Absolution Means Having to Say You’re Sorry

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. My last confession was six years ago. I engaged in inappropriate behavior with a young lady on several occasions.”

Certainly, no boy raised Catholic would expect he could leave the confessional with absolution after a performance like that. We learned the painful lesson that true contrition would have to be demonstrated by the squirming and sweating that accompanied our stammering answers to the probing questions of the priest.

“How many occasions? What kind of behavior? Who initiated it?” And a firm purpose of amendment meant that we were resolved to avoid the “occasions of sin” in the future. Most important, you could not receive forgiveness unless you explicitly asked for it.

While President Clinton’s public confession should not be measured by the standards applied to the sacrament of reconciliation, I’m surprised at how many of the people I’ve heard express disappointment speak in almost theological terms. Perhaps I hang out with too many Catholics or former Catholics, but many of them are Democrats. And most of them are asking, where was the contrition? Where was the resolve to sin no more? Where was the request for forgiveness?

It will be interesting to compare the presidential “camps” that gave Clinton advice on how to handle this performance when all the post-Clinton memoirs are written. Apparently, one “camp” told him that he would have to give more detail and concede all the pain his behavior caused to so many others. This advice was rejected as calling for “groveling.”

I’m willing to bet that much of that advice came from the Catholic crowd in the White House. We Catholics have learned to appreciate the value of groveling.

There are probably three reasons Clinton rejected this advice. First, his prior experience strongly suggested he could get away with it. Remember his first public confession, six years ago? “Bless me father, for I have sinned. I have caused pain in my marriage.” Perhaps Americans were in a more generous mood to forgive on that occasion because his conduct hadn’t caused any pain in our lives. But this time around, the pain that his behavior has caused was shared by a much wider audience.

Second, Clinton stubbornly clings to the notion that forgiveness is a matter between himself, his wife and daughter and his God. That might be true, if his wife, his daughter and his God were the only ones he offended. Once he announced that we were all entitled to an explanation, however, and then started offering us explanations that were a carefully constructed tissue of lies, his sins became very public ones. And public sins require public confessions to gain public forgiveness. Most Americans are quite willing to accept some “compartmentalization” that excludes us from the presidential living quarters and allows a president to maintain some semblance of a private life. But presidents will have to be consistent in drawing the lines. This president made the same mistake that Gary Hart made by donning the mantle of purity and inviting us in for a closer inspection. Up until a week ago, I thought that Clinton might still reclaim a position that this whole affair was none of our business by asserting the 5th Amendment. Once he decided to testify, however, he relinquished any further claim of privacy.

The third reason Clinton declined to grovel can probably be traced to his conception of presidential dignity. He still has to be president for two more years. He needs to be respected. The job he wants to “get back to” is a job that requires the approval and admiration of his fellow Americans. How can we look up to a president who has groveled at our feet and begged for our forgiveness?

The president might profit from another dose of Catholic theology. It was dramatically illustrated in a film called “Becket,” depicting the life and death of St. Thomas a Becket, the archbishop of Canterbury who was murdered in his cathedral. King Henry II had to accept responsibility for the murder because he had asked his knights, “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?” The king of England did not announce that his rhetorical question was legally defensible. He undertook a parade of atonement for his guilt. On each anniversary of Becket’s death, he stripped to the waist and knelt humbly as he received the scourging lashes of triumphant monks.

His public humiliation did not undermine Henry’s ability to govern, however. It actually enhanced it. He reigned for another 18 triumphant years, regaining wide respect for the British crown.

No one will insist that Clinton should kneel at Ken Starr’s feet and be scourged. But the situation now demands heartfelt recognition that his own bad behavior is the cause of our pain, and the American public is not likely to grant forgiveness until it is humbly requested. The one element that the president’s spinmeisters may have badly miscalculated is the capacity of the American people to forgive if they are properly asked.

Can a president who has humbly sought forgiveness continue to govern effectively? He might discover that his moral authority is actually enhanced by his humble recognition that the ultimate source of that authority is our approval, not of his “job performance,” but of his human decency.