Catholicism and me

I am Roman Catholic. I wasn't born into the Church; no cradle Catholic here. I've had a long and twisty spiritual journey. I don't talk much about denominations to which I used to belong. To say that I used to belong to denomination x, and that I no longer do, is, at least implicitly a putdown of denomination x, and I don't wish to go there.

I am Roman Catholic. As that twisty journey progressed I found myself developing my list of heroes in the faith, and I found that most of them were Catholic.

I was drawn to the Catholic faith of Thomas Merton. Merton had a childhood and youth that was chaotic, to say the least. Much of his growing up was done in England and France, sometimes with parents and sometimes without. As a young adult he experienced all of the decadence and sinfulness of the jazz age, of the pseudo-intellectuality of the undergraduate. But then he was touched by the Spirit and experienced metanoia - Greek, meaning "turning about" and almost always translated as "repentance" - that led to his joining the Catholic church, to his becoming a Cistercian monk at the Abbey of Gethsemani, to his writing of his experience in The Seven Storey Mountain. He was a prolific writer - his undergrad degree from Columbia was in English, and he taught briefly at St. Bonaventure - and much of his writing was of a devotional nature. But not all of it. In issues of war and peace, the position I have today is very close to Merton's. We recognize a right of self defense, and would concede that some wars probably needed to be fought. But, we would both maintain that there are few, if any wars, that, if traced to their roots and origins, made any sense.

I was drawn to the faith of Angelo Roncalli, who when elected Pope took the name of John XXIII. He owed his selection largely to the electors' belief that Montini, the guy they really wanted, wasn't quite ready. Roncalli was, at the time of his selection, a month shy of his 77th birthday, and was a lifelong Curialist. How much of a threat could he be to the old, established ways of doing things? But then he called Vatican II into session. He wanted, he said, to open the windows and let some fresh air in. Turns out, there was a hurricane blowing, and there was little that was left undisturbed. Fresh air, indeed! Did he know that all of that would happen? Like I said, John XXIII was in the Curia all his life.

I was drawn to the faith of Mother Teresa. She was born into decent circumstances, and could have chosen any path in life. She chose the path of service. She found herself teaching in a school maintained by her order in India, and served in a rather comfortable circumstance. But then she was moved by the plight of the poverty-stricken in Kolkota. She founded the Missionaries of Charity and spent the rest of her life in ministry to the poor, the sick and the dying. Her ministry was to the poorest of the poor; a concept like "assisting the worthy poor" would have been completely alien to her. She did not restrict her ministries to Catholics. Muslims who died in her care would hear holy Q'uran read to them; Hindus would receive water from the Ganges; Catholics would receive last rites. Mother Teresa's guiding principle was one I hope that I have adopted: that any human being is to be valued, and that any human being deserves to live and die die with dignity. Just. Because. They. Are. Human. No other reason needed.

I was drawn to the faith of Joseph Cardinal Bernardin. He was the reconciler nonpareil. In any bishops' committee meeting, when the discussion would reach an impasse, someone would say, "Who we need here is Joe Bernardin." A story that tells a lot about him: early in his time as Cardinal Archbishop of Chicago, he attended a town-hall type discussion. I don't remember the topic, but it was a controversial one. There was a lady in attendance who was particularly vocal in arguing the other position from Bernardin's. Many years later, after he'd learned that he was dying of cancer, he made a point to call this person. He still maintained the position he'd taken that night many years before, and she still maintained hers. But Bernardin reached out to make sure she knew that, despite their differences, he thought of her as a valued sister in Christ. He was the Cardinal Archbishop of Chicago. There was no reason at all that he should have even remembered the discussion, let alone one individual who was there. But he did. The Body of Christ is big, and there's lots of room for diverging opinions.

'Nuff for now. More later. Bedtime. Thanks for hanging out - love your company, and I'd love your thoughts.