Dear God, what do we do now?

As a practicing Catholic, it is difficult for me to articulate how the past few days since the report on sexual abuse by priests in Pennsylvania has been released. While we've known about this evil for over a decade, the fresh betrayal, renewed denial, and continued excuses have ripped open a wound in my heart that was really only beginning to heal. Perhaps this time around, hearing about the atrocities as an adult, it cuts even deeper.

If we are to take our faith seriously, times like these should shake us to the core. I've asked myself if I should stop going to Church. Does my very presence there in some way act as a "pass" for these violent men and the corrupt leaders that protect them? Should I find a different Church, one with less baggage and less greed, one less intent on protecting itself at the expense of innocents?

But on the other hand, I really don't want to give these men my faith. They've taken so much from all of us, from their victims especially. Do they really get to walk off with my relationship with God? Do I let them snatch the Eucharist from me, along with my safety and my trust?

For many of you, that last sentence may sound like nonsense. But it's everything. The truth is, if you believe in the Eucharist, than another Christian church simply can't provide the relationship with God that the Catholic Church does. Maybe that's how they take advantage and hold us in. Or maybe it's the intimate mystical connection that we hold it to be, in which case God damn every one of these people who has committed sacrilege against it. I mean that seriously.

So then what is the responsibility of those of us who who choose to stay? Father James Martin wrote a beautiful column for the New York Times where he argued that we as lay people have a responsibility to use our anger to activate change in the Church. That's all well and good. But the reality is that we as lay people don't have any formal power. Which is why this was allowed to continue in the first place. As Rabi Ruti Regan argued on Twitter, the Church is a patriarchy intent on protecting and promulgating its own self. In other words, as a lay person I have no power and as a woman I have even less. Which brings me back to the question of what I ought to do.

I am a playwright. That is what I do, and I've done it for a pretty long time. I don't hold any lofty ideas about art being superior to other forms of communication, or art being able to change the minds and hearts of large groups of people. I think at one point I thought that way, but now I just consider it one more form of communicating. It can reach some; others are basically indifferent. But God blessed me with this specific form of communication and I think we are supposed to use the talents we were given to serve God.

When this report came out, I was already in the process of producing two short plays about the Catholic Church. Each of them grapples with my struggles with the Church in different ways, but together they hold a great deal of what I've been feeling. It's strange that when this broke out I was already in the process of doing this work. It has been a rough process itself, as the festival I'm producing them in has had its own share of controversy. For a while, I considered not joining the festival. But now I'm very glad I stayed. I think God knew what He was doing asking me to put up these pieces. Catholics need to talk about their feelings on the Church. The need to wrestle with their grief. They need to confront their anger and demand change. We need to scream for change, even if the men up top aren't listening. I think eventually they will fall. Whether their fall equates to the Church falling depends on the laity. How strong is our faith? How much do we value our relationship with God over Earthly institutions. I hope the answer is that we value our relationship with God completely and the Earthly institutions only insofar as they serve to bridge the divide between us and the divine.

So I'm digging in. Hard. I'm going back to the page, ripping them back open and confronting the Church where we are now. I'm letting everyone in that 99-seat theater know how I feel. And that I'm still here. And that I'm still in Church. Listening. Holding them accountable. Because someone has to.

Please, Not This Pope: Defending the Faith when Leaders Err

Pope Francis has issued a public apology for comments made against sexual assault victims during his papal visit to Chile.  Former victims strongly assert that Chilean Bishop Juan Barros knew about sexual assault allegations against the infamous abuser Father Fernando Karadima and did nothing. Pope Francis originally called such accusations calumny, a spiritually charged term referring to the sin of spreading false and damning rumors.  He also said their accusations were without proof.

When I first read about the incident on Twitter, I felt the familiar, cold, pit in my stomach. Not again. I prayed. And, please not this pope. I, like many young Catholics, love Pope Francis.  I once waited nine hour for the opportunity to see him for thirteen seconds.  And it was worth it.  So you can imagine the crushing, sinking feeling when I read that the man who I’d pinned so many hopes on took such a massive step back on an essential, basic, moral issue.  (To be fair, Francis has been far from perfect on this issue in the past.  But this statement struck me as especially callous.)

Then, I read a headline that he had apologized.  Well, he sort of apologized.  He recognized that his wording was wrong.  Lack of “proof” was the excuse that Catholic bishops had given for decades for protecting serial abusers, despite the fact that proof is almost impossible to produce in cases such as this.  So Francis said that he shouldn’t have used proof, but rather evidence. Is that better? I’m not sure.  What did strike me as relevant was that he appeared sincere in his regret for hurting victims.  He regretted appearing to “slap them in the face.”  He knew he had erred and his sorrow seemed genuine. Nevertheless, he still believes Barros to be innocent.

This indicated two things to me.

1) Pope Francis is willing to listen and admit when he is wrong. 

This is the essential difference between the current pope and religious leaders of the past.  The willingness to apologize and the humility he has shown will set many Catholic hearts at ease.  No, he is not trying to silence victims.

       2 )He's still wrong. 

These people have been proven honest once before when all of their accusations turned out to be accurate. There is no reason to believe they are mistaken now.  Pope Francis’ apology does little to change the reality for them: they are bringing their needs to the Church and the Church isn’t listening. It’s the whole disgusting cycle replaying over again.  Publicly declaring a “zero-tolerance policy” isn’t enough.  Acknowledging victims as trustworthy- no, as worthy at all- this is what is needed.  Such a simple step, but somehow so hard.

As a practicing Catholic in a largely secular community, I know what comes next: the gauntlet.  How can your religion let this happen? Again. Why can’t the just do the right thing? What else are they hiding?  I can normally dodge theses type of questions with the simple assertion that Church leaders are people too and I don’t have to answer for their choices.

But this only leads to the harder questions. If Church leaders are just people, why do you follow the Pope?  Is he special or isn’t he?  What’s even the point of being Catholic?

At their root, the questions all boil down to a single argument: If your religion were true, the people most practiced in it wouldn’t lack basic morality. They do lack basic morality, so your religion is false.

To be clear, in no way do I wish to imply that the worst effects of the pope’s actions are my discomfort. The true fallout is the added pain, suffering, and humiliation experienced by countless victims who only want to be acknowledged and treated justly by the Church. But I can’t imagine that I am the only Catholic who feels a sense of mounting frustration when Church leaders commit these sins.  Because I wouldn’t do something like that, and I’m no moral hero.  And now they’re doing something publicly immoral and I’m going to have to answer for it.  This is the stuff that has made many Catholics simply give up and leave the Church and frankly, I don’t blame them.  There’s nothing like genuinely good people confronting you with spiritual questions to which you have no answer to turn you off to your own faith.  And it’s especially trying when the leaders of our faith are the ones putting you in that position.

How can you believe someone is an infallible holy man if he does something so obviously wrong?  And if he’s not infallible, doesn’t that take down your entire religion?  Do you have to support blatantly corrupt behavior in order to justify your faith?  And if you do, how do you do it?  More importantly, why do you do it?

These questions often feel discriminatory and its easy to be defensive and lash out in response.  But the truth is, they bring up feelings of anger and resentment not because they are essentially wrong to ask (although not always asked in the kindest manner) but because they are good questions. And we do have to answer to them.

Here are a few things I say in response to common criticisms of Church hierarchy.

1)      The pope is only infallible under very specific circumstances.

 The doctrine of infallibility is one of the worst understand of all Catholic doctrines, even amongst Catholics themselves.  The pope is only infallible when defining a doctrine concerning faith or morals, and then, only when he does so in a very specific way.  The last time a pope spoke with doctrinal infallibility was 1950 when Pope Pius XII declared that Mary was Assumed into Heaven.  In other words, Pope Francis can easily be wrong about his stance on Bishop Barros.  Popes can be wrong about most things, which is why the Church can and has reversed its teachings on several issues throughout history. 

2)      To be spiritually ordained and morally good are not the same thing. 

When a man becomes a priest, he undergoes the sacrament of Holy Orders, in which he is anointed by the Holy Spirit as a priest of the Church.  Christ then works through him to perform the sacraments that are the bedrock of our faith. Because it is Jesus who works these miracles, not the man, the moral state of the man has no bearing on their effectiveness.  This means that if I receive communion from a priest who protected a sexual abuser, or from an abuser himself, I am still receiving my sacrament. (Although his own spiritual state is in no way redeemed by this.)

This is the power of ritual.  This is the ancient pull that draws me to Catholicism and leaves more modern iterations of Christianity feeling empty.  What any human being says or does will never compare to sacramental grace. It’s best for all of us to just get out of the way and let that happen.

3)      The Church’s ability to endure despite humanity’s best efforts to destroy it is evidence of God ultimately being in charge.

Look, at the end of the day, the Catholic Church really shouldn’t still be around.  Human beings have done their best to run it into the ground for centuries to no avail.  I’d posit they’ve gotten a lot of help from the -um- other guy. And yet that Catholic Church continues to grow worldwide.  Perhaps it’s best to spend less time answering for the sins of other people and more time marveling at God’s infinite goodness.

I once met a young man who became a cloistered Catholic monk after the minister at his Evangelical church was arrested for some financial crime and the church closed after the scandal.  I had to laugh. “Your Church had a scandal so you became Catholic?”    He shrugged. “You guys never close.”

No.  We don’t.

So yes, I can be angry at the Church without having to leave it.  I can be outraged on behalf of victims and still defend the institution wholeheartedly.  And yes, I can still think the pope is fundamentally morally wrong while falling at his feet in spiritual awe as he passes. 

Because that’s how simply complicated genuine faith is.  It’s why Catholicism is so essentially… human.

Why Silence Isn't an Option, (or the devil grows stronger when you deny him.)

Whoever says he is in the light, yet hates his brother, is still in the darkness.

Whoever loves his brother remains in the light, and there is nothing in him to cause a fall.

Whoever hates his brother is in darkness; he walks in darkness and does not know where he is going because the darkness has blinded his eyes.

-1 John 2:9-11

Today I wish to emphasize that the problem of intolerance must be confronted in all its forms: wherever any minority is persecuted and marginalized because of its religious convictions or ethnic identity, the wellbeing of society as a whole is endangered and each one of us must feel affected.”

-Pope Francis

I was recently discussing this weekend's events in Charlottesville with a fellow Catholic whom I love and respect a great deal.  This person expressed to me that s(he) believes the proper method of dealing with people like David Duke is to take away their power by ignoring them.  In regards to the protest/anti-protest this weekend they said "I wish no one had shown up."  While I understand the viewpoint, and in many ways wish it were true, I fundamentally disagree.  Here's why:

For too long, many of us with the power to speak have chosen not to on the mistaken belief that not actively part taking in racism and discrimination leaves us morally exempt from any discussion of race.  I am ashamed to admit that growing up I felt this way.  I didn't think about race, and in doing so I believed I had achieved a sort of racial neutrality that was the same as being "not racist." This was a false belief, a belief symptomatic of the privilege that I did not understand myself to have, that I could not comprehend.  I was inactive in the conversation about race, and I thought that meant I had no effect on it. In reality, by not talking about race I was moving aside and creating an open space for racists to step into. And now they have the spotlight.

So let's be explicitly clear.  Racism is real, alive, and well in the United States.  It is part the continuation of a legacy of racial violence that began with the founding of this country and is just as integral to the American story as freedom, bravery, and moving west. As a White person, I have a special responsibility to articulate to these men who claim to represent me that I reject their entire ideology.  Because, unfortunately, White opinions are the only ones that matter to them. 

I am saddened that I have not observed a more overt stance on this issue within the Catholic community.  A traditionally conservative group, I believe many parish priests are afraid of alienating their congregation by appearing to preach in favor of one political party over another.  But the Church's stance is clear and uncompromising on this issue, so there should be no fear of offense.  We as Catholics need to stop pretending that racism isn't a moral issue.  Racism is a sin. And, just as there are both venial and mortal sins, there are both overt and subtle forms of racism.  As with all sins, racism must be stamped out within ourselves and actively combated in society.  I should no more deny my tendency to make racial judgments than I should deny my tendency to lie.  What I should do, instead, is try to stop lying- stop making racial judgments. Racism, like the devil, thrives best when we deny it's existence. The fact that it makes us feel better to believe it doesn't exist cannot make it so.  It it best that we confront it directly and with force. 

Let us also never forget that we too have a history of oppression in this country. Along with Jews and people of color, laws existed to suppress and control us.  Laws were also written prevent our immigration into the US on the basis of our alleged desire to overthrow the government and place the pope in power.  Basically, people thought we were terrorists. Groups like the KKK still include Catholics on their lists of undesirables, but in general society our status has elevated dramatically. We are, in fact, a group with a great deal of power both politically and economically.  How disappointing that, rather than using that power to fight for others experiencing discrimination, we have become safe and complacent.  We shut our doors and mind our own business.

On the rare occasion when I do hear a Catholic speak about our history of discrimination, it's often, disturbingly, used as an excuse for inaction.  The "Well, we were discriminated against too."  is usually a stand in for "We can't be the bad guys" or "It's not our job."  But it is our job.  And, yes, we can be the bad guys.  By promoting hatred against Muslims, Jews, and the LGBTQ community, we have actively contributed to the problem.  By doing nothing we have passively contributed to the problem. (Remember, we confess both what we have done and what we have failed to do.) 

Now is the time to do the right thing, to take a moral stand on the side of good.  It's what Pope Francis is asking of us.  More importantly, it's what Christ asks of us. 

To Pro-Life Christians: Please Support Refugees

Pope Francis, right, washes the feet of prisoners in 2015. CREDIT: AP PHOTO/L’OSSERVATORE ROMANO, POOL

As Vice President Mike Pence addressed crowds of supporters at the March for Life, protests raged across the country decrying President Trump’s ban on immigration from seven Muslim-majority countries.  This executive order includes an indefinite ban on refugees from war-torn Syria. The Vice-President did not mention immigration in his comments to Pro-Life activists, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be on our minds.  It is the height of hypocrisy to march for protection of the unborn and ignore the plight of children around the world.  Mr. Pence, it seems, is unaware that immigration is a life issue

The Pro-Life movement has fallen into a dangerous trap of one-issue politics.  The fixation with overturning Roe V Wade has chained us to the Republican Party, distracting us from vital work and weakening our stance. In fact, the Republicans often oppose measures that are vital to our cause: a stronger safety net for single mothers, fixing our broken foster-care system, and putting an end to the death penalty.  Lessening our focus on these goals has given weight to our opponent’s argument that we don’t really care about life at all. They perceive Pro-Life Christians as only focused on controlling women and forcing them into motherhood.  We, they argue, are hypocrites who only care about the life of a child while it is still in the womb. This stance would be insulting if it wasn’t so close to the truth.  We have lost touch with our calling as Christians and fallen into the simplistic story of the culture war.  And now President Trump has slammed the door on immigration. This is our chance to prove ourselves.  

Not to be outdone, conservatives are quick to point the finger of hypocrisy at the left-wing outrage surrounding the immigration ban. Obama took similar measures in 2011. (The seven countries on Trumps list are drawn from the Obama-era’s Visa Waiver program.)[1]  It’s natural to want to point fingers and say “Where were your protests then?” My question to pro-life activists is this: who cares? We have no time to waste removing splinters from other people’s eye’s- our beam is enormous.  We owe no loyalty to the Republican Party. We are Christians.  Our loyalty lies only in what is true. The question is not why are they outraged all the sudden but rather why weren’t we outraged before?  Pointing out the flaws in others is a distraction.  We only have time for the flaws in ourselves.

We’ve known for years about the refugee crisis in Syria, but we chose to do nothing.  We’ve known that translators who risked their lives to help our military were being denied entry into the United States.  We in the Pro-Life movement should have been the first to take up this cause. Instead, we are making excuses and blaming others. Worse, we are allowing our fears to control our actions. 

The story of Jewish refugees being turned away at the border during the Second World War has been passed around so much in connection with the current crisis, that it has started to feel like empty rhetoric.  But it is not.  The fears about allowing these refugees into the country are almost identical to the fears being expressed today: we haven’t vetted these people, we don’t know who they are, the enemy could be hiding among them, their values seem different than ours.  Roman Catholics often forget that we were at once suspected of wanting to set up a Papal Kingdom in the United States, echoing the current fear that Muslims will try to institute Sharia Law.  None of these fears ever came to fruition in our country, but we allowed them to guide our choices.  Every passenger on that ship of Jewish refugees died in concentration camps. 

I want to be clear:  I am not suggesting that all the rhetoric around this issue is accurate- popular media is rife with misinformation, which is certainly fueling the protests. I am also not suggesting that the Pro-Life movement ought to side with the Democratic Party.  On the contrary, I’m begging that we become entirely non-partisan. From the outside, it is much easier to perceive how both parties are right some of the time.  It is reasonable that a Pro-Life person might feel immigration policy needs to be reexamined, and a temporary hiatus may be necessary to do this. But if this is the case (and I’m not convinced it is) these changes must be made as quickly as possible.  An indefinite ban is not acceptable.  And, once the process is completed in a swift manner, we must dramatically increase our acceptance of refugees.  The numbers under President Obama were not remotely high enough. Every day that our borders are closed is a gift to ISIS and a victory for death.

Finally, I strongly urge Christians to take the charges of religious discrimination seriously.  Virtually every religious group has experienced persecution at some point in their history.  It is tragically rare for members of one religion to stand up for members of another.  This is to our shame.  Once again, conservatives will argue that the phrase “Muslim Ban” is hugely inaccurate, used to spur partisan rage.  The undeniable truth is that banning Muslims was one of President Trump’s (admittedly contradictory) campaign promises.[2]  If he intends to keep this promise then this executive order is the first step, as was disturbingly described by Rudy Giuliani [3].  While the immigration ban may not directly forbid entry based on race or religion, when taken within the context of President Trump’s previous statements, it sends a very specific message. As Senator John McCain, observes, “This executive order sends a signal, intended or not, that America does not want Muslims coming into our country.”[4]  Now, the President will wait and see how the Christian majority will react to this message.  We must not allow ourselves to be comforted by legality.  There is always a division between what is technically legal and what is morally acceptable, and we can only fall down on one side. We must protect the sacred right to worship, and vociferously oppose anything that comes close to challenging that right. 

The United States has so far failed to protect the innocent victims of our greatest enemies.  Some of these people are fellow Christians and ethnic minorities, many more are Muslims- all are targeted for extinction by extremists.  This is unquestionably a life issue.  When meditating on the moral path, we must remember Christ’s words in what is significantly known as the Judgement of Nations:

“Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.” (Mt. 25 v34-36)


Will Pro-Life Christians demand protection for refugees, or will we once again fail in our mission?

-       

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[1] https://www.theatlantic.com/news/archive/2017/01/trump-immigration-order-muslims/514844/

[2] https://www.donaldjtrump.com/press-releases/donald-j.-trump-statement-on-preventing-muslim-immigration

[3] https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2017/01/29/trump-asked-for-a-muslim-ban-giuliani-says-and-ordered-a-commission-to-do-it-legally/?utm_term=.2fbb7b78df6e

[4] http://www.mccain.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/press-releases?ID=587F2A2D-8A47-48F7-9045-CF30F0A77889

Did He Really Just Say That? (What to do when you hear a bad sermon)

It's happened to all of us.  Anyone who, by choice or by force, happens to be a regular churchgoer, has heard a bad sermon.  I'm not talking about a priest who is a poor public speaker.  And I'm not talking about sermons that are too long.

I'm talking about the bad ones: the theologically questionable, the offensive, the hateful.  The ones that make you question why you keep coming back to this archaic religion anyway.  The ones that make you thank God you didn't choose this mass to introduce your friend to your faith.

I've heard some pretty nasty sermons over the past 27 years.  The worst by far was at a church in Florida where the priest informed his shocked congregation that "domestic abuse is terrible, but at least these women have husbands." (I assume no causal connection between the state of Florida and this man's warped view of family life.)  Last Sunday, I heard about half of a bad sermon.  The priest started out with a one-sided history of Islam that got my inner porcupine quills standing on edge.  Fortunately, he managed to (mostly) turn it around and make an important point about the rosary.  (It's not a good luck charm.  You have to actually pray it.)  But, by the time he got around to that, I had already pretty much shut him out.  I'm not proud of this,but I've heard enough bad sermons to know I don't want to be angry in church.  If I were more emotionally mature, I would do a better job of disagreeing without becoming angry.

I'll admit, I'm tired of being offended at mass.  I'm exhausted with men telling me about my "feminine nature."  (I haven't figured that who I am, so how on Earth do they know?) I'm tired of hearing other religions being put down, especially faiths that have been historically persecuted by Christians.  We're supposed to know better now- we have several beams in our eyes.  More than anything, I'm fed up with hearing hate preached in the name of God.  I'm not saying every sermon needs to be a fluffy, feel-good, pat-on-the back.  And I'm not saying I have to agree politically with everything a priest says, especially if I'm in disagreement with the Church. But I am saying that a sermon has to reflect what our religion actually teaches.  I want theologically sound sermons.  I want to be challenged and spoken to as someone who has a critical mind, has studied history, knows the Catechism, and has a basic understanding of theology.  In other words, preach to me as if you think I can read.  Because I can and will fact check you when I get home.

I know I am not perfect, and I know that priests aren't perfect.  I also know that most of the time I need to eat a humble sandwich.  (I'm always right, of course.  They're always wrong.)  But I'm concerned about the generations-old pattern of mindlessly nodding along when a man with no particular claim to holiness says something outrageous.  The sad truth is, many Catholics don't really know what their religion teaches; they know what their parish priest teaches. If the parish priest regularly misinterprets the faith, his parish is going to be left with a warped view of their own religion, and this leads to grave problems.

Take, for example, the Church's stance on divorce.  It is true that the Church teaches marriage is insoluble, but it is not true that the Church wants abused women to stay in their relationships.  (This isn't the place to get into the technical differences between an annulment and a divorce.) Whatever its shortcomings, the Church teaches that woman have dignity.  They have a right to safety and respect. Full stop.  If a woman in that Florida congregation was in an abusive marriage, and she heard that severely misguided sermon from a trusted priest, she might leave with the belief that the Catholic Church thinks she should stay with her abuser.  If she does find the strength to leave, it is extremely likely that she will also leave the Church.  Because of her experience, she will see the Church as contributing to her abuse.  Naturally, she will share this experience with others, cementing the perception that Catholicism is backwards, anti-woman, and morally bankrupt.  All because of a poor teacher.

So what do we do?  My natural reaction of getting angry and ranting about it has never proven effective.  I've also never felt comfortable discussing the issue of a questionable sermon with the priest in question.  (Fortunately, I've never heard an ugly sermon from the pastor at my own parish.)

The good news for Catholics is it doesn't really matter.  What matters is the Eucharist.  You don't come to mass to hear some guy talk.  You come to witness and partake in a miracle, and the beautiful thing is it happens whether or not you have a great priest. Because it's God, not the man, who makes the miracle. 

The bad news for Catholics is... it doesn't really matter.  This can lead to a sense of complacency, a lack of caring about what is happening in our parishes and in our hearts.  Plus, it's a bitter pill to swallow for non-Catholics who want to know why we keep going back to a place where nastiness is spewed on the alter.  In that sense, it matters a great deal, because it affects the spiritual health of our community.  People have left the faith over misconceptions born in the homily, and bringing them back can be difficult.  Even in my own heart, after a particularly bitter sermon, there is an emptiness, a sadness, that the Church I love so much is so broken.  And this is only one small part of it.

So, aside from ranting and raving, here is a short list of possible responses to a bad sermon.
You could:

1) After calming down, discuss the elements of the homily that troubled you with your family and friends.  It's important to listen to their perspective, rather than trying to teach.  (This is extremely difficult for me.)
2) If the priest is someone you are comfortable with, send an email or drop by the office to talk about what you heard.  It's possible you misunderstood.
3) If you're not comfortable, or the priest won't listen to you, bring the sermon up with another priest.  It's likely he'll have an entirely different take.
4) If the problem persists, switch parishes.
5) Pray about it.

What about you?  What do you do when you hear a bad sermon?
If you no longer attend church, was this a factor in your leaving?

Let's talk about it.