Forgiveness Is Not a Weakness

Atheists, agnostics and believers in other faiths tend to view Roman Catholics with suspicion. They see us as an unforgiving lot.

Forgiveness, however, courses through the religion of my birth like a life-giving river. During Mass, during homilies, during the "Our Father", we Catholics hear time and again the call to seek forgiveness and to forgive.

The faith itself offers spectacular models to follow. Jesus Christ, of course, absolved His executioners. In our own time Pope John Paul II pardoned Mehmet Ali Agca, the Turkish gunman who had tried to kill him.

Why then is it so hard for this unspectacular Catholic to forget life's insults and betrayals?

Some people seem to defy forgiveness. Often have I fired, hammered and crafted words of mercy in the forge of my heart, a heart divided between stillborn revenge and unborn compassion.

And the one forgiven immediately wounds me again.

Once, after much brooding, I forgave the casual cruelty of a woman I dated. To my charity she responded, "Because you were kind, I thought you were weak."

That experience, and others in the same ruptured vein, showed me the cleft separating American ideals from Catholic teachings. In America, only the weak forgive. Americans expect those wronged not to court forgiveness but to take those who have wronged them to court. Contrary to this erroneous belief, Catholicism teaches me that forgiveness, like love in its purest state, must be unconditional.

Unconditional forgiveness is a standard of perfection, and few of us measure up. Fortunately, most offenses warrant quick clemency. Others demand something more. For those occasions, the Catholic Church provides its struggling members (like me) with the sacrament of Reconciliation.

This rite, usually known as Confession, requires that a penitent admit his sins to a priest. The sinner either discloses his misdeeds from behind the anonymity of a screen, or he meets his confessor face-to-face.

Partaking of the sacrament, for me at times, feels like the spiritual equivalent of a root canal without anesthesia. I also sweat easily. So I shelter behind the divide.

Reconciliation is more than a ritual unburdening. Absolution bestows God's grace on the penitent. That divine gift firms the spine and softens the heart.

Through Confession I receive God's forgiveness. His forgiveness strengthens me, and that strength -- not weakness -- allows me to pardon others.

After all, Christ left us no exceptions.

--Lawrence P. McGuire, Waldorf, Md.