Topic : Guilt

Biologically speaking, I came late to the party. When I was born, my mother was 41, my dad was 42 and my brother was already ten. This built-in generation gap probably defined me every bit as much as my distinctly peculiar blood mix.

My mother, Catherine, was born in Scotland. My father, Angelo, was a first-generation Italian-American. I seem to be divided right down the middle. My Scottish side is practical, analytical, even a bit frugal. My Italian side is loud, outgoing, ready to laugh (and be laughed at).

As in immigrant, my mother lived in constant fear of deportation. You could miss up to four questions on the citizenship test, and Mom missed five. The question she flunked on was: “What is the Constitution of the United States?” The answer she gave was: “A boat.” Which wasn’t entirely wrong. The USS Constitution was docked in Boston. But the judge instantly denied her citizenship.

My father stormed up to the judge. “What the hell is this? Let me see the test! She’s not wrong—the Constitution is a boat!”

The judge rolled his eyes and said, “No, the Constitution is the basic governing—”

“It’s also a boat in Boston! The Constitution! Same thing! Come on!”

The judge finally couldn’t take any more. He said, “Fine. She’s a citizen. Now get out of here!”

So my father said to my mom, “you passed!”

“No, I didn’t pass,” she whimpered. “They’re going to come after me!” From then on, any time my mother was even in the proximity of a policeman, she quaked with fear. When I took her to Scotland in 1983, she asked me, “Will I be able to get back in?”

“Ma! Don’t worry! That was 50 years ago! They don’t know that you said a boat!” It never ended.

“A Houseful of Love and Laughter”, from Leading with my Chin, by Jay Leno, (NY, Harpercollins Publ., Inc., 1996), quoted in Reader’s Digest, pp. 13-14.

All guilt motivation results in

1. Pride in those who make it,

2. Frustration in those who fail. Standards may lead to pride or frustration if they are used to determine spirituality.

Source unknown

A man who hid for 32 years fearing punishment of pro-Nazi wartime activity says he used to cry when he heard happy voices outside, but dared not show himself even at his mother’s funeral. Janez Rus was a young shoemaker when he went into hiding at his sister’s farmhouse in June, 1945. He was found years later after she bought a large supply of bread in the nearby village of Zalna. “If I had not been discovered, I would have remained in hiding. So I am happy that this happened,” Rus told a reporter. Throughout those years he did nothing. He never left the house, and could only look down at the village in the valley.

Today in the Word, October 17, 1993

In May 1924, a shocked nation learned two young men from Chicago, Richard Leopold and Nathan Loeb, had killed 14-year-old Bobbie Franks. What made the crime so shocking, and made Leopold and Loeb household names, was the reason for the killing. The two became obsessed with the idea of committing the “perfect murder,” and simply picked young Franks as their victim. They were sentenced to life imprisonment, but Leopold was killed in a prison brawl in 1936. Claiming he wanted “a chance to find redemption for myself and to help others,” Nathan Loeb became a hospital technician at his parole in 1958. He died in 1971.

Today in the Word, October 3, 1992

Mahatma Gandhi is fasting to protest the riot killings that followed the partition that created Hindu India and Moslem Pakistan in 1947. A fellow Hindu approaches to confess a great wrong. “I killed a child,” says the distraught man. “I smashed his head against a wall.” “Why?” asks the Mahatma (Hindu for “Great Soul”). “They killed my boy. The Moslems killed my son.” “I know a way out of hell,” says Gandhi. “Find a child, a little boy whose mother and father have been killed, and raise him as your own. Only be sure he is a Moslem—and that you raise him as one.”

Reader’s Digest, February, 1992, p. 106

A man entered a bar, bought a glass of beer and then immediately threw it into the bartender’s face. Quickly grabbing a napkin, he helped the bartender dry his face while he apologized with great remorse. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I have this compulsion to do this. I fight it, but I don’t know what to do about it.” “You had better do something about your problem,” the bartender replied. “You can be sure I’ll remember you and will never serve you another drink until you get help.”

It was months before the man faced the bartender again. When he asked for a beer, the bartender refused. Then the man explained that he had been seeing a psychiatrist and that his problem was solved. Convinced it was now okay to serve him, the bartender poured him a drink. The man took the glass and splashed the beer into the barkeeper’s astonished face. “I thought you were cured,” the shocked bartender screamed. “I am,” said the man. “I still do it, but I don’t feel guilty about it anymore.”

Unfinished Business, Charles Sell, Multnomah, 1989, p. 223

I was once conducting a rap session with high school teenagers. I told them that they could ask me any question on any subject, and I would try and answer it. Their questions were typical of ones I had received in similar sessions scores of times before. As the session drew to a close, one girl toward the back, who had not said anything, raised her hand. I nodded, and she said, “The Bible says God loves everybody. Then it says that God sends people to hell. How can a loving God do that?” I gave her my answer, and she came back to me with arguments. I answered her arguments, and she answered my answers. The conversation quickly degenerated into an argument. I did not convince her, nor did she convince me. After a few more questions I dismissed the session.

After the session I approached her and said, “I owe you an apology. I really should not have allowed our discussion to become so argumentative.” Then I asked, “May I share something with you?” She said, “Yes.” So I took her through a basic presentation of the gospel. When I got to Romans 3:23 and suggested that all of us were sinners she began to cry. It was then that this high school senior admitted she had been having an affair with a married man. The one thing she needed was forgiveness. When I finished the presentation of the gospel, she trusted Christ. The reason she did not believe in hell was because she was going there. In her heart she knew she had sinned. Her conscience condemned her, but rather than face the fact of her guilt, she simply denied any future judgment or future hell.

Evangelism, A Biblical Approach, M. Cocoris, Moody, 1984, p. 163

The scene was San Diego Superior Court. Two men were on trial for armed robbery. An eyewitness took the stand, and the prosecutor moved carefully: “So, you say you were at the scene when the robbery took place?” “Yes.” “And you saw a vehicle leave at a high rate of speed?” “Yes.” “And did you observe the occupants?” “Yes, two men.” “And,” the prosecutor boomed, “are those two men present in court today?” At this point the two defendants sealed their fate. They raised their hands.

Tom Blair in San Diego Union, quoted in Reader’s Digest

• Wake Up Calls, Ron Hutchcraft, Moody, 1990, p. 46.
• Em Griffin, The Mindchangers, Tyndale House, 1976, pp. 61ff

• Is like the red warning light on the dashboard of the car.
  You can either stop and deal with the trouble, or break out the light.

Source unknown

In the Prison Fellowship newsletter, Jubilee, Charles Colson told of a young boy who became excessively fearful during the great New York blackout of 1977. When his parents questioned their son, he confessed that at the exact moment the lights went out, he had kicked a power line pole. As darkness engulfed the city, he thought he was to blame and would be punished.

Charles Colson

A preacher of the early 1900s said that when he was 12 years old he had killed one of the family geese by throwing a stone and hitting it squarely on the head. Figuring his parents wouldn’t notice that one of the 24 birds was missing, he buried the dead fowl. But that evening his sister called him aside and said, “I saw what you did. If you don’t offer to do the dishes tonight, I’ll tell Mother.” The next morning she gave him the same warning. All that day and the next the frightened boy felt bound to do the dishes. The following morning, however, he surprised his sister by telling her it was her turn. When she quietly reminded him of what she could do, he replied, “I’ve already told Mother, and she has forgiven me. Now you do the dishes. I’m free again!”

Source unknown

Richard Hoefler’s book Will Daylight Come? includes a homey illustration of how sin enslaves and forgiveness frees. A little boy visiting his grandparents was given his first slingshot. He practiced in the woods, but he could never hit his target. He went back to Grandma’s back yard, where he spied her pet duck. On an impulse he took aim and let fly. The stone hit, and the duck fell dead. The boy panicked. Desperately he hid the dead duck in the woodpile, only to look up and see his sister watching. Sally had seen it all, but she said nothing.

After lunch that day, Grandma said, “Sally, let’s wash the dishes.” But Sally said, “Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen today. Didn’t you, Johnny?” And she whispered to him, “Remember the duck! So Johnny did the dishes.

Later Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing., Grandma said, “I’m sorry, but I need Sally to help make supper.” Sally smiled and said, “That’s all taken care of. Johnny wants to do it.” Again she whispered, “Remember the duck.” Johnny stayed while Sally went fishing.

After several days of Johnny doing both his chores and Sally’s, finally he couldn’t stand it. He confessed to Grandma that he’d killed the duck. “I know, Johnny,” she said, giving him a hug. “I was standing at the window and saw the whole thing. Because I love you, I forgave you. I wondered how long you would let Sally make a slave of you.

- Steven Cole

Richard Hoefler, Will Daylight Come"