendship. Anger at being treated as worth very little; indifference. Anger at my need for forgiveness and anger at being unforgiven. Anger at myself, which brings me full circle to that sense of penitence.
I hope this resonates with some of you: I hope it's not just me! I've got a lot of work to do on this pilgrimage.
It was two years before Columba was exiled from his homeland for inciting the Battle of Cúl Dreimhe. To me, that suggests that he continued to believe that he had been in the right in his dispute with St Finnian of Moville. He was angry when the High King of Ireland ruled against him and in favour of St Finnian, and his anger set conflict ablaze. He must surely have felt anger when he was excommunicated and sent into exile. However, he clearly came to feel penitence for what he'd done. The tradition that he made it his life's mission to 'win as many souls for Christ' as had been lost in the battle, speaks of someone who recognizes that he's done wrong and wants a new beginning.
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ReplyDeleteI wonder how we can tackle the anger?
ReplyDeleteI ought to stress that I don't walk around in a state of perpetual anger - well, except when Tesco has run out of Thai red curry paste again. What I particularly want to reflect on is the way in which attempts to explore my own responsibility for things I've done wrong, all too easily projects outwards into feelings of blame and the anger that can accompany that. But nevertheless, your question remains a good one! Thank you.
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