IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Several weeks ago after giving a lecture at a religious conference, the first question from the audience was this one: How can you continue to stay in a church that played such a pivotal part in setting up and maintaining residential schools for the indigenous people of Canada? How can you stay in a church that did that?

The question is legitimate and important. Both in its history and in its present, the church has enough sin to legitimize the question. The list of sins done in the name of the church is long: the Inquisition, its support for slavery, its role in colonialism, its link to racism, its role in thwarting women’s rights, and its endless historical and present compromises with white supremacy, big money and political power. Its critics are sometimes excessive and unbalanced, but, for the most part, the church is guilty as charged.

However, this guilt isn’t unique to the church. The same charges might be leveled against any of the countries in which we live. How can we stay in a country that has a history of racism, slavery, colonialism, genocide of some of its indigenous peoples, radical inequality between its rich and its poor, one that is callous to desperate refugees on its borders, and one within which millions of people hate each other? Isn’t it being rather selective morally to say that I am ashamed to be a Catholic (or a Christian) when the nations we live in share the same history and the same sins?

Still, since the church is supposed to be leaven for a society and not just a mirror of it, the question is valid. Why stay in the church? There are good apologetic answers on this, but, at the end of the day, for each of us, the answer has to be a personal one. Why do I stay in the church?

First, because the church is my mother tongue. It gave me the faith, taught me about God, gave me God’s word, taught me to pray, gave me the sacraments, showed me what virtue looks like, and put me in contact with some living saints. Moreover, despite all its shortcomings, it was for me authentic enough, altruistic enough, and pure enough to have the moral authority to ask me to entrust my soul to it, a trust I’ve not given any other communal entity. I’m very comfortable worshipping with other religions and sharing soul with non-believers, but in the church in which I was raised, I recognize home, my mother tongue.

Second, the church’s history is not univocal. I recognize its sins and openly acknowledge them, but that’s far from its full reality. The church is also the church of martyrs, of saints, of infinite generosity, and of millions of women and men with big, noble hearts who are my moral exemplars. I stand in the darkness of its sins; but I also stand in the light of its grace, of all the good things it has done in history.

Finally, and most important, I stay in the church because the church is all we’ve got! There’s no other place to go. I identify with the ambivalent feeling that rushed through Peter when, just after hearing Jesus say something which had everyone else walk away from him, Peter was asked, “do you want to walk away too?” and he (speaking for all the disciples) replied: “We’d like to, but we have no place else to go. Besides we recognize that, despite everything, you still have the words of everlasting life.”

In essence, Peter is saying, “Jesus, we don’t get you, and what we get we often don’t like. But we know we’re better off not getting it with you than going any place else. Dark moments notwithstanding, you’re all we’ve got!”

The church is all we’ve got! Where else can we go? Behind the expression, ‘I am spiritual, but not religious’ (however sincerely uttered) lies either an invincible failure or a culpable reluctance to deal with the necessity of religious community, to deal with what Dorothy Day called “the asceticism of church life.” To say, I cannot or will not deal with an impure religious community is an escape, a self-serving exit, which at the end of the day is not very helpful, not least for the person saying it. Why? Because for compassion to be effective it needs to be collective, given the truth that what we dream alone remains a dream but what we dream with others can become a reality. I cannot see anything outside the church that can save this world.

There is no pure church anywhere for us to join, just as there is no pure country anywhere for us in which to live. This church, for all its checkered history and compromised present, is all we have. We need to own its faults since they are our faults. Its history is our history; its sin, our sin; and its family, our family – the only lasting family we’ve got.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

On Ordinary Times
By Lucia A. Silecchia
Recently – when it was still July – a friend sent me a text from the supermarket with a photo of a Halloween candy display in the aisle. I expected that the Halloween blitz would be coming soon. Yet, “back-to-school” sales are still in full swing and, in my mind, August is still summer!

I guess I should not have been surprised. After all, I did see “back-to-school” sales advertised in June, making me wonder how someone could possibly go back to school before even leaving school for the summer. Perhaps Halloween candy must be sold in the summer so that Christmas decorations can come out right after Labor Day and Valentine’s Day cards can be on the shelves the day after Christmas. Of course, they too will disappear quickly so that the Easter candy can come out before Lent even begins. Maybe next year, Halloween costumes can be on the shelves in June.

Why the rush?

I appreciate the joy of anticipation. I understand the need to plan. I know the satisfaction of checking things off a “to do” list early. Yet, as the race through the months seems to accelerate every year, I have to wonder why.

I know much of this is driven by commercial interests. The longer that products sit on the shelves the better it is from a consumption perspective.

Yet, I worry that this also reflects an all-too common and, I fear, growing tendency to anticipate our tomorrows at the expense of treasuring our todays.

I’ve done this myself. From the time I was a toddler and well-meaning adults asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, tomorrow seemed like an exciting place to be. When I was in kindergarten, the most adventurous thing in the world seemed to be starting “real school” in the first grade. Then, like most eighth graders, high school seemed to be a great journey on the horizon. Then, in high school it was college, in college it was graduate school, in graduate school, it was a first job, and then a second job, and then moves and new escapades were eagerly planned and anticipated.

But, as time goes by and I have gotten older, I am starting to realize two things.

First, time seems to be passing by far too quickly on its own. My parents warned me this would happen and, as with so many things, they were right. Thus, I am coming to resist all of those things that try to, artificially, hasten time along. Halloween can wait when these precious weeks of summer still linger.

Second, and more importantly, I am coming to appreciate the way that today holds so many joys – and sorrows, too, – that I will miss if I constantly keep my eyes on what will come next. Prudence and planning for tomorrow are important parts of adult life. But so too is realizing that the 1,440 minutes that God has given me today deserve my full attention, deep gratitude and wise use. I have no promise of anything beyond today. Indeed, if I have learned anything this past year and a half, it is that precise planning for the future is so often impossible.

But what is possible is to wake up grateful for the gift of today. To look at the people I love and be grateful for their presence today. To pray for my “daily bread” without demanding the long-term meal plan – confident in the assurance that God will provide what I need for today. Seeing a blazing sunset, a friendly stranger or wide-eyed kitten are the joys of today. Hearing my phone ring, or a favorite song, or those cherished words “I love you,” or “I’m sorry,” or “Thank you” or “Don’t worry” are the joys of today. Feeling a friend’s embrace, a summer breeze or the sand of a beach are the joys of today. Smelling a late summer rose, fresh bread, or a whiff of hearty food are the joys of today. Having quiet moments alone with God and hectic hours with the people I love are the joys of today.

I pray that there will be blessings that fill your tomorrows and mine. But, as I get older, those words “tomorrow will take care of itself” (Matthew 6:34) mean more to me. I understand them a bit more now. I understand a little more with each day that races by how precious each one is – even those days that are hard.

I hope that when I shop for my Halloween candy in October, there is still some left for me. (If not, I’m sure I can get Christmas candy canes then.) But for now, I still want to hold on to the gift that is August. The gift that is now. The gift that is today. I want to walk, not race, through ordinary time.

(Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law at the Columbus School of Law at the Catholic University of America. “On Ordinary Times” is a biweekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.)

Reflections on Life
By Melvin Arrington
Among the saints with an August feast day is Santo Domingo de Guzmán – St. Dominic (1170-1221) – founder of the Dominican Order, the Order of Preachers (O.P.). Born in North-Central Spain, he began his religious life as a contemplative, but when he was in his mid-30s Pope Innocent III sent him to the south of France on a preaching campaign in an effort to halt the spread of the Albigensian heresy sweeping across the land. The Albigensians taught that all material things, including the body and human sexuality, were evil; they saw extreme austerity as the only way to achieve perfection. Dominic preached relentlessly against these false doctrines, countering the bizarre practices of the heretics by walking barefoot across the countryside and enduring other mortifications, all the while praising God.

Dominic and the friars who gathered around him devoted themselves to intellectual life and preaching the Gospel. Formal papal approval for the Order came in 1216, but some 10 years earlier in France Dominic had already organized a group of women converts from Albigensianism, establishing a convent in Prouille. So, interestingly, Dominican sisters actually predate the friars.

As stories arose about his life, the line separating historical fact from tradition and legend gradually became blurred. One example concerns how he got his name. While on a pilgrimage to the shrine of 11th century Spanish saint Domingo de Silos, Dominic’s mother had a vision of a dog leaping from her womb and carrying a torch that lit up the world. Later, when she gave birth to a son, she named him Dominic, in honor of the namesake of the abbey she had visited. Thus, the Dominicans became known as the Hounds of the Lord, in Latin domini canes.

Illustrative of Dominic’s charity is this anecdote from his student days, during a time of famine in Spain. In an effort to alleviate suffering, he sold all his possessions, including his cherished books, giving the proceeds to the poor. His life of self-denial and personal holiness would be totally foreign to today’s self-absorbed, pleasure-seeking culture.

Dominic is often associated with the origin of the Rosary. According to tradition, the Virgin Mary, appeared to him in a vision and gave him the first Rosary. Early on, the Dominicans were the ones largely responsible for spreading this Catholic devotion throughout Europe.

Concerning his love of books and learning and his devotion to Sacred Scripture, it was said that he always carried copies of Matthew’s Gospel and Paul’s letters wherever he went and that he knew all those texts by heart. Through prayer and study he and his friars equipped themselves for teaching and preaching, thereby combining the contemplative life with the active, something that had not been done before on such a broad scale.

I feel connected to this saint in several ways, not the least of which is that I was born in St. Dominic’s Hospital in Jackson, not the sprawling complex off I-55 at Lakeland, but the original one, the former Jackson Infirmary, located on North President Street, just off Capitol Street. The Dominican Sisters of Springfield, Illinois, acquired the old hospital in 1946. In 1954 operations moved to the current location, where my sister was born.

My mother, a nurse, spent much of her career at St. Dominic’s. When I was a little boy, I would often go with Daddy to the hospital to pick her up after her shift. When we entered the building, I would inevitably encounter one of the sisters moving down the hallway in our direction at a rapid pace. I just knew she was coming to get me. In those days a Dominican nun typically wore a voluminous, free-flowing tunic, topped off with a headpiece that was imposing, to say the least. The sisters looked like nothing I had ever seen before, and I was scared to death of all of them.

Mama had several surgeries and procedures performed at St. Dominic’s and Daddy passed away there after suffering a massive heart attack. So, my family has long had close ties to the hospital.

Another link with Dominic concerns the fact that he was Spanish. During college and graduate school, I majored in Spanish language, literature and culture. Before I became Catholic, I was moved by the holiness and spirituality of the Spanish saints I read about. Those studies played some role in my conversion, as did the strong faith of my wife, who received her first 12 years of formal education from the Adrian Dominicans in Detroit.

In a recently published study, Saint Dominic’s Way of Life: A Path to Knowing and Loving God, Patrick Mary Briscoe, OP, and Jacob Bertrand Janczyk, OP, offer valuable insights into the saintly path followed by this great man of God, whom they characterize as a “hidden saint.” Other holy men, like Francis of Assisi and Ignatius of Loyola, were more famous, in part due to their striking conversion stories and their influential writings. Dominic, on the other hand, grew up in the church, and he left behind practically nothing in the way of written texts. Nevertheless, his legacy is formidable, especially when one considers his Order’s contributions across the centuries and around the world.

When Pope Honorius III officially confirmed Dominic’s preaching mission, he encouraged him to strive to spread the Gospel by remaining “insistent in season and out of season.” He faithfully carried out this mandate until the day of his death, which occurred 800 years ago, on Aug. 6, 1221. We celebrate his feast day in the summertime, on Aug. 8, but he is truly a saint for all seasons.

(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of St. John Oxford.)

THEOLOGY AT THE MOVIES
By James Tomek, Ph.D

Shortly after attending “An Hour of Prayer for Vocations” led by Father Nick Adam, I saw Robert Bresson’s acclaimed 1951 film, “Diary of a Country Priest,” (on the TMC Channel and based on a novel by George Bernanos) where a humble priest at a small parish keeps a journal of his experiences, which include hostility and a lack of compassion from members of the parish, a questioning of his vocation and prayer life, all while counseling a woman who years ago lost her infant son. He is also battling a serious stomach condition, reduced to digesting only small quantities of old bread and cheap wine with an occasional potato. After trying to get a colleague to return to the priesthood, he dies of a stomach cancer with a rosary on his chest and the words “What does that matter? All is grace.”

I joked with my wife that Father Nick should use this film in recruiting people to the religious life! But, on second thought, maybe this film should be a major part of the curriculum to confirm one’s sense of vocation. I will go through the film, discussing his particular challenges with the parishioners, then his thoughts on vocation from his mentor and doctor with a conclusion on the “success” of his life. It is a story about vocation in general. Did I choose the right one? Can I continue to have faith in a vocation where there is seemingly little compassion?

The priest (in French they say Monsieur le curé or mon père where we would say “Father” only) is not referred to by name. He has trouble dealing with his lower bourgeois parishioners as they complain about him and are stingy in donations and goodwill. His catechism lessons to the young girls are met with derision, even from the one he thinks is the best student. His only attendee at daily Mass is Louise, the governess of the only nobility in the region. We learn that Louise is also the mistress of the Count whose home the priest visits to ask for financial assistance and to offer psychological help to his wife, the Countess, who still suffers from the loss of her child.

He has a mentor, a priest in another parish, Torcy, who is cynical and advises him to keep order and not let the people boss him around. The Torcy priest is resigned to accept his vocation as simply clerical. Doctor Delbende, another advisor, suffers from the same depression. He receives no compassion from his patients and will eventually take his own life.

Our priest is quite effective dealing with wounded souls. In a long central scene, he succeeds in helping the Countess to finally accept the death of her son. It is a complex confession reconciliation scene. The priest influences her to say the Lord’s Prayer in a manner that she resigns herself to her son’s death to the point that, even though still tormented by it, she arrives at a moment of peace. It is the priest’s honesty in this Sacrament of Reconciliation where she sees that he is truly afraid for the death of her soul.

The priest goes to Lille, a city, for a medical consultation. He receives a death sentence – stomach cancer, caused by his meager diet of cheap wine and stale bread. The very foods that he thinks he can only digest are bad for him. That these foods are also consecrated into the Body and Blood of Jesus at Mass may be a not so wise influencing factor.

At Lille, he does manage to see an old seminary friend who has left the priesthood, and has married, but who is sickly and poor. Before dying, he asks his friend to rethink his vocation and, also, to give him absolution. In this way, our priest helps the former priest to recover some of his first vocation. Is our priest a failure? There is a reoccurring image of him at a gate in front of his Rectory and the noble’s estate. Is it a sign of prison? He says that he cannot pray, but the diary that he keeps is an articulate and prayerful examination of conscience.

The film makes us aware that he is constantly writing down his thoughts. He is a very capable confessor with the two to three people that allow him to enter in extended conversation. We see that he really tries to help those who are broken. He suffers deceptions at first, but then seems to see through them. He refuses to take the advice of the elder priest as he will not resign himself from helping the Count’s daughter, who is filled with hate over her father’s actions. His resignation is not one of quitting, but that of letting go his ego and engaging.

When thinking about our vocation in life, we should see this film. Do we have this priest’s “faith” to continue in spite of all the physical and mental obstacles? When he says “What does it matter? All is grace,” what does he mean?

Grace is that gift that allows us to be charitable when all else tells us to think for ourselves. To me, this movie is really a positive statement about someone who accepts his vocation in the most trying circumstances. I hope that God will treat me the way this priest treats his flock. We need compassionate people to guide us, even when they are weary. Gate images? A prison? I say no. He is opening the gates of our prisons, like the narrator in Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row,” a song about desperate people who need help. At the end of the song the consoler is weary, but sings out to us – “ Right now I can’t read too good/Don’t send me no letters, no/Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row.”

(James Tomek is a Lay Ecclesial Minister at Sacred Heart in Rosedale and also active in RCIA at Our Lady of Victories in Cleveland.)