That Old “Catholic Guilt”

I remember once, when I was in the early stages of coming into the Catholic church, sitting in our “What it Means to be a Lutheran” Sunday school class and having one of the ladies in our small group discussion say to me (as a kind of preface for something she was about to say), “Well, I grew up Catholic, and there’s a lot of guilt associated with that…..”

I wanted to call her on that, ask what she meant, tell her such guilt was so unnecessary—how could my wonderful Church make someone feel “guilty?”

Well, I can tell you that almost as soon as I came into full communion with the Church, I began to know exactly what she was referring to. It’s the old “Catholic guilt” we hear so much about. The Catholic guilt that leads a lot of people to reject the Catholic church and run someplace less “oppressive.” And yet, if my Lutheran friend is any indication, you can run, but you can’t hide.

Here’s the thing: Even back when I was a happy Lutheran, it was a struggle for me to get to church every Sunday. I simply did not want to go. Not because I didn’t like it—I did, very much—but because I was lazy, not in the mood, would rather sleep in/go shopping/read the newspaper/whatever else than get myself ready and go to church. I think it’s just our human nature to be this way: if it’s an “obligation” of any sort, we tend to bristle.

So now here I am, passionately Catholic, growing in my faith……and yet, every weekend, I have that same old struggle about going to church. The dread kicks in on Friday night: “If only I didn’t have to go to Mass this weekend.”

Yes, it would be easier if I only had to attend one church on the weekends; and it would be ideal if that were the Catholic church, in the company of my husband and children.

(If you’ve never read my blog before: my husband is a Lutheran, so I attend church with him and the kids, plus I go to Catholic Mass on my own.)

But you know what? I have a feeling that, even if that were the case, I would still have to fight my desire to stay home and just skip it.

Isn’t that awful?

I love Mass, actually. It is so beautiful, so rich with meaning. We have the Eucharist! Wonderful music! Amazing priests who give thought-provoking homilies! But this is me, always wishing I didn’t “have” to go.

What, then, do you think it is that gets me to Mass (besides my mini-van)?

Catholic guilt, that’s what.

Catholic guilt that is Christian guilt—guilt we should all feel if we are thinking about skipping our date with the Lord. That hour or so on Sundays is the very least He requires of us. To not go, on purpose, without good reason for missing, is like reaching up to Jesus as He hangs on the cross and slapping Him across the face—and then turning our backs and walking away. That’s why, in Catholicism, we are taught what a serious business this is and why it becomes a mortal sin to skip Mass—because when we do it without a really good excuse, we are turning our backs on Him.

So anyway, the whole reason I am writing about this is to tell you about this past weekend. Like always, I was feeling grumpy about having to go to church. But I knew if I didn’t go, the guilt would be unbearable, and then I’d have to go to Reconciliation, which is wonderful but would be another “thing” to put on my list of stuff to do.

So I got myself ready and went to the Saturday Vigil Mass. Pulled into the crowded parking lot, walked in the door, and realized it was First Communion weekend. 119 children at our parish were doing First Communion this past weekend (and some of them next weekend). They were so sweet—the boys in their little suits and the girls in their pretty white dresses with flowers in their hair.

Father C- called them up to stand around the altar during the Consecration. So they gathered around, their hands folded in reverence, and watched as Father said the words that would change the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of our Lord.

I could not help but cry a little for the beauty of this sight. It was like that verse in the Bible, where Jesus says, “Let the little children come unto me.”

I remembered my own First Communion, taken last summer, when I was 33 years old.

I found myself praying for those children, that they would grow up ever mindful of the incredible gift they have been given in being raised in the Catholic church; that they would, as best they can as 2nd graders, appreciate the wonder of the Eucharist.

Watching them, I felt my own faith being reinvigorated. I recognized my own need for the very thing I was praying God would grant them—continued appreciation for and excitement about my faith.

Every time I attend Mass, I am touched in some way. Every time, I walk away feeling renewed. Mass helps put me “back in touch” with God after a crazy week.

What would happen if I skipped church every time I felt like it? I can tell you, because I’ve been there. My husband and I almost never went to church for the first seven years of our marriage. And honestly, I’m amazed we managed to stay married. Without that grounding in a faith community, we get so sucked in to the things of the world.

People think we can have a relationship with the Lord apart from the Church (any church, not just the Roman Catholic church), but we can’t. The Church is His Body. It’s HIM. We need to be with other Christians to worship and hear the Word of the Lord, every Sunday at the very least, regardless of whether we feel like going or not.

I am grateful for my case of “Catholic guilt.” It keeps me in line—not just about attending Mass, but about so many things in my life. I am telling you: without it, I would be missing out on untold blessings.