Okay, so I was reading the paper today about the Catholic church’s new campaign to get it’s followers back into confession. It’s called “The Light is On For You.” Yeah, I bet it is. The church is going all out on this one…running radio spots and putting up a special web site. It is Lent, after all. For those who are non-Catholic, Lent is that magic time of year when you give up something you really like so that you can do penance before The Big Guy comes back from the dead. You know, one of my sisters gives up M & Ms; the other gives up black jelly beans. Me? Well, you know, I give up the same thing every year. I give up Church. I’ve been doing that now for at least, oh, thirty-six years or so. My whole life is basically Lent.

You know, it’s not that I’m not spiritual. I actually am. I now tell people that I survived my Catholic upbringing. I’m Catholic by birth, but I’m Buddhist by choice. The fact is that I went to Catholic school most of my life…right up through two years of college. In spite of that, I’ve always had issues with organized religion (even Buddhism, but I don’t want to digress here). Frankly, the nuns scared the shit out of me, not when I got older but certainly throughout grammar school.

The Penguins (as we affectionately called them) painted God the Father as someone to be feared. It brought new meaning to the words “God-fearing children.” We were. They also made us feel like chanting “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!” They gave us no quarter. The God I learned about was not a kind and forgiving God. He was a God of retribution. Hell, I was terrified of the crucifix that hung on the wall in our house. I was afraid Jesus would open His eyes and say, “Hey, you, over there! You little heathen! Do you know I died for YOUR sins?”

So, here we were getting brainwashed and scared shitless in school every single day. We had Religion every day. And we were forced to sing in the choir, but I managed to get myself thrown out more than once. First, it was for telling jokes and getting all the kids to laugh. Then, a couple of us got tossed because we were spitting down on top of peoples’ heads from the balcony. I admit that was a bit extreme. The religious barrage continued at home — at least it did at my house. At one point after my dad died, we lived with my grandmother. She had a little shrine with votive candles buring on her bureau in her bedroom. At Easter, we had to sit around and watch those religious movies, like “The Robe” with Victor Mature, or  “The Ten Commandments” with Charlton Heston. There was no shortage of this stuff. No rest for the weary, as my mother would say.

There was a picture of The Sacred Heart hanging in her room too. I think my sister has that one now.  It seemed to me that Jesus’ eyes followed me no matter where I went. It was even scary in my grandmother’s basement. She’d hung a picture of St. Theresa down there. Didn’t matter where you walked, her eyes followed you all over the place. I found that very disquieting. You know, like I was being watched all the time. You can bet your life that I didn’t take any little girls down there. Wasn’t going to happen.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned…”

Okay, so this confession thing. I remember when I was a kid, we’d have to go to confession. We’d tell this guy behind this foolish divider everything we did wrong. Now, I knew what priest I was confessing to. So, you can bet he knew who he was listening to. The sinners did not remain nameless. I’d go in there and say, “I lied five times.” Or I’d say, “I swore under my breath at my mother.” Then, I’d get my penance. “Say five Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys.” And if you sighed like it was too much penance, the priest would tack some more prayers on there. Hell, I decided that I was never going to confess about having dirty thoughts about my girl friends. I’d be in the pew doing penance all freakin’ day if I did that. I kept those sins to myself.

As I got older, though, I got more and more pissed off about having to do this. My issues with organized religion started at a pretty early age. I just had a difficult time with telling my sins to just another guy. I mean, it wasn’t like I was telling them directly to Jesus or anything. When I announced to my mother that I was no longer going to confession because these were “just guys” I was talking to, I thought she would just keel over and die right on the spot.

So, when I got into a discussion this morning with one of my Starbucks customers about the Catholic church trying to bring its flock back to the confessional, I’m pretty sure my mother was rolling over in her grave.  Now I’m downright angry at this whole prospect. Seems to me the Catholic church as some of it’s own confessions to take care of.  I’m not saying everyone associated with the Catholic church is bad, but I don’t think it should go down this path until it takes clear of cleaning up its own house.

The church can start by confessing that it spent years covering up for pedophiles when it should have been turning them over to the authorities. The main part of the Catholic church’s penance can be actually turning these files over to the authorities. I think that’s fair. Then, they can say four thousand Our Fathers and ten thousand Hail Marys and we’ll call it even. NOT.