Modesty redux

As Darwin and I were discussing the writing of his modesty post below, I was reminded of an incident that took place when I was a freshman at Steubenville.

One hot, muggy day in September, as I was passing by the chapel, I noticed the lines for confession and decided on the spur of the moment to go. I usually prefer to go to confession behind the screen, but for whatever reason that day I sat down across from the priest. I blessed myself, confessed my sins, and waited to receive my penance. And the priest said, "Do you always go to confession in shorts?"

To say that I was mortified and repulsed would be putting it mildly. Perhaps he felt that shorts were such an offense against the sacrament that he was justified in drawing my attention to it as rudely as possible, but the fact that he was paying more attention to my legs than to my confession was deeply disturbing. After that, I went to confession off-campus as much as possible and avoided that particular priest. His willingness to humiliate me to make a point about modesty (I guess) gave evidence of either a lustful disposition or a arrogant and condescending personality , and either way I wanted no further acquaintance.