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 | By Dr. Tom Dorsel

The minimalist Catholic’s scrupulous mind

Flashing back to the 1950s, my friend Mark and I were two of the quintessential minimalist Catholics of the early Church. This was despite growing up in pre-Vatican II Catholic schools, our saintly mothers dragging us out of bed to serve 6:05 weekday Mass and Sister Leo Marie drilling us on our Latin, particularly the Suscipiat. Each school day, the good sisters and our pastor, “Father Strect,” would put the fear of God in us. We'd go to confession faithfully on Saturdays and sing in the boys’ choir on Sundays.

Somehow out of all this, Mark’s and my thinking was not so much about how we could get into heaven, but rather the minimum we had to do to keep out of hell. To add to my anxiety, I was extremely scrupulous about everything. My main nemesis at that age was typical teenage thoughts. We were, of course, taught not to think them, but every time I tried not to think them, I thought them. And then I had to go to confession, even if it meant knocking on the rectory door because I was afraid to wait until Saturday — what if I died and went to hell in the meantime?

Scrupulous analysis of a penance

That leads me to a recent confession where the priest gave me a penance beyond the customary one Our Father and one Hail Mary. The additional penance was to “do a small act of charity.”

It’s a fairly mild and innocent assignment, but being the scrupulous person that I still am, I knew this was going to be tough. I mean, what is small and what is big? What if I did a big act of charity, would that cover the requirement that it was supposed to be small? Father had emphasized it being a “small” act of charity, saying it twice before I left the confessional. I decided that I would recognize the small act when it came along. But then, was there a time requirement for getting penitential credit? And what if I forgot? Did it mean my entire confession would be invalid?

I prayed that the opportunity would come along soon and behold it did. One of my fellow cantors, Cheryl, needed a substitute for 9:00 a.m. Mass. She had accidentally double booked and was subbing for a cantor at the neighboring Catholic church.

Since I was cantoring noon Mass anyway, I thought I could easily sing that morning, too. It was easy, so it would probably qualify as a “small” act of charity. So, I offered, only to find out that someone else had already volunteered to take Cheryl’s place.

Minimalist analysis of a penance

This left me in a new pickle: Did I have to be a cantor for Cheryl, or did the offer alone count as a “small” act of charity? I concluded it was probably too small, so I would have to wait for another appropriate opportunity.

Even before the cantoring opportunity, it had occurred to my minimalistic Catholic mind that I had been charitable to someone on the way into church before confession. Could my small act of charity be retroactive? This is complex, particularly for a scrupulous minimalist. And there was still the other part of my penance — one Our Father and one Hail Mary.

At the Mass that immediately followed my confession, it occurred to me at the “Pater Noster” before communion might double for the Our Father I have to say as my penance. As I pondered this, I clearly didn’t pay adequate attention to the “Our Father” at Mass, so even I could quickly determine that I had to say another one on my own.

And 70 years later

So, what happens to two parochial school chums trying to avoid hell? Mark has pretty much maintained the minimalist position; he’s a “letter of the law” kind of guy, an activist on Catholic moral issues and, of course, a regular Sunday Mass attendee. But if there are any surprise extensions to the Mass like benediction, a rosary, litany or extra prayers, his attendance at those will be under protest. 

I obviously still harbor some minimalist ruminations, but scrupulosity reigns supreme in my religious deliberations. I sometimes counter it by being presumptuous, but then I get scrupulous about that since presumption is a sin too.

On and on it goes

Today I will look for that elusive opportunity to commit a “small act of charity.” In the end, however, I’m of the mind that God intended us to fully engage ourselves in the beauty and wonders of the human adventure — along with its risks, dangers and temptations. 

There is no assurance that we imperfect instruments of Jesus’ Mystical Body are making the right decisions along life’s path back to God. But in the final accounting, our best guidance won’t be from overthinking confession, but from asking the question, “What would Jesus do?”

He’s always had and forever holds the right answers.


Dr. Tom Dorsel is a graduate of St. Xavier High School and the University of Notre Dame. He and his wife, Sue, are parishioners at St. Francis by the Sea on Hilton Head Island.