Welcome, God and All...
In my previous post I brought up something very important: It seems we should all be on our knees repenting, asking God to intervene that calm and order might be restored in our land; but it seems a majority of the American public doesn't believe in that anymore.
Indeed, studies have indicated - long before the COVID lockdowns - that more and more Americans find that religious observance and freedom have little or no relevance in their lives. I read a homily given by a Catholic priest (who is conservative leaning, but not far right as some others); he states that some of this is unintentional, blaming it on how things like the cost of living can make it very difficult to find even 15 minutes to pray, let alone attend Mass (or the worship service of their choice) for an hour once a week. The reality is that such reasons - good, bad or indifferent - coupled with the pandemic lockdowns have greatly reduced the size of many congregations. Costs to operate church facilities, like everything else, have increased dramatically; and revenues have fallen, also dramatically to the point that Church officials have had to consider what would have been inconceivable sixty years ago.
During the great migration of the 19th and early 20th centuries, churches seemed to spring up not unlike a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Many were formed along ethnic lines, especially in big cities like Chicago - the Italians had their parishes, the Germans, theirs, and the Irish, their own as well. And their location was often based on donations of land, and not necessarily strategically located by geographic area. In my own region there are still two Catholic parishes within walking distance of each other. That one of them hasn't been closed yet is only due to the fact that one of them ministers to a large Hispanic population, and the other, to the non-Hispanic. One thing for certain, though - the era of the neighborhood church serving not only as the center for worship but also the center of a neighborhood or community has all but vanished. This leaves Church leaders having to consider what is called (in my area) structured or targeted reorganization. And for the first time in my life, I'm serving in one such parish that, along with nineteen others, are on edge waiting to learn their fate. As an example, another geographic cluster in the same diocese went through this process a year ago. Sixteen parishes were reduced to seven, and five building campuses were closed permanently. Ultimately those five buildings will be de-consecrated and sold.
I learned that this was happening in one of the several parishes where I serve late in May. And almost immediately the speculation started. There are about as many reasons to keep us open as there are to shut us down. On the plus side, our buildings and grounds are in good physical condition and there is no outstanding debt. On the minus side, our current pastor is not a diocesan priest, but one from a Carmelite order. He is from India, speaks with a heavy accent and it's often hard to understand what he's saying.
To keep us focused on something positive while the diocesan advisory committee gathers data, performs analysis, considers a few "what-if" scenarios, and ultimately makes their recommendations to the bishop, I am thankful for four things. And that's good, because even under the best outcome, I don't see how or if I fit in it. As a result, through prayer and discernment, I am focusing on where I might land closer to home.
God has not disappointed me, but the path has many twists and turns. For openers, the local parishes (in a separate diocese than the one undergoing targeted restructuring) have newly reassigned pastors and the whole process of working with them has to start from scratch, can be painful and is time consuming. There is also my status as an inactive deacon. I've interpreted this to mean that I cannot function in the liturgical ministry of the diaconate but have not been laicized. For the longest time that was covered by my abilities and availability as a pastoral musician, one of the four things for which I'm thankful.
The second thing has been my involvement in the "That Man Is You" program. Now in its tenth program year, the program is designed to attract men to redevelop their sense of spirituality and leadership as Catholic Christian husbands, fathers, and community members. The program has grown from the seed of one person giving 26 talks (complete with statistics, charts and graphs) to several men, most well known in Catholic circles, giving those same 26 talks. It's a virtual parish mission of sorts. I have genuinely benefitted from the program - and we managed to continue it virtually during the COVID lockdown. Now, I have been tapped to lead the program, as the current leader has purchased a condo in Florida (I have heard that many retired folks do that) and would not be able to devote time to it as he would be away a good chunk of the time. When he asked me, he said I was his first - and only - choice. Lord, I am not worthy... I believe I am up to the task, but how this fits in with two new pastors as yet I have no clue.
The third thing I'm thankful for is the appearance of the acclaimed dramatic series on the life of Jesus and the character study of his disciples, The Chosen. Yes, you can call me a fan. Yes, you can tell me that a lot of the teleplay is not found in the Bible. Yes, it leaves out some important parts and suggests possibilities that aren't likely the 'gospel truth'; but it's doing exactly what its creators want it to do - spark discussion, get people to open their Bibles, and become aware that there is a loving God out there - and for some this awareness is for the first time in their lives. The parish which is being considered for restructuring decided to hold a viewing and discussion group this summer. I wanted in on it as I had led a similar group in my home parish for the first two seasons and I would not have any reservations about it now. It will keep us occupied and focused while we await our corporate fate.
The fourth thing for which I'm grateful is seeing opportunities to enrich my own love for the Church, her sacraments, and her ministries. I have appreciated my growing circle of family (including my developmentally challenged son), friends and colleagues who help lift me up when I need them, and vice-versa. This has led to an even greater desire to seek out and focus upon the path of holiness. The recent National Eucharistic Congress in Indianapolis was very beneficial to me. Even though I could not attend, I was able to watch the liturgies and the key talks either live on television or streamed through the internet afterward. The initial Holy Hour on the first night held me tightly.
It was a boost I truly needed, for I would be tested almost immediately, from near and far. The 'near' was a challenge from one of my nieces, who identifies as an evangelical fundamentalist - those who claim that what we are to believe is only in the Bible, and if it's not there, the opposing family can steal and take the money (oops, wrong metaphor).
That discussion began on a passage in the Gospels where Jesus tells his disciples, Do not call anyone on Earth your 'father.' You have but one Father, your Father in Heaven. And it went on a slippery slope from there. I remember reading or hearing somewhere that, unless you're a degreed theologian you should never argue with a fundamentalist. (Same sort of thing as the saying about never teaching a pig to sing.) But wait a minute - isn't there a passage within the Bible that states that no man can add to or take away from Scripture? So what does that say about the removal of chapters, verses, and entire books of the Old Testament during the Protestant Reformation? Lord, have mercy...
Of course, the devil must have his due right after a genuinely uplifting spiritual moment. I'm referring to something I apparently missed in the opening dramatic drivel of the Summer Olympics in Paris only hours ago. In the name of artistic liberty, or freedom of expression, apparently some drag queens lined a section of the River Seine and parodied the da Vinci painting of the Last Supper. Why they didn't fall in the river I don't know. On the other hand, should we now be banning classic clips of Milton Berle who dressed in drag as part of his act? Should we chastise Jamie Farr for cross-dressing all those years on M*A*S*H? But have we reached the point in time where we can no longer ignore it and hope it goes away?
The Church indeed calls us to get on our knees in awe, wonder, and - surprise! humility and reparation; and not only for our own sins, but for the sins of others. I sense we have enough trouble seeking forgiveness for ourselves, let alone others; it was Donald Trump who, when courting the Christian vote eight years ago and, asked if he ever asked God for forgiveness, responded that he had never done anything to be forgiven for. It's the same Donald Trump who just days ago told a gathering of Christians at a campaign rally that if they voted for him this November "they would never have to vote again." He insists he was joking. Like he also stated that on Day One in 2025 he will act as if a dictator. He claimed that was supposed to be a joke, too. And on the other side of the aisle, there's talk of codifying the right to abort an infant in the womb as under Roe v. Wade, as well as supporting the fiasco of gender identity and redefining marriage. Only they're NOT joking.
Is it surprising to anyone that we could use direct divine intervention right about now? We do see it; it's not all that hard to find. We see it in the enthusiasm of the pilgrims who make it to things like the Eucharistic Congress or World Youth Day. We also see it in the life stories of individuals like Francis of Assisi and Carlo Acutis; of Joan of Arc and Mother Teresa of Calcutta, just to name two men and two women. We also have the direct intervention of God Himself in the person of Jesus Christ; yet, like the contemporaries of His time, we are looking for a leader in battle armor, mounted on a white horse, who will single-handedly undo all the emotional, spiritual, and physical damage humanity has inflicted on itself. If there's one thing my encounters with Christ tell me again and again, is that the uniform didn't fit the Messiah - and still doesn't. What He leaves us is His blueprint, His Way, Truth, and Life; His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. His yoke is easy, and his burden, light. His requests are simple: Follow Him and Love one another as I have loved you. And in spite of a world seemingly eager to destroy itself, the most genuine surprise of all is that God is still in control and does great things for those with faith as small as a mustard seed.
Until we meet again, pray for me as I pray for you. May God be with you - and may God have mercy on us all...
+the Phoenix
