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"Sinner -- SINNER -- that's what I am. A sinner. Rotten to the core -- to the CORE." From the place where Percy invariably sat in the very back of the Temple he began his confession ... first a slight bow of the head, then a profound bow of torso and head, and finally a very deep grovel. Long ago, he had decided that if anyone deserved to be labeled as sinner, he did. He had spent the following years bad mouthing himself, confessing to God how sinful he was. And the very thought that God took Percy's immeasurable sinfulness as seriously as he did caused his spine to tingle. "Ohhh," he'd moan, "what a sinner I am!"

Finishing his first round of self-accusations Percy looked up. "I love it back here," he reveled as he ran his fingers over the worn surface of the dark pew on which he was sitting. "It's as far back in the Temple as anyone can get. Whoever would come walking in at this minute would certainly say, 'Hey! That Percy must be one mean guy. Look where he's sitting. Way in the back where all the big time sinners sit.' " Percy's daydreams were cut short when he noticed a man coming into the Temple. "Psssst! Over here," he whispered. The man glanced at Percy, took a couple of steps towards the front of the Temple, hesitated, then came over to Percy.

"Yes? You wanted me?" the man asked warily.

"Do you know," Percy said slowly and deliberately, "do you know what this pew is reserved for? Huh? Do you?"

The man looked puzzled. "No, I ... I can't say I do. What is it reserved for?"

Percy smiled enigmatically and looked the man straight in the eyes as he hissed, "Sinners."

The man was nonplussed, not so much by what Percy had told him, but by the almost diabolical delight he took in saying it.

"Yup." Percy stared transfixed. "It's for sinners. And I'm the biggest of them all. I've worked at it for years." Then he leaned forward, beat his breast several times, struck his head on the pew, and wailed aloud, "They don't come as bad as I do." The stranger began to panic as Percy continued, "And it's being a real sinner -- that is the difference between you and me, buddy." Percy raised his hand as if to forestall any objection. "I know, I know. You're going to tell me you stink too. You might even tell me you stink a lot." Percy dismissed the thought with a wave of his arm. "But you could never stink as much as I do."

The man was positively intrigued by Percy's insistence on his own perversity. He'd never heard of anyone ecstatic over being so sinful. Percy continued on, almost oblivious to the young man enthralled at his delivery, "... and it's admitting you're utterly depraved that really makes you acceptable to God. Own up to your evil inclinations and you're already a winner! But nowadays everyone is ignorant of how wretched, miserable, and unlovable they are. Why, they don't even feel guilty anymore! And where do you think we'd be in this world without guilt?" Percy stopped short after the word "guilt" as if obedient to an internal clock. "Excuse me a minute!" he mumbled. Then leaning forward as he beat his breast resolutely, he finished, waited a couple of seconds, and then pounded himself three more times for good measure before turning back to the young man.

"As I was saying," he continued, "without guilt, who'd come to the Temple? A lot of preachers would be out of jobs. They need sinners to keep them in business. Sinners. Sinners. Sinners. Sinners...." Percy seemed hypnotized by the word and kept repeating it until the other man snapped his fingers in Percy's face. He started and skipped like a phonograph needle, "Yes, our preachers do a thriving business on us louts. They remind us that the world and everything in it is going to hell. Now I ask you. What right do we have to disappoint them? Who are we to claim anything better than being the worst? They've got to make a living too, you know."

"Wait! Wait a minute." The man had heard enough. "It seems to me that if you think you're so bad, you'd suffer quite a bit too!"

"Of course I would." Percy was growing impatient. "Suffering is good, goooood for us -- good for the soul. It lets you know you're alive. Like a pinch on the cheek or a slap on the buttocks. And the more you suffer, well, the happier you'll be some day."

"I see. I see," the man said. He didn't see, but he didn't intend to get caught up any further in Percy's vision of salvation. "If you'll excuse me...." The man started backing away, "I want to go and pray for a couple of minutes."

"Sure." Percy gestured, having already delivered the sum of his wisdom. He beat his breasts a couple more times and then fixed his eyes on the temple door anxious for whoever might enter next.

In the meantime the young man had sat down alone in the front pew and prayed in silence. "I'm not perfect, Lord, but neither am I a piece of dirt in your creation. Basically, I think I'm pretty good. And while I've done some things I'm not proud of, my middle name isn't Guilt. My desires sometimes take me where I don't want to go, but they also move me to do what I had never dreamed possible; and more importantly they lead me here to you." Then he glanced back at Percy and with a sigh of relief concluded, "And one more thing, if you don't mind me saying so, I sure as hell am glad I'm not that fella back there."

Then there was silence -- occasionally punctuated with the sound of a fist pounding on a breast somewhere in the back of the Temple.

Who do you think went home justified?


Reflection


Isn't it odd someone would be so elated about being bad? Maybe even perverse? It really isn't odd if by that we mean exceptional or unusual; nor is it perverse if we understand the perverse as evil. The truth is, very many people feel good about feeling so bad. Self-deprecation is a covert way of asserting one's importance. How can this be?

All we need to do is watch some of the religious programs on television. There we see a preacher haranguing his congregation over how sinful the world is and how wicked they all are. "Filthy, filthy, filth--ee! The whole world and everybody in it is filthy!" may be an exaggeration of what is preached but not too much. Given the authority of the preacher, what can the assembled do but nod their heads and say, "Amen, brother, we are a dirty lot who deserve the worst!" If anyone in the congregation were to protest and say, "Wait a minute. I don't think I'm that bad. I'm not perfect, but I'm no piece of junk, either," that person would no longer belong; he or she would be ostracized. The rest of the faithful, however, could take a certain amount of pride in having sufficiently beat their breasts and confessed their wickedness. They could feel good about feeling so bad.

All this would be humorous were it not for the fact that the message, "You are no good; you are dirt," is the only message many have ever received about themselves. They were taught to believe that their salvation depended on observing rules and regulations established first by parents and later by other authority figures. If they failed to comply, they were made to feel even worse. Only through punishment could they experience acceptance, but an acceptance conditioned on observance of the rules. Inevitably, the rules would be broken and the cycle of feeling bad, guilty, doing penance, and experiencing a conditioned acceptance was repeated.

It is important we don't read the parable of the pharisee and the publican as an exhortation to confess our wickedness, because this kind of a message gives rise to what has just been described. There are already too many persons whose sense of self is very low. What many need is self-affirmation, not self-denigration. Why we make the good news bad news is sad news since we are left with so many Mr. Bads in the world.