February 17th, 2024
When I was in college, I experienced the Catholic version of being “born again,” what we more commonly call a “reversion.” I got super serious about God. Like, real serious.
There were a lot of zealous young Catholics on my state school Midwestern campus. But what began as a shared fire for Christ morphed into something of a one-upmanship contest – which was probably all in my head, in retrospect. But anxiety to be perceived as one of the “good ones” – both by myself and others – took me down unstable pathways.
It didn’t matter how serious I was about my faith when Rachel was going to daily Mass, when I had a full class load and production rehearsals at night. It didn’t matter that I attended Bible study when Sam was leading Bible study. And it really didn’t matter that I lectured at Mass on Sundays when everyone at the Newman Center was happily heading off to a FOCUS conference I couldn’t afford.
So, I found little ways to make life harder for myself. I gave myself lofty penances for Lent. I gave up caffeine on Ash Wednesday and during Holy Week. I tried fasting for hours longer than required. I gave up jaywalking and swearing and I made myself read Scripture and I got my butt to daily Mass. But it was never enough. I was paralyzed by fear and doubt. I never felt like God was satisfied with any of the little ways I was killing myself to make Him happy.
That’s when my pastor told me I might be suffering from something called “scrupulosity.” I bought the book Understanding Scrupulosity by Fr. Thomas Santa and started reading. That’s when the healing began.
For the scrupulous person, there is a constant fear that God is out to get you, just waiting for you to slip up so he can toss you into hell’s garbage can where you believe you belong. I don’t like to remember how bleak those days felt. But with counseling, both with a priest and an actual therapist, I started finding balance and peace with my thoughts and actions.
Now in my mid-thirties, I find I don’t need to seek out little ways to make life harder or more penitential. My loved ones have suffered house fires, job layoffs, divorces, and suicides. The hits just keep coming. I can’t even think of a Lenten penance that would rival the pain that has surrounded me these last few years. My college self would be astonished.
As I write this, I haven’t yet decided what (if anything) I will sacrifice for Lent. Maybe all I can do is take time to pray the Litany of Trust. Maybe this season, God needs me to lay down my burdens, my anxieties and my fears and to choose faith and hope. Maybe Lent is a time to believe that, even as I walk in the shadows, there is light just around the bend.
Laura Pittenger is the treasurer of the Catholic Artist Connection. She wears many hats in NYC, including playwright, director, novelist, and editor. www.laurapittenger.com.