Thursday of the Third Week in Advent

Lectionary: 190 

Fear not, you shall not be put to shame;
        you need not blush, for you shall not be disgraced.
    The shame of your youth you shall forget,
        the reproach of your widowhood no longer remember.
    For he who has become your husband is your Maker;
        his name is the LORD of hosts...

The study of shame in religion is deep and complicated. A disinterested observer might wonder why the two are related, and why is it so complicated. 

I have heard much of shame in confidential conversations; I have also heard about it in lectures and read of it. Many people have attempted to purge the wound of shame by renouncing their religious faith, and especially their Catholic faith. I wish them luck but I fear they have cancelled the relief they need, and deprived themselves of both healing and sacred pleasure. 

While the Bible is familiar with shame, it was never God's intention to shame his people. We first hear of God's sadness in the Garden of Eden, when Adam and Eve, realizing they were naked, hid from God. They fashioned fig leaves into clothing and the Lord, to relieve their distress, gave them more becoming dress of animal skins. 

Shame appears as a weapon of invading armies when they humiliate their victims by rape, torture, murder, pillage, plunder, and deportation. Their cities, homes, and temples are burned, their cattle are stolen and crops are destroyed. Whatever cannot be taken is destroyed. The object of shame is to psychologically paralyze survivors; the result is often the rebellion of succeeding generations. 

Crucifixion proved to be an especially effective weapon as the victim's family, friends, followers, and fellow citizens could do nothing but watch in horror. They felt shame in their helplessness and grief. Today we call it "moral injury" or "spiritual distress." It may effectively cancel for the rest of one's life every spiritual impulse toward generosity, courage, or pleasure.

But we also encounter shame among Catholics today, and it seems to relate to the Jansenist heresy. I found some insight in Leszek Kolakowski's book, God Owes Us Nothing: A Brief Remark on Pascal's Religion and on the Spirit of Jansenism. During the Age of Enlightenment with its stratification of society and increasing distance between wealth and poverty, churchmen found themselves offering contrary spiritual advice to different people. 

Poor peasants were told to observe the laws scrupulously lest they suffer severe punishment for common sins like adultery, while the wealthy were readily excused because they had the economic freedom to do as they pleased. It's very difficult to excommunicate the only wealthy donor of your parish or diocese! Their servants too, may have to commit or abet certain immoral behaviors since they have no other financial support. They're families depend upon that income and their sympathetic confessors give them only light admonishment with "three our fathers and three hail marys."  

For the vast majority, an image of God emerges out of this severe system that resembles the feudal landlords. This masculine deity is powerful, arbitrary, indifferent to suffering, and perpetually looking for reasons to punish, disown, and destroy. He does not seek the lost, bind the wound, or raise the dead. His decrees are everlasting and punitive. Hell is eternal; and mercy, undependable. That God owes us nothing,

When this violent image of an all-powerful God is reinforced by widespread alcohol, tobacco, and chemical abuse children in such a family grow up fearful, anxious, and ashamed, or belligerent and rebellious. They dare not ask for anything. Their weakness is vulnerability; and vindictive abusers look for weakness to validate their explosive anger. They cannot rebel against a universally unjust system so they express their frustration on the weaker within their family or immediate circle: the infirm, elderly, children, and disabled. Even the pets suffer. 

If religion can make a difference in such a system, it will be an act of God, a revelation as abrupt and unexpected as a Virgin Birth or the Resurrection of a crucified man. 

Christianity flourished in its first centuries precisely because people accepted a religious freedom to defy shame and guilt. Gazing upon the Crucified and breathing His Spirit, they surrendered their helplessness and smoldering resentments. When they forgave their tormentors and despised the shame they knew a power greater than anything a Roman army could muster or imagine. 

During the Christmas season, which still announces religious faith to our secular world, we must reclaim and renew our devotion. It's not the power of positive thinking; it's not new age psychology or eastern mysticism. The cross is the key and religious faith is the doorway to freedom from shame for those with the courage to enter.