| August 1, 2002 | Living through scandals | |
| August 8, 2002 | Two Catherines | |
| August 15, 2002 | Cause for laughter | |
| August 22, 2002 | An Introduction to Prayer | |
| August 29, 2002 | Choosing to live |
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It hasn't been easy for any believer to live through the recent scandals of sexual abuse of young people.
Recently, I heard of a younger priest who decided to leave the Priesthood to seek a new profession. He said he was embarrassed to wear the Roman Collar in public. He no longer saw being a priest as the best way to live his life.
Frequently, I have also heard of conversations of lay people who have decided to stop giving money to the Church for fear that it will be used for legal fees, or legal settlements, of abuse cases.
I understand the feelings of that priest and of some lay folks. Yet, when we are hurt and angry, we don't always make the best decisions.
My response is simply this. Do we want to honor the failings of the few, rather than the virtues of the many? In all of the studies thus far, the number of priests involved in abuse of children has never exceeded one and one half percent of the total number of priests!
While I agree that one case of sexual abuse is one too many, can we afford to give evil more power than good? Suppose for a moment, that the Catholic Church could be 'brought down'. Suppose every church was locked, every charity ended, every hospital and school closed, every ministry ended? Would you want to live in a world without the Eucharist, without a preferential option for the poor, without a Catholic presence in health care and education, without a voice of conscience in the political and economic debates in our country, and in our world?
No, the Catholic Church is not going to disappear. If it did, what would happen? It would resurrect itself, and inch by inch rebuild the churches and hospitals and schools and charities and advocacies it now has. But what a daunting prospect! Think of the generations of believers who would not be touched by its ministry in the rebuilding process.
The laity, I believe, needs to turn justifiable anger into involvement and oversight. The institutional church needs to be challenged to live up to its highest ideals. By Baptism, everyone is called to help to build the kingdom of God.
To priests thinking of leaving, or seminarians thinking of quitting, I would only invite them to think again. Has there ever been a time when good priests have been needed more?
Yes, I know lay people who live far more noble lives than I do, and influence far more people than I do. I'm not suggesting that the Priesthood is the only way to live life. But can we at least agree that it is a unique way to reach people, a unique position for influencing the world in a loving way? Are we going to allow those who abused that influence to keep us from trying to exert that influence?
Early in my priesthood, a dying man in a hospital said to me: "Fr. Joe, it's a wonderful thing you're doing with your life." That simple statement echoed in my mind again and again during some dark nights in my own soul.
And the line from scripture that most held me during times when I wanted to throw the priesthood away, was a line from Psalm 16: "He (God) has put into my heart a marvelous love for the faithful ones who dwell in his land." I realized that I could do a lot of things other than what a priest does, but I never ultimately felt that anything ever exceeded that love that God put into my heart.
If this column helps a single priest or seminarian to stay, it will be well worth it to me. If this column helps a single priest or seminarian to return to ministry or to study, it will be equally worth it. An honest church will honor those who wrestle with their commitments.
Two thousand years ago, St. Paul said that our battle was against the Principalities and Powers. He was right. It is a battle against evil. And, it is waged, not by perfect people, but by flawed people who still try. And if you are tempted to give up the struggle, hear again the words from the hymn: "We Will Drink The Cup", by Haas. Here is the refrain:
"We will drink the cup, we will win the fight;
We will stand against the darkness of the night!
We will run the race, and see God's face,
And build the kingdom of love!"
Catholic Review, August 8, 2002
Two Catherines in my life died early this summer - Catherine Picco, and Sister Catherine John, S.N.D.
I first met Catherine Picco in 1970 when she was parish secretary at St. Joseph's Parish in Fullerton (Perry Hall). Secretaries run the world. As I've said before, a CEO can leave town for a week or a month at a time, and very few notice. If a secretary doesn't show up for work, everything comes to a grinding halt!
Catherine Picco seemed to run the parish life, and she had her own life: her husband Sam, and her children Cathy, Patty, Tony, and John.
There was a bonding that formed from that first meeting. From then on, I always felt like a part of the family.
Sister Catherine John I first met in 1979 when I became Coordinator of Evangelization. She was then Associate Director of the Division of Religious Education. She had many titles in her life, and held various leadership positions in her Order. In those years of the 70's and 80's when Religious Orders had their own inner turmoil, C.J., as she was affectionately known, was a steadying influence.
Catherine John could be described as an "earth mother". She seemed to embody those gifts of nurturing and caring.
Catherine Picco was a vital person up to her 75th year. She would walk three miles a day, and was the picture of health and vitality. Cancer struck suddenly, and ended her life much too abruptly.
Sister Catherine John suffered a stroke many years ago, and the final years of her life were spent coping with this disability. Yet, with limited body, she still continued to minister to others with a spirit that knew no limits. For her, death seemed more like deliverance. She was freed from the confinements of bodily limitations to dance again in the house of God.
Because of my retreat schedule, I was away when both of these wonderful women died. I didn't have a chance to offer any final farewells, or see them one last time. It reminded me again of how fragile life is, and how we have to make each encounter with those we love a good encounter. Life is too short to nurse grudges, to hold resentments, to be anywhere else but in the moment. Life is just long enough to love.
I salute these two women because neither of their names will be included in histories of the church. Yet, both of them are at the heart of church ministry, and both of them represent the best of the church. Eighty percent of church ministry is done by women. Everything from secretarial and clerical positions, to staffing Catholic Schools, religious education, health care, volunteers, and on and on. Most are women.
No check large enough could ever be written to repay women for their role in building and maintaining the church. The checks they do receive are typically among the lowest paid in our society, if they receive any at all. What draws such women to such devoted service to the church? Why, in the time of Jesus, when the power brokers were plotting his death, did the women bring their children to Jesus? I think the best in the feminine spirit understands the best in the spirit of Jesus - giving life to others; giving one's life for others; a closeness to washing feet and serving meals - activities in which Christ revealed Himself.
In a marvelous, current book, "Walking On Fire", the stories of various Haitian women are told. These women are victims of violence and abuse, and they live in such degrading and dehumanizing poverty, that it would be easy for the human spirit to be destroyed. However, on fire with God, they stand against the darkness. One woman wrote the following: "If I need to meet Jesus, I meet him in my brothers and sisters. You're taking a better communion that way. It's not opening your mouth and taking the host and answering 'Amen' to 'The Body of Christ' while being mean and a nuisance to your neighbors."
Catherine John and Catherine Picco would have understood those words. It was easy to see the presence of Christ in them. More humbling, and more challenging, was that you sensed that they found the presence of Christ in you.
Let's just say that it wasn't exactly the male fantasy! What am I talking about? Let me tell you the story.
It was one of those perfect beach days in Ocean City - perfect, at least, in my mind. The ocean was like a pond, only the gentlest of waves and swells. I was floating in the ocean, just enjoying the rocking motion. As I floated along, I had the sense that I might be getting close to someone else. Sure enough, I stood up in the water, and floating toward me was a young woman. As I tried to move out of her path, her girlfriend called out to her that she was about to bump into me. She stopped floating, stood up in the water, and turned, saw me standing there, and began to scream!
Everyone that I told this story to has explained that she was startled. While I grant that she was startled, let's just say that it's not the male fantasy to have a young woman turn, notice you, and begin to scream. I felt like the Creature From The Black Lagoon!
As I floated away, I could hear both of the young women laughing and laughing. They must have laughed for twenty minutes.
Again, let's be honest. As Little Abner used to say: "Every red-blooded American Male" has certain fantasies. Certainly a fantasy of any male growing up in Maryland would be to become some young lady's Ocean City memory! That would be the fantasy of most adolescents and young male adults. In my advancing age, I think I have achieved that status, only not quite in the way most men fantasize. I have a hunch that this young woman, years from now, as an elderly great grandmother, will be telling her descendents about her experience of being scared in the ocean by a 'strange' man.
I tried to find comfort. As one man said to me at Annunciation Parish: "Father Joe, you're not the first man to be screamed at by a woman. You won't be the last!" So, okay, I won't win the 'Muscle Beach' contest. I didn't want to win the Creature From The Black Lagoon contest.
So, I comforted myself by saying, well at least I can still preach. No doubt I look better in vestments! Then I had another experience. I was at Father Justin's twenty-fifth annisversary celebration at St. Clement's in Rosedale. One of the young women servers recognized me. "I still go to Annunciation parish some week-ends", she said. I was feeling better already. Then she added: "I never listen to anything the priest says. I just go to sing and to listen to the music!" What? My hours of sermon preparation and sermonizing, all in vain? I fear so.
So I hope your summer is going better than mine.
In truth, I did find comfort in the fact that there was an older woman swimming in the ocean, who did talk to me. She didn't let out a blood-curdling scream! And other people have said nice things about my sermons and talks. So I am healing slowly.
I share these light-hearted experiences in a spirit of fun, but there is a serious side to them. In truth, don't we all doubt ourselves at some level? As I watched thousands of people on the boardwalk and on the beach, the obvious conclusion is that most of us don't look like movie stars. As I once commented to my sister Helen: "We're all variations on a theme." Helen replied: "Some variations look better than others."
In truth, some do. But I'm willing to bet that even the most beautiful girl, or most handsome guy, has his or her self doubt. In truth, there will always be someone a little better looking, a little thinner, a little richer, a little more attractive. And we all know that even the most perfect body won't stay that way. Aging, injuries, genetics all play a role in how our bodies look.
Ultimately, we doom ourselves to frustration if we focus on the physical. As one spiritual writer put it: "No major spiritual leader ever emphasized the body over the spirit." All material things eventually wear out and disappear. Our greatest achievements are only tiny blips on the radar screen of life.
But our spirits are eternal. What we do with our lives for God will always be remembered by God. The things of the spirit: love, joy, peace, caring, love, forgiveness, healing, and on and on, will matter forever. Our ego gets bruised in the misadventures of life. But the spirit of God in us can forever enjoy the spirit of God all around us. Our true self, made in God's image and likeness, can always have the last laugh on our false self, which gets caught up in the image and likeness of the world.
Suppose you had never prayed before. How would you begin to pray? Here is a suggested prayer that I came across recently. It goes as follows:
"May I be free from suffering.
May I be free from fear.
May I be happy.
May I be filled with loving kindness."
That's a gentle introduction to prayer, isn't it? It's what you might call a 'generic' prayer.
Typically, prayer begins with our needs. Probably, primitive man or woman called out to the heavens in desperation as he or she watched the rains sweep away their crops, or as they fled a wild beast. Suddenly, the rain slowed, or they escaped the beast. At a primordial level, they had a sense that 'something' or 'someone' had heard their cry.
As humans evolved, God's revelation seemed to evolve to meet the capacity of men and women to understand God. So, the idea of a god of the tribe, or a god of the nation, would eventually evolve to a God of all nations. In Christianity, through the revelation of Jesus, we grew to an understanding of a God of love.
Yet, just as the idea of God grew to meet our capacity to understand, so too our modern sophistication and complexity leads many to doubt God's existence all together! Thus, in a sense, we have to go back to our most basic understanding of prayer. Yet, while the prayer seems essentially selfish - we pray for deliverance from suffering and fear, and we pray for happiness - the last line takes us beyond ourselves: "May I be filled with loving kindness."
At some point, healthy prayer always takes us beyond ourselves. Prayer not only connects us with God. Prayer connects us with each other. So, another way to say that prayer is to say it as a prayer for others. If someone has asked you for prayer, put that person's name in it:
"May Betty be free from suffering.
May Betty be free from fear.
May Betty be happy.
May Betty be filled with loving kindness."
My 'challenge' to those who may never have prayed is to say that little prayer one hundred times a day for themselves, and one hundred times a day for someone else for thirty days! In other words, for those who have never prayed, I invite them to try prayer. St. Bernardine's Parish annually has "Try God" month in October. All of the parishioners are invited to invite someone to join them for Sunday Liturgy for one month. I'm inviting people to try prayer for one month.
The little prayer is so simple and so short, that's it's possible to say it frequently throughout the day: while we drive our car; while we wait in line; while we're 'on hold' on the telephone; and on and on.
What happens? Well, that obviously depends on each individual. My hope is that, as you repeat the prayer throughout the day, you indeed begin to feel happier, feel less fear, experience less suffering. As you are filled with loving kindness, you begin to have a greater sense of compassion for others. As you pray for others, or one particular person, you may discover over the month that this person seems more peaceful, less fearful, a little happier. The circumstances in our lives may not change, but our attitudes toward those 'circumstances' greatly determines whether we are happy or sad, peaceful or agitated, depressed or joyful.
We also may notice that the 'object' of our prayer changes also. Initially, we may pray to a Higher Power, or to an Energy. Gradually, we discover that the Higher Power or Energy is really a Person who fills the world in all its parts. Prayer becomes personal as we conceive of God as personally present to us.
Recently, a woman shared the following words with her 'significant other'. "My belief in God seems to bring me more joy and peace than your lack of belief. Why don't you try believing?"
I would add: "Why not try prayer? The worst that can happen is that nothing changes. The best that can happen is that you will never be the same!"
If you have received a diagnosis of depression, or if you have a friend or family member with such a diagnosis, you might want to get a copy of "Echoes Of Darkness And Light" by Sister Mary. This is a booklet containing eighteen poems written in free verse by a nun. The poems summarize a journey of years and years combating the darkness of depression. In stark words, you will experience just how dark depression can be - the feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness, the battle between despair and hope. Ultimately, hope prevails, but it is not a cheap hope, any more than there is cheap grace.
That these poems are written by a vowed, religious woman is especially important. Often, people interpret depression as some kind of weakness, or as some type of punishment for sins or failures. But the writings of this dedicated, good, spiritual person lets us know that the stereotypes are wrong. Depression is a disease, not a failure. The war against it is fought more than once, and no victory ever seems like a final victory. Victory is often measured less by some permanent state of bliss than it is measured by a refusal to surrender to the pain, and a refusal to inflict pain on others.
Rather than just talk about this powerful booklet, allow me to quote just a few portions of some of the poems.
DIAGNOSIS
"The diagnosis of bi-polar depression is a recognized medical illness - one I did not choose.
Yet, a fact of chemistry, not easily digested
By myself or others.
Infinitely humbling; not in the 'acceptable' realm of Cancer, Diabetes, TB.
Easy to chastize the self with the pseudo truths of lashing criticisms of - 'You're weak', 'Pick yourself up', 'Bite the bullet'.
The recantations of wasted effort drones on and on in my battered brain,
Wearing on the already impoverished psyche.
When will acceptance of the whole and not-so-whole come from myself and others?"
DEPRESSION
"The vise closes in and renders thought impossible.
No longer an easy, clear head but one lost in gloom and the inability to function.
Eons of time have fled, measured in relentless weeks and months.
The norm is no more, only thoughts of hopelessness, helplessness, and 'no way out' pervade entire days and nights.
I am lost; I have no sense of being; the pall envelops the black thickness which entraps my entire self.
What is the sense of going on?
Desires, goals, are an abyss of myths.
No one can break through this barrier of retardation and despair.
'You have to try harder.', 'You can't give in', 'You must fight this'.
Useless platitudes in the scheme of wretched nothingness.
I am alone in this void of pain and darkness.
No one can touch me, even though I reach out and struggle - barely."
HOPE
"Hope wafted in on tiny tendril wisps.
A streak of light illumined the blackened tunnel.
Slowly the human spirit broke through the chains of darkness.
'I will live, I will live, I want to live.'
Finally, a piercing need to believe in being saved.
Saved from myself and its darkest destruction.
The long months of waiting and wanting to die seemed to quietly drift away.
I can go on; there is no need for plotting and planning the end.
Life was being given back to me; slowly, slowly - the crushing doom was being transformed into a new day.
This new day was all I had - one day was all that I was given -
And to live by this mandate - 'One day at a time!' is one of the miracles I came to embrace.
And miracle it is, because when tomorrow comes, it is also today.
A new beginning to my life was once more being given back to me; not for the first time, but one of the many times.
The glowing sunrise of a new day beckoned me to stretch out my arms and embrace it with confidence and a new wisdom."
Freedom
"Free at last, my God, free at last!
A borrowed phrase to be sure, but one which expresses where I am.
Freedom does not come cheaply or without pain.
And I and others have paid the price.
Payments exacted in courage and the excruciating wilderness of isolation and tears.
And yet tears were blocks of stone; I could not cry and relieve the unbearable stress.
I was stone - empty, crushed, dead.
But the Lord did not leave me in the land of Job forever.
He carried me in his arms, even while I was flailing to run away from Him.
By the scruff of my neck, he saved me from oblivion.
One more step, and it would have been the end.
Pills, a car accident - any means available
Would have been most welcome in those moments of torment.
But I CHOOSE TO LIVE.
And live I did, in the melting arms of my God.
He carried me from desperation and gave me back my life.
This is freedom.
Freedom not to serve, to carry others, to spread wide my arms to the many.
Freedom!
(If you would like to order a copy of this booklet, please send $5 to Sister Mary, 36 Alanbrook Court, Baltimore, Maryland 21204. Or call 410-321-8998.)