Thursday, Jul. 02, 2009

Scoppe: This isn’t the kind of ‘confession’ Sanford needs to make

I DIDN’T WAKE up one morning and say, “I want to be an Episcopalian.” I decided I wanted to commit to and become a part of the (Anglo-Catholic) parish I had grown to love and the people who had so warmly embraced me as part of their family. So I went through confirmation class not as part of a spiritual journey but as a means to an end. When Father Lyon suggested we might want to go to confession before our confirmation, I obliged not because I expected anything from the experience but because, well, if it was a “recommended” part of the process, I figured I ought to do it.

My friend and editor at the time, Brad Warthen, wasn’t convinced that joining an Anglo-Catholic parish made me Catholic, but as a Roman Catholic, he understood the power of confession, and he figured anything that might make me less of a pain to work with was worth a shot, so he happily helped me compile my list of sins. “Imperious is the word you’re looking for,” he said, before more began rolling off his tongue: arrogant, dismissive, condescending, scornful, impatient. (Most of them were already on my list.) “Don’t forget pride,” he said. “That’s one of the seven deadly sins.”

Thus prepared with my list, I went to my first confession.

The Reconciliation of a Penitent is a deceptively brief rite — just 321 words, including instructions, with a blank that the penitent fills in with as much or as little as she wants to confess. The effect is extraordinary. There is something indescribably powerful about kneeling before the altar, confessing your sins “to Almighty God, to his Church and to you (the priest)” and then declaring that “I firmly intend amendment of life.”

It doesn’t make it easy to be compassionate and forgiving and generous and whatever else you need to be. It makes it imperative.

On Tuesday, like many South Carolinians, I went through the Chinese water torture of reading what seemed like an endless series of new bombshells from The Associated Press reporters who were chronicling a tell-all (we hope) from Gov. Mark Sanford. “URGENT: SC gov admits additional liaisons.” “URGENT: AG asks SLED to investigate governor.” “URGENT: SC gov 'crossed lines' with women.” “URGENT: SC gov says mistress is soul mate.”

The more I read, the clearer it seemed: My fellow Episcopalian needs to go to confession.

Not this spectacle of a public confession, for which no absolution will be granted and from which only pain will ensue. Not the confession he has been going through with a respected but nonetheless lay marriage workshop leader. But true confession, at the altar, before God, in the presence of a priest.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe the governor owed it to the public to come clean on more than we would ordinarily have any right to know. He has so damaged our trust that he has to answer some questions that have absolutely nothing to do with his fitness to be governor, so that we can become convinced (if it is true) that he has not abused or misused his office. But that means “what” and “when” and “where.” Not “why.” Not blathering on about his soul mate. About how his great love for Maria will be what brings him comfort on his deathbed. Not sobbing between all this about how he’s trying to fall back in love with his wife.

Perhaps Mr. Sanford has indeed come unhinged. Perhaps there is some bizarre political calculus in all this heartsick schoolboy rambling. But I’m not yet convinced of either.

As regular readers know, I am not a fan of the policies that are nearest to Mr. Sanford’s heart. I have fought them, and refuted the misleading facts and figures he uses to peddle them, for years. During this year’s stimulus fight I finally reached the tipping point, where I was so disgusted with his political extremism that I no longer wanted him to lose just on his bad policies. It was fine with me if he lost on the good policies — on the ones I had been advocating since before any of us had even heard of Mark Sanford. I saw any victory — even a good victory — as potentially strengthening his hand, and increasing his chances on the bad policies.

Through all of this, though, I remained convinced that he has a good heart. And so I see his tortuous secular confession as another example of his propensity to be too honest, too forthcoming. Yes, I realize that sounds strange under the circumstances, but I agree with his self-assessment about his ability to compartmentalize. I have certainly experienced this myself in his “confessions” about his interactions with legislators. Once he decides to talk about something, he’s going to tell you more than you ever wanted to know. In excruciating detail.

Perhaps it’s too late to undo the political damage that the governor did to himself on Tuesday. Perhaps it’s too late to repair his marriage. And given his personality, I have a horrible feeling that the cathartic effect of that interview will be insufficient, and he will feel compelled to replay it over and over.

Please, Mr. Sanford, even if you don’t care any more about how your words hurt Jenny Sanford, please don’t make your sons keep seeing and reading this self-indulgent exercise. For the sake of them and any scintilla of hope you may have of saving your marriage, and for the sake of a state that needs you to keep it together enough that we do not have to upend the crucial 2010 gubernatorial election by handing your office over to the lieutenant governor — please, I beg you, go to confession.

Real confession. At the altar. Before God. In the presence of a priest. Today.

Ms. Scoppe can be reached at cscoppe@thestate.com or at (803) 771-8571.

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