10/29/15

Great article in the Guardian about Fr. Krzysztof Charamsa yesterday:

Krzysztof Charamsa, the former Vatican official who was sacked and defrocked after publicly announcing he was gay, breaks out into a wide grin when he is asked whether he has plans to marry his boyfriend. His answer is coy, but his smile and giddy laughter seem to reveal his intentions.

“I understand many people who say ‘we don’t need the institution of marriage. Our love is free’. I am not in this part of society. For me, [marriage] is part of the dynamic of love and I thank God that I live in a century where it’s possible, thanks to the homosexual movement and thanks to many homosexual martyrs.”

It has been less than a month since the Polish 43-year-old, a former senior Vatican aide and monsignor, announced at a press conference that he was gay and in love as his Catalan boyfriend, Eduard, stood by his side. The admission, a day before the start of a contentious meeting of bishops in Rome to debate the church’s approach to modern “family issues”, including homosexuality, resulted in him getting immediately sacked.

The Vatican called the timing of the announcement “very serious and irresponsible” and said it was clear he could no longer work as a senior aide for the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the office within the Vatican tasked with defending Catholic doctrine.

If Charamsa’s hope was to force the church to take bold action on its approach to gay and lesbian people, then the attempt was unsuccessful. At the conclusion of the synod this weekend, bishops restated the church’s position against discrimination against gay people but also declared that there was no foundation for same-sex marriage.

Speaking to the Guardian from Barcelona, Charamsa discusses his own journey to the moment when he made the life-altering decision to reveal his sexuality, despite the fact that he was part of a church that believes gay sex is a sin and that homosexuality is a “tendency”. “I was sure [I was gay] all my life. From the first moment when a person realises his sexuality. For me it was clear and a source of suffering,” he says.

In his native Poland, Charamsa says the church was seen as a haven from communism, and a place where “freedom is possible”. “So the church was this space where you can realise yourself and your nation and your desire for freedom. But at the same time, there are homophobic actions and mentality. [The church says] that to be gay is ill, that it is horrible, that it is something from hell, not from this world, something contrary to the nature and to God – and this is God who you love,” he says.

The former priest says he was not tormented by his vow to be celibate, but he could not ignore a realisation that he had to accept himself and his sexuality in order to be true to others. “The first part is coming out for yourself, in your mind. This is the process which is the longest. For me, it was the biggest part of my life. It was horrible. It was terrible. I didn’t accept it for many, many years.”

Then he came out to a few close friends and family, a step he acknowledged could be dangerous in some homophobic societies.

While some close friends urged him to maintain his job and life in the church, despite having a relationship, Charamsa says he could not maintain a double life. “My relationship has not been long but enough to be sure to know it’s love. I love this man and he loves me and I want to offer my life to him. I am convinced that I could [have] done this as a priest,” he says.

“And the third part was [coming out] publicly. Many people have said it [the announcement] was so spectacular, so big, that it did not come at a good time. With these people I have a question: when is it a good time to come out in the church? When? After the synod? The answer is: ‘never’. The responsible time for coming out is never.”

Too many priests, he says, fall into deep depression as they seek to grapple with double lives and suffer a sense of culpability. “I am not a paedophile. I am a healthy homosexual man. I am not a monster. I am not bestial. I am a minority, but I have my dignity and this must be approved by my church.”

Charamsa insists he did not come out because of a sense of frustration or because he was pressured to do so by his partner. “He was perfect in this process. He was really a mature man and was convinced it was my decision, but he was capable of helping and offering his life for this traumatic passage, for this decision which existentially for priests is like going away from prison. Like Guantánamo,” he says.

The former Vatican official was also driven by an understanding, built over years, that a real discussion of homosexuality within the church, and particularly the doctrinal office he worked for, was impossible.

In 2013, the pope uttered his now-famous phrase “Who am I to judge” when he was asked about the existence of a “gay lobby” within the Vatican. Charamsa said it was “like a bomb for the Catholic mentality”.

“My first reaction was ‘fantastic’. This is the man who said marriage equality is demonic when he was archbishop … and when he became pope, he began thinking and talking in another perspective,” he says. “For me, the phrase returned dignity to gay men, which is destroyed by the church.”

But now Charamsa says the comment was merely a “slogan”, because the church is “locked, in a paranoid position against the pope”. “I think the pope has a practical mind. He has the perception that he has no collaborators. It’s like in a government, where a ministry works against the prime minister. I think Pope Francis has also a conviction that he has opposition so great that this is not for this moment,” he says.

“We [in the church] are incapable of knowing one another. Of dialogue. It is like a mental dictatorship. I’m from Poland. I knew the communist system, it is irrational, without argument.”

There were moments in the past, such as in 2009, when Pope Benedict reaffirmed the church’s opposition to gay men becoming priests, when Charamsa says he sought to challenge himself intellectually to rationalise the church’s position, though he now likens it to a “racist judgment”.

‘The homosexual possibility of marriage in our century is very important for the perception of marriage,’ Charamsa says.

He is also critical of the church’s approach to abortion and says he supports the pope’s recent call for a year of mercy for contrite women who have had the procedure. Traditionally, women seeking forgiveness could only be granted it by a senior church official, but Francis has given that power to all priests beginning on 8 December, during the Catholic church’s jubilee year of mercy

“When you think about poor women, about poverty, it is easy for a priest with money, a peaceful life and no family problems to say that women cannot have abortions,” he says. “But we cannot be so drastic, so automatic, so insensible, so inhuman. We defend life – the new life – and condemn the life of the woman.”

On the issue of same-sex marriage, Charamsa believes the extension of rights across the US and western Europe, as well as other countries around the world, is a truly Christian good because it is a development that has strengthened the institution of marriage for everyone. It is the opposite view of many religious-based critics of same-sex unions.

“The homosexual possibility of marriage in our century is very important for the perception of marriage. It helps to explain that essential in marriage is love,” he says. “You can say ‘no, it is to produce babies’. But I think it must begin with love and then we can speak of life, of children. I think homosexual people are prophetic.”

One day, Charamsa will be remembered for his prophetic words and remarkable courage. Brings to mind God's message to Jeremiah, "They will fight against you, but not prevail over you, for I am with you to deliver you—oracle of the Lord" (Jer 1:19).

10/24/15

Yesterday was a really great night. I decided to go to Open Sanctuary because I want to encourage Fr. Bill to continue trying to reach out to young adults, and I feel like my being there shows him that he's making a difference. I want younger people to be interested in the parish, and I like the idea of gathering together as a group to help deepen our spiritual lives. I almost didn't make it, though. I was tired and took a nap after work, and I didn't set my alarm. I awoke around 6pm, and scrambled to get ready, showering and hotfooting it to the bus stop. I ended up only being about 10min late, arriving just as Fr. Bill was asking the group to name something in Catholicism that has inspired them recently.

We all sat there for a minute or two thinking. Fr. Bill picked Isaac Hecker, for obvious reasons, being a Paulist and all. One of the six other people there mentioned John Paul II, and I admittedly cringed a little inside. He was far too traditional for my tastes, particularly his strong stances against contraception and the ordination of women, as well as his position that gay sex is something gravely sinful. He was also critical of liberation theology, and is almost always the first name invoked by more traditional Catholics who aren't as inspired by Pope Francis. (Although, to be fair, he did some things I like, too, such as reaching out to other religions and apologizing on behalf of the Church for many of its wrongs over the centuries.)

I had a hard time picking one at first. There are so many things for me that stand out. There's the Trappist monastery in Lafayette. There are numerous passages from the New Testament that really inspire me. There are saints and mystics like Francis and John of the Cross. The list goes on. I finally decided on Thomas Merton. For one, his books, which have been instrumental in reviving popular interest in Catholic mysticism, helped get me interested in learning more about Christian contemplativism. And during my first stay at Our Lady, his book Living Bread really helped me to understand the deeper meaning and symbolism of the Eucharist. I also mentioned that I like how outspoken he was against war and violence, and privately thought he was a good balance to John Paul.

Next, we did some lectio divina, reading the gospel for Sunday and reflecting on it:

As Jesus was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus, sat by the roadside begging. On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, "Jesus, son of David, have pity on me." And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he kept calling out all the more, "Son of David, have pity on me." Jesus stopped and said, "Call him." So they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take courage; get up, he is calling you." He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus. Jesus said to him in reply, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man replied to him, "Master, I want to see." Jesus told him, "Go your way; your faith has saved you." Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way. (Mk 10:46-52)

We read it two or three times. The first time, we meditated on it; and after some time, Fr. Bill had us say whatever word or phrase stood out to us the most. Then we read it again and Fr. Bill asked us what questions came up for us. And the third time, we read it and offered what it was saying to us. We all found it an incredibly rich passage for various reasons, each of our insights complementing the others. The passage that stood out most to me was, "Master, I want to see," which reminded me of Gregory Palamas, who, for thirty years, was said to pray, "Enlighten my darkness." And I found myself wondering if the author of Mark's gospel intended a deeper level of meaning to the obvious miracle.

Fr. Bill noted that Jesus had his disciples call the man over, which he saw as a call for us to reach out to others. He also pointed out that, unlike the rich man, who was called by Jesus to follow him and didn't because he had many possessions (and was in essence possessed by them), Bartimaeus, who had nothing but his deep faith, followed Jesus on 'the way' despite being to go on his way. Bartimaeus, through a combination of his prayers, conviction, and wisdom (illustrated by his recognition of Jesus as the great spiritual teacher he is), receives his sight and follows Jesus on 'the way,' seeing not only with his eyes, but with his heart. For me, it's detailing an awakening experience, which I think is illustrated when Jesus tells the man to go on his way and he immediately follows Jesus on the way.

For the praise and adoration, we did the office of the hours (no live music), which I really enjoyed. There were two readings which he delegated to me and another person. Since I'd mentioned the influence Merton has had on me, I was nominated to read a passage from Recollections of Thomas Merton's Last Days in the West:

[B]eing attentive to the time of the day: when the birds began to sing, and the deer came out of the morning fog, and the sun came up... The reason why we don't take time is a feeling that we have to keep moving. This is a real sickness. ... We must approach the whole idea of time in a new way. We are free to love. And we must get free from all imaginary claims. We live in the fullness of time. ... The whole thing boils down to giving ourselves a chance to realize that we have what we seek. We don't have to rush after it. It was there all the time, and if we give it time, it will make itself known to us. ... There is, in all this, a sense of the unfolding mystery in time, a reverence for gradual growth.

I saw the truth in those words in my own life: how we treat time as a commodity and an enemy, and how important having the space and freedom to live in the fullness of time is for our spiritual lives. I saw in it my own attraction to monastic life, where the entire day is designed to give one the space and time for this reverence and spiritual growth to unfold. You free yourself from worldly concerns and obligations, setting aside all extraneous things. You take the time every day to stop and pray, in community and in private, from before dawn to the setting of the sun, constantly reflecting on God and God's presence in each and every moment. Praying, like Bartimaeus, to see the path before us.

I took that, and the coincidence that I mentioned Merton earlier in the evening, as a sign that choosing to come to Open Sanctuary was the right choice.

After Open Sanctuary, everyone decided to go to Apex for drinks and food. I really enjoyed the discussions I had, especially with Fr. Bill. We talked about the challenges St. Philip faces; his effort to reach out to young adults in Portland; last Sunday's homily, which some obviously misunderstood; and some of the difficult times he had when he was pastor at a parish in LA. I felt a lot of empathy for him, and really want his efforts to succeed, both for his benefit and for the benefit of St. Philip.

We all migrated across the street to Double Dragon after Fr. Bill left, and continued our discussions. I felt like I made some real connections this time, particularly with Kate, who shares my love of Dostoyevsky, and Stephen, who I'm trying to connect with my friend Brian. Brian works at Shinola's Detroit location, and Stephen makes a living repairing watches and would love to get a job there in order to be closer to his family in Chicago. I also found his story of his dream/vision of fighting against God just before moving to the Pacific NW interesting. In it, he was fighting to get away from God, who said that he'd let him go if he won. But God won, and Stephen found himself on an unexpected spiritual path. It reminded me of my similar, albeit less dramatic, struggle with God.

Besides it being a really enjoyable evening, it also has me thinking more about my own spiritual growth and ways I can be more involved. I'm already a regular at Fr. Michael's B- group and volunteering once a month as a Eucharistic minister; and Fr. Bill is encouraging me to be a part of an upcoming Discipleship Training Group. Although I'm not sure being in any kind of leadership role is my cup of tea, the thought of it has me flirting with the idea of starting up some kind of contemplative group, where we get together once a week to meditate, pray, and discuss contemplative classics like The Cloud of Unknowing, Ascent of Mount Carmel, Abandonment to Divine Providence, Open Mind, Open Heart, etc.

10/22/15

At B-, Fr. Michael started the discussion by mentioning a couple of parishioners came to him and complained about Fr. Bill's homily Sunday, which they said boiled down to suffering = God's punishment. I was surprised to hear that, and reassured Fr. Michael that that was definitely not what I heard. One of the things he said that stood out to me, though, was that we often have trouble believing that God loves us unconditionally, and that we need to get away from the reward/punishment idea of God. If we believe in a God who punishes us with suffering, what room does that leave for unconditional love and forgiveness?

He also said things like: We use guilt to motivate people to do good things, and we really shouldn't. Suffering is a reality, and spirituality is about relieving suffering. Like Francis of Assisi, we should live simply, in solidarity with the poor, and move away from a 'me' centred focus/ego presence. The value system that we're stuck in ultimately leads to the indignity of the human person. That last part I found especially thought-provoking as it points to something Marx saw in terms of economic social relations. In A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, for example, Marx famously writes:

In the social production of their existence, men inevitably enter into definite relations, which are independent of their will, namely relations of production appropriate to a given stage in the development of their material forces of production. The totality of these relations of production constitutes the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness. The mode of production of material life conditions the general process of social, political and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness.

And within that structure, there exist a number of contradictions and inequalities that ultimately lead to the indignity of labour vs. capital. It not only estranges and alienates the worker's relationship to the products of their labour, but estranges and alienates the worker's relationship to the act of production itself. The worker's labour becomes "external to the worker, i.e., it does not belong to his intrinsic nature; that in his work, therefore, he does not affirm himself but denies himself, does not feel content but unhappy, does not develop freely his physical and mental energy but mortifies his body and ruins his mind." As a consequence, the worker "only feels himself outside his work, and in his work feels outside himself. He feels at home when he is not working, and when he is working he does not feel at home. His labor is therefore not voluntary, but coerced; it is forced labor" (Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844).

In a similar way, our value system as a society is geared towards consumption and how much stuff a person can buy, as well their efficiency in the production process, not the value of the person themselves. In the end, we don't even value ourselves, we value symbols and representations of value, of status and material gain, rather than our intrinsic worth as individuals made in God's image. And I think people tend to ignore the role our 'social existence' plays in conditioning our culture, our values, and, ultimately, our sense of self-worth. That's one reason I truly appreciate the strong emphasis Catholicism places on social justice, because the material conditions of a society does matter.

As I wrote back in December, "it's up to us to prepare the way [for the kingdom of God] by fulfilling the commandments to love God, love our neighbor, and love one another as God loves us. And to me, preparing the way of the Lord by making 'straight in the wasteland a highway,' filling the valleys, and lowering the mountains means fighting for equality, raising the oppressed and bringing the rich and powerful 'down to earth,' uniting all in a classless society not unlike the Christian community described in Acts: everyone of one heart and mind, holding everything in common and distributing to each according to need (Acts 4:32-35)."

10/18/15

Friday night, I decided to go to PFoD since the Pacific Hermitage monks were in town. During the tea time, Ajahn Sudanto talked about his recent visit to Temple Forest Monastery, a new monastery in Temple, New Hampshire. There are about five monks living there right now, including Ajahn Caganando. Although the current buildings on the property are rather old and in need of a lot of work, the surroundings sound rather idyllic, set amidst rolling hills, colonial stone walls, and a resurgent forest.

After meditation, Ajahn Sudanto forwent the usual Dhamma talk and did a prolonged Q&A about practice. I noticed that a lot of his answers focused on the need to develop and nurture all the factors of the path rather than overly relying on thinking to intellectually figure it all out. Thinking can only take us so far. We also need to arouse our curiosity, investigate our experience of suffering, meditate, study, and have patience. But above all, finding delight and interest is key, whether in our object of meditation or our investigation of Dhamma. Without that, our practice is likely to be dry and unfruitful.

I got a chance to talk to Ajahn Sudanto afterwards. I told him about the rough year I'm having, and he told me a little about his father passing away at 59, which is one the reasons he originally came back to the US from Thailand. I mentioned my stay at the Trappist Abbey and he seemed familiar with it. I wish I'd had more time to talk to him, though, about my struggle between living a worldly life and monasticism, as well as my draw to both Buddhist and Catholic monastic traditions. Hearing him talk about monastic life made me yearn for it; and the whole walk home, I found myself comparing what I like about each tradition and wondering where I feel the most called.

Today, on the other hand, was my first time officially serving as a Eucharistic minister. I arrived early and talked to Fr. Michael outside for a few minutes before heading in to help with the set up. I met Marie, and she had me light the candles next to the altar and ambo, as well as find two people to offer the gifts. Fr. Michael actually helped me with that part, which was exceptionally kind of him. Then I went up after the sign of peace and was one of the cup bearers during communion. I was more nervous this time around for some reason, but I also felt extremely proud and honoured to be a part of the liturgy.

Today was also memorable for the homily, which Fr. Bill gave. The theme was suffering as a blessing, which is definitely a challenging one. In Buddhism, suffering takes centre stage, and the practice is all about investigating suffering and learning how to suffer less. It's both our nemesis and our greatest teacher. But in Christianity, suffering is seen as a blessing of sorts; and Fr. Bill's homily was inspired in part by today's readings and an interview Stephen Colbert did in which he quotes Tolkien, "What punishments of God are not gifts?," as well as the life of Jessica Cox. He talked about the need to accept the gifts and abilities that God has given, and how it's through 'pruning' that we often grow.

When he was finished, Fr. Bill asked everyone what they heard/took away from the homily, something I think is rather courageous considering you never know who's going to respond and how. Some offered their understanding of Fr. Bill's words (I offered that what I heard was, the suffering we experience isn't so much a punishment as gateways to spiritual growth and wisdom if we're open to the lessons). Others took the opportunity to question the need for such 'lessons,' bringing up the suffering of children. And one man moved the entire parish by tearfully sharing that he has cancer and that it's motivating him to be the best, most Christ-like person he can possibly be with the time he has left.

I suppose it's really all about perspective. Suffering exists. And we can view the suffering we experience as some sort of punishment from God, or we can explore our suffering and learn from it, using it as both a motivation for cultivating empathy and compassion for our fellow brothers and sisters and as a teacher by asking ourselves the question, How can I use this experience of suffering to grow and mature spiritually? And that's a really hard thing to do. We instinctively want to run away from suffering and towards happiness and pleasure. But both Jesus and the Buddha teach us that we have to confront suffering head-on.

I don't think I have all the answers, but I suspect that most of the suffering we experience is either random and due to the nature of the causally-deterministic world we live in (i.e., without purpose in and of itself) or the result of human actions influenced by the defilement of greed, aversion, and delusion. And it's only by turning to face that suffering, by picking up the individual crosses we each bear, that we can ultimately transform it into grace, into love, wisdom, compassion, and joy. Easier said than done, for sure; but I know it's possible.

Once mass was over, Robert showed me how to properly clean the cups and plates, and then we headed over to the hall for the monthly french toast breakfast. Barbara asked me to sit at the RCIA table since there were two dormant Catholics who are coming back into the church. They decided to meet every Sunday after mass, and I agreed to try and make as many meetings as I can as part of the RCIA team. Fr. Bill also invited me to participate in an eight-week program geared toward evangelization and leading small faith groups. I told him that reaching out and interacting with others wasn't one of my strengths; but he seemed confident I'd be up to the challenge, and I said that I'd think about it.

All in all, this weekend was a lot more spiritually eventful than I expected; and I find myself once again entertaining serious thoughts about religious life.

10/10/15

Last night, I debated on what to do: stay in and watch TV at my friend's place, where I'm cat-sitting for two weeks, go to the Friday night meditation and discussion group at PFoD, or go to St. Philip for the open sanctuary and adoration. I eventually decided to go to Open Sanctuary, partially because I wasn't in the mood to be alone and partially because I was feeling lazy and meditation is a lot more work than people think. Sitting still and focusing on a single object for 45min takes a surprising amount of effort.

About nine people showed up. Before the praise and adoration, we read part of the gospel reading for Sunday, Mk 10:17-30:

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up, knelt down before him, and asked him, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus answered him, "Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: 'You shall not kill; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness; you shall not defraud; honor your father and your mother.'" He replied and said to him, "Teacher, all of these I have observed from my youth." Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said to him, "You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to [the] poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." At that statement his face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.

Fr. Bill asked us what word or phrase stood out to us. For me, it was the phrase 'come, follow me.' I see in it my interest in religion and monasticism. Then he asked what this passage said to us. Although I didn't feel like sharing my thoughts this time around, three interconnected aspects stood out for me. The first is that a spiritual life isn't just about following rules and we shouldn't fall into spiritual legalism, where the letter becomes more important than the spirit of the 'ten words.' The second aspect is the cultivation of generosity, having an open hand and an open heart. And the third aspect is renunciation, the letting go of our attachments to worldly things and pleasures in exchange for something more, something transcendent. When Jesus says "come, follow me," he's saying "follow my example, minister to the poor and seek that which is deathless."

Pretty much everyone agreed that it's one of the more challenging passages in the New Testament. Jesus is asking a lot of us; he's calling us to do much the same as the Buddha before him—he's calling us to turn away from our craving and desire, to lay down our burdens, emotional and material, and truly live the gospel/Dhamma. But it doesn't happen overnight for most of us. Like the man in the gospel story, practicing morality is only the first step. From there, we need to practice cultivating compassion and generosity and acting on those positive mental states. And then we need to practice letting go, through giving as well as through detachment and selflessness.

All that's easier said than done, however. Clinging and craving are natural aspects of our biology/psychology, like an evolutionary original sin except we didn't do anything wrong, it's simply how we've evolved. They encourage the mind to feed upon sensory experiences and cause it to either cling intensely to pleasant experiences or violently push away unpleasant ones. It may have helped us at some point in our evolution as a species, but now it tends to do more harm than good, which is why spiritual teachers like Jesus and the Buddha encourage us to go against the current of self-centredness and craving.

But even as I write this, I'm attached to the computer I'm writing it on, not to mention all the music and pictures that I've got stored on it. If anything were to happen to it, there'd probably be a lot of "sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair." And how much harder would it be if someone were to tell me to sell it, along with all my books, clothes, iPod, and everything else I own to follow them into the unknown? I'd like to think that if Jesus or the Buddha were to ask, I wouldn't hesitate, but...

When the discussion was over, we all sat and listened to the music and prayed in our own way in front of the monstrance containing the Blessed Sacrament, the visible symbol of the invisible God. After the praise and adoration, everyone gathered in the foyer and talked for a while before deciding to head over to Double Barrel to continue the conversation. I didn't have much to talk about; and listening to everyone else, I was conscious of how little I had in common with most of them. But I'm glad I went, even if I still felt lonely.

10/7/15

At B- tonight, Fr. Michael had us listen to an episode of the Moth Radio Hour in which Ishmael Beah, a former child soldier from Sierra Leone, tells his story about reclaiming his lost childhood. One of the things that made an impression on me, besides the skill of Ishmael's storytelling, was something Fr. Michael pointed out: that it was the silence and humility in his life that allowed him to escape the conditioning of his violent past and experience a new life. In spite of all the things he did and saw as a child soldier in a war-torn country, he didn't have the need to boast, to always be the best and have the last word. That silence and humility, wherever it came from, gave Ishmael the space and wisdom he needed to transform his life, his very self, in a positive and healing way. And those are the same qualities that attracted me to many of the great spiritual teachers throughout history. Thomas Merton, for example, writes:

The world of men has forgotten the joys of silence, the peace of solitude which is necessary, to some extent, for the fullness of human living. Not all men are called to be hermits, but all men need enough silence and solitude in their lives to enable the deep inner voice of their own true self to be heard at least occasionally. When that inner voice is not heard, when man cannot attain to the spiritual peace that comes from being perfectly at one with his own true self, his life is always miserable and exhausting. For he cannot go on happily for long unless he is in contact with the springs of spiritual life which are hidden in the depths of his own soul. If man is constantly exiled from his own home, locked out of his own spiritual solitude, he ceases to be a true person. He no longer lives as a man. He becomes a kind of automaton, living without joy because he has lost his spontaneity. He is no longer moved from within, but only from outside himself. (The Silent Life, 166-7)

One day I hope to discover that same silence in my own life, although I hope I don't have to go through what Ishmael did to find it.

10/5/15

This weekend was the Paulist visitation. Paulist president Fr. Eric Andrews and council member Fr. Charles Kullmann came to do their four-year visitation, which had a lot of the people in the parish nervous. Generally, these seem to be routine visits, where they talk to the parish, assess any needs, and decide about replacement priests. But with dwindling/less active members and financial issues combined with a dwindling number of available priests, people are worried that the parish might be closed.

It's sad, really, that places like St. Philip have to worry so much about money. I always thought Catholic churches were rolling in the dough, but many parishes in the US are really struggling. They don't get as much in donations as many assume, and they tend to have a lot of expenses, particularly maintenance and staff. Churches and religious institutions have to run like businesses. If they're not 'profitable' enough, they can be closed and resources allocated elsewhere, leaving an empty building and spiritually-homeless community.

I'm not sure it'll come to that here, at least not quite yet, but it's easy to understand why they're concerned. The bullpen of Paulist priests is aging. Many of the hundred or so active Paulists are close (if not already passed) retirement age, and they have to start considering consolidating their resources, including priests. They just don't have the numbers to staff every existing community they serve, especially if trying to keep to the three-priest-a-parish model, where one serves the parish and the others focus on missionary work while keeping each other company since priesthood can be a lonely life.

I met both of them Friday at Open Sanctuary. There was a decent turnout, which was good. Not only is it nice to see Fr. Bill's efforts to draw in young adults bearing fruit, but I think it was good that Fr. Eric and Fr. Charles saw that there was real potential at St. Philip for ministering to young adults, something important to both the Church and to the survival of our parish. Another positive thing was that a couple of the people who came discovered Fr. Bill's young adult group from social media (meetup.com mostly), and one was a young woman from Puerto Rico who's here for an internship to complete a degree she's working on in Minnesota. It was a nice mix of people, and I think it was good for Fr. Eric and Fr. Charles to see that to help them visualize St. Philip's continuing potential as a Paulist parish.

Before the praise and adoration, we all sat in a circle and introduced ourselves. Fr. Eric mentioned that he'd previously worked for Jim Henson before becoming a Paulist priest. After that, we did some lectio divina, meditating on the first reading for Sunday, Gn 2:18-24, and each offering our thoughts. Afterwards, a bunch of us went out to Double Barrel for some food and drinks. I ended up talking to Dan and Kurt most of the night. Kurt works with kids doing some sort of religious education, and we discussed various approaches to that, such as dealing with questions like, "Why can't we see God?" (I offered my 'seeing God in other people' bit.) I also talked about my struggle between monasticism and lay-life with Fr. Bill, although I'm not sure what he thinks about it all.

Saturday, I went to the 'town hall' meeting at Carvlin Hall, where parishioners and the pastoral staff of St. Philip met with the visitation team. I got there late, but I don't think I missed much. And near the end, I managed to share with the visitation team and everyone from St. Philip there that the only reason I'm Catholic is because of the Paulists and the community of St. Philip, that I went to other parishes but never felt there what I feel at St. Philip, and I really appreciate the Paulists' approach to spirituality.

Sunday was a bit of a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, I had a wonderful time at church. It was the feast day of St. Francis, and Fr. Eric, who was the presider this weekend, gave a nice homily stressing the fact that we all gather as a family and that each of us needs to be a source of love and spiritual nourishment to those around us that we may be whole. I also had a chance to talk to Fr. Michael, who I hadn't seen in quite some time and just had eye surgery. On top of that, I was able to make the time to head over to Holy Trinity for the Greek festival and saw Romanos for the first time in months.

On the other hand, I heard about the gay priest who was fired from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith one day before the Synod on the Family after announcing he's gay and has a partner, which was depressing. It seems like every time the Catholic Church takes one step forward, it takes three steps back, and that worries me.

The new pope has energized and inspired many Catholics and non-Catholics alike with his focus on the poor, the environment, and reforming an ossified and corrupt Vatican, as well as his push for clergy to be more open and welcoming. But the old guard is pushing back at every turn; and the older, conservative members of the Church are already cracking down on gay priests and employees, as well as anything that hints of progress. But I think Charamsa is brave and reflects the future of the Church if it's to survive, one where the LGBTQ community is accepted and priests aren't forced to be celibate.

I see in human progress the movement of the Holy Spirit, and in this synod, which seems to be trying to broaden the institutional Church's understanding of family. But it's often our own stubbornness, our unwillingness to break with tradition, that holds us back. Jesus confronted this with the Pharisees of his day; and we confront it within elements of the Roman Curia (or the Thai Supreme Council when it comes to things like the ordination of bhikkhunis). One of the signs of true wisdom is the ability to realize when we're wrong and let go of that which is harmful to ourselves and others; and in this case, I think the stance of the Church on 'non-traditional' families, LGBTQ individuals, mandatory clerical celibacy, and women priests is harmful and needs to change.

One thing that I've learned in the last few years is that religion is about celebrating and strengthening relationships, relationships between one another as well as between humanity as a whole and the amazing abundance of life and the mysteries that surround us. And I think we spend way too much time and energy trying to limit and control the forms that those relationships take and who can participate in them, not to mention trying to maintain a patriarchal society of rigid (even unnatural) gender stereotypes where women are relegated to supportive roles rather than leadership.

I suppose it's a bit arrogant to think that my vision of the Church, when it conflicts with centuries of tradition, is the correct one; but my image of an all-loving and merciful God simply doesn't allow for discrimination and inequality. Women shouldn't be barred from the priesthood. Members of the clergy shouldn't be forced to be celibate. Same-sex couples, and those who have gotten divorced and remarried, should have access to all the sacraments of the Church. I truly believe these things with all my heart.