As you may already know, I’m not shy about giving advice. I wrote this short piece a couple weeks ago for Catholic Catalogue, when, one bleak morning, all question regarding the Republican nominee for the U.S. president suddenly disappeared. Since nothing looks any better today, and since there’s lots of work to do, I’m re-posting. Friday, after all, is a day for sorrow–and a day for mercy. It’s also an excellent day for pizza, wine, and holy conspiracy.
After a bit of a hiatus, Accidental Beatitude is up and running again. All the broken links are restored. It’s summertime, and the livin’ is easy. What’s not to like?
In May of 2013, on a warm, sunny morning, I found myself sitting in St. Peter’s Square, the large plaza that welcomes thousands of visitors to the Vatican every week. Our family had the remarkable opportunity to spend that week in Rome, but in the time since we had purchased our tickets, something even more remarkable had happened. A pope had—what??—resigned, and a new pope had appeared. And not just any pope. Two months into his pontificate, Pope Francis was already demonstrating powerful magnetism. The crowd gathered for his weekly general audience was huge.
After hours of expectant waiting, the moment arrived, and Pope Francis appeared in his white car. We could see that he was smiling broadly, and we all were, too. A collective murmur moved in waves through the crowd, with cries here and there of “Papa!” He was in no hurry, making one turn after another around the square. For those of us gathered, for a moment, there was nothing else. We were there. He was there. We smiled and smiled.
For Catholics, there are some theological reasons for all this. An encounter with pope is an encounter with the visible head of the worldwide Church, a sort of personal embodiment of the whole Church, and, even more, someone who represents Christ on earth in a particular and unique way. This pope had only increased that sense, in acts of humility and love, offering himself as an icon of Christ. I was deeply aware of the privilege of standing there, and I remember thinking of and praying for all the people who would have loved to have such an opportunity.
I will probably have to offer some explanation, then, for what happened next. Pope Francis was being driven toward the front of the square, was stepping to the spot where he would sit to address us all, was settling into his chair. For me, something completely unexpected was going on: I was seized with a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to leave. Not just to leave St. Peter’s Square, but to leave the Vatican, and Rome, to get on the plane and go home. Immediately.
This was ridiculous, of course. All around me, everyone continued to beam, and Pope Francis was just beginning to speak. Now, though, the thoughts were forming in my head to accompany this sudden impulse. I was thinking more about those back at home, and I was thinking about a request Pope Francis had made for his official Inauguration in Rome. Via the Vatican ambassador in Buenos Aires, he asked his supporters in his home country of Argentina that instead of making costly travel plans to come to Rome, instead, they should stay home and give that money to the poor.
What Pope Francis knows is that there are other crucial claims in Catholic theology. A meeting with Christ’s representative on earth is a great privilege, but we meet Christ in other ways too–in one another; in the Eucharist; and, as suggested in his request, whenever we give to “the least of these.” It is these everyday meetings with Christ toward which Pope Francis has pointed us all, over and over again. Suddenly, in the sunshine of St. Peter’s Square, I felt myself dramatically recalled to my own everyday appointments with Christ: in my family and friends, in my work in theology, in the city of Providence. I could almost hear Pope Francis himself saying to me: “Go…”
So, in these momentous days when Pope Francis is here in the U.S., maybe this is something worth keeping in mind. If you can, then go and see Pope Francis. It is a historic moment. The opportunity to see him is a great blessing. But if, like most of us, you can’t, remember the pope’s own advice. Take money you might have spent and give it to the poor. Remember the invitation to meet Christ in the Eucharist, and even in one another. In the coming week, you may be called to something more important than going to see the pope.
I didn’t choose the title for this essay at Patheos, but I think it makes it sound Very Important. Here’s the question I was asking: what does it mean–for U.S. Catholics and for all of us–to have the pope here, physically present on U.S. soil?
“On Remaining a (Non-Polarized and Super-Sexy) Catholic,” written as a favor for my friend, Artur Rosman, and dedicated to my poor, teenage kids.
It has been 48 hours since the Obergefell vs. Hodges decision, and a million or so opinions have already been voiced. Uncomplicated expressions of joy or horror are easiest, and so we’ve seen those first. But there are other possibilities. I’m probably not alone in feeling that there is much to wrestle through. As a theologian who belongs to the Catholic Church, though, I’m convinced that there are several things worth saying now, to fellow Catholics. (Others are, of course, welcome to consider them insofar as they are relevant.)
1. We should stop describing “the Church” and “LGBT people” as if they were two discrete groups. LGBT people are not only, as the US bishops put it in 1997, “our children,” they are, in fact, us. They are lay people, priests, religious, and bishops–in a variety of situations with regard to their own experiences of sexual attraction and sense of identity.
2. We should be candid about the profound differences on these questions among the faithful–and even among the “most faithful,” insofar as that phrase describes Catholics whose identity and sense of vocation is firmly rooted in the Church.
3. We should begin, and continue, to attend to the testimonies of LGBT people, including, and perhaps especially, testimonies of those in the Church. It is still the case that many of us have no grasp of the isolation, sadness, and feelings of shame that are often involved. Many of us don’t see what causes the suicides. Note that such listening may produce concern across a range of issues. (If, e.g., anyone should be reaching out with a broad range of service for homeless LGBT teens, it should be the Catholic Church.)
4. We should be clear about the fact that there are many children in the U.S.–two million, by some estimates–being raised by gay or lesbian parents. As Pope Francis leads us to focus on the state of the family, we should consider together what our position is vis-a-vis these families.
5. We should attend again, with care and with openness, to the account of conjugal marriage given by the Church’s teaching office. This is the duty of every Catholic, on every issue, of course, and it is perhaps especially important here. Every day, I see flippant opinions in the media that make clear this account is not understood well, or at all. Every semester, I talk with college students, many of whom who have completed more than a dozen years of Catholic schooling, who have no idea what it involves. (“Well, that makes a lot more sense than I thought it did,” is what they often say, and some seem positively intrigued.) I’ll say here what I say to them: if the Catholic Church’s official position on marriage just seems silly to you, you haven’t understood it yet. On the other hand, if Catholics haven’t managed to convey this vision to our own children, can we really blame others who find it baffling?
6. Those living out this conjugal view of marriage have no task more important than embodying a Catholic vision of “fruitfulness.” This means openness to children, but it means more than that. A fruitful marriage is not only for the good of the spouses involved, but is a source of hospitality and grace to others, as well.
7. In engagements in the public square, Catholics should spend zero time or energy worrying about the preservation of the Church–or the Church’s influence. That is simply not our concern. Insofar as living out Catholic convictions costs us in more personal and painful ways, we should accept that with a minimum of melodrama.
8. We can never compromise our consciences, but everything else is up for grabs. Money, comfort, convenience: none of these matter.
9. We should be creative and do what we can. We should speak out, in public and the private spheres, against violence, or any other form of dehumanization, that we encounter. We should lean in, looking for any possibility to build and preserve relationship. We should imaginatively seek the good of the other, even and especially at our own expense. A business owner who cannot in good conscience cover benefits for same-sex spouses of employees can look for another way, and can make clear that the last thing she would want would be to see any household go without the coverage they need. Families should commit themselves to making sure that LGBT sons and daughters (and sisters and brothers and cousins…) know that they are cherished beyond measure.
10. We should refuse indifference and the anger that becomes despair. Beyond all these things, we should put on love.
No posts here for awhile amidst end-of-semester busyness, and part of that was the chance to attend a small gathering at Notre Dame on what I take to be an important topic: polarization in the Church.
Over at America Magazine’s blog, I’ve offered a few reflections coming out of that conversation, including a response to a pretty important question: “What is polarization, anyway?”