One of the things I hear my Bishop say with regularity is that Catholicism is counter-cultural. He has spoken of the counter-cultural choice young men and women make when they enter religious life. He emphasizes the counter-cultural lessons taught in Catholic schools. He makes a point that our faith, the core message of our evangelization, is counter-cultural.
Just between you and me, I haven’t meditated very deeply nor very often about being counter-cultural; but I guess the Bishop has said it often enough now that he has my attention. As I spend a few ergs on the subject, I don’t find the fruits of contemplation altogether pleasant. What I hear the Bishop saying is that who we are and what we do don’t mesh very well with society.
Catholics, it seems, spent the better part of the last 200 years trying to fit into the American mainstream. Now we’re affluent (statistically, anyway). We’re well educated. Studies indicate that people actually like having us for neighbors. We made it; we’re in.
Now that we’re in, however, good golly, Miss Molly, it looks like the thing to do is to get out – and particularly while the getting is good. More properly the expression is: be in the world, but not of it.
Now I don’t want to be putting words into the Bishop’s mouth, but what I hear him saying is that good practicing Catholics are a bunch of misfits. He would never say that, probably, but that expresses for me what “counter-cultural” means.
Perhaps the popular connotation of misfit evokes images of green whiskers and opium dens. Misfit is a harsh sounding word that makes people uncomfortable. Even so, is seems a verbal shock helps me to get the idea.
The idea is that nobody can follow both God and Mammon. To that assertion comes a round of qualifications and denials – not necessarily “O yes you can,” but “You can’t have too many clothes or too much money,” or the running assumption that acquisition of wealth is devoutly to be wished.
The gospel of the modern world is relativism: you do your thing and I do mine and moral standards are what I say they are. The Catholic Church rejects that idea, no matter what the degree of acceptance Catholics have found. And while the Church repudiates the simplistic yes/no codes of scriptural literalism, the Church also rejects that there’s no such thing as right and wrong. Right and wrong still do exist.
The key premise of the best-seller The Closing of the American Mind illustrates the position well:
Americans have becomes so relativistic that not to have a moral position has become a moral position. Somehow it’s become immoral to have convictions, because that means that I’m asserting that I’m right, which means that somebody else is wrong, and that’s not right. Don’t laugh. This hogwash is becoming a deeply ingrained American value system.
So, we Catholics have made it into the American mainstream, and look what we’ve found. We know that to authentically practice this faith of ours we now have to be misfits again.
Perhaps we can assert enough moral influence to change all that, but I suppose I’m skeptical. I appreciate the way the Bishop lets us in on the truth of the matter. “Counter-cultural”: that says it nicely. – T.R.
written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on October 25th, 1987
Showing posts with label Catholic Identity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Catholic Identity. Show all posts
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
A people of faith
A parish is a living place. The bare twigs Marie Perry planted behind Sorrowful Mother Church now tower above the church. Father Raymond Weiber’s new shrine to St. Francis recollects those Franciscan Fathers who kept the Faith more than 100 years ago in the parish.
Mrs. Jean Kosik stopped by to paint the rectory office the other day. Paint brush in hand, she spoke of modern Catholic identity. She and I and Father Weiber and Sister Kathryn Kirk reflected on media coverage of the Holy Father’s visit, about how the ordinary lives of ordinary Catholics are not very newsworthy. I thought about the Holy Father’s theme, “Unity in the work of service,” as I observed Mrs. Kosik paint the doorjamb.
Joseph and Joyce Slawnikowski, the parish council president and his wife, had just left. Father Weiber said: “They’re here for Mass every day.” Faithful people.
Father spoke to a parishioner about a concrete walkway behind the rectory. They spoke in Polish, fluent Polish, flowing Polish, conversational Polish in the back yard of the rectory in Wheatfield, Indiana.
“We didn’t hear the word ‘ecumenical’ in those days,” said Margaret Grube, as she sat at the dining table, remembering her grandfather. “When you come down to the nitty-gritty,” she said, “good people are good people. The Methodist preacher used to come through here on horseback and he lived at my grandparents’ house when he was here. They fed him and gave him a bed so he could minister to the Methodists.”
Glimpses, a few memories. Who can say what reflections they bring, what significance they hold for those whose lives have been intertwined in this 100-year-old parish? We speak of buildings and windows and roofs and shrines. We tell stories of statues and who gave the ciborium and who made the altar linen. But a parish is a living place, ten thousand acts of charity, enduring faith, loyalty and service.
No monument recalls the work of the Victory Noll Sisters who labored to teach the faith at Sorrowful Mother parish. No marble slab marks the spot where Father Donald Hardebeck sat in his station wagon outside the public school in Fair Oaks, his motor running the heater in winter time, teaching religion, teaching the Catholic faith.
Only oral history recalls the courage of those Sorrowful Mother parishioners who were hated by the Ku Klux Klan. And what about the Protestants who resisted the threatening pressure to join in the bigotry?
The past becomes a part of the present in ways none of us understands. People will say that they love Sorrowful Mother Church. Buildings, though, are incapable of love. People know that. It’s just difficult to separate the brick and wood from the heart and soul of a parish. Objects become symbols of something deeper: the sign of faith which cannot be seen.
Time was, when the crickets sawed their songs in the marshy wilds of that once uninhabited country, a fearful, hopeful German family arrived at a clearing in northern Indiana. With a lump in their throat and a prayer to God, they stopped to stay, to live there, to call this green space home. There was no church, no parish hall, no house indeed for themselves unless they began to cut trees.
Weeks passed, months. A lone rider, hungry, weathered, spotted chimney smoke and stopped to pay a visit. He was a priest, he said, do you folks know of any Catholics in the area? Family members turned to one another and smiled. A tear formed in the mother’s eye, a tear of joy. –T.R.
written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on September 27th, 1987
Mrs. Jean Kosik stopped by to paint the rectory office the other day. Paint brush in hand, she spoke of modern Catholic identity. She and I and Father Weiber and Sister Kathryn Kirk reflected on media coverage of the Holy Father’s visit, about how the ordinary lives of ordinary Catholics are not very newsworthy. I thought about the Holy Father’s theme, “Unity in the work of service,” as I observed Mrs. Kosik paint the doorjamb.
Joseph and Joyce Slawnikowski, the parish council president and his wife, had just left. Father Weiber said: “They’re here for Mass every day.” Faithful people.
Father spoke to a parishioner about a concrete walkway behind the rectory. They spoke in Polish, fluent Polish, flowing Polish, conversational Polish in the back yard of the rectory in Wheatfield, Indiana.
“We didn’t hear the word ‘ecumenical’ in those days,” said Margaret Grube, as she sat at the dining table, remembering her grandfather. “When you come down to the nitty-gritty,” she said, “good people are good people. The Methodist preacher used to come through here on horseback and he lived at my grandparents’ house when he was here. They fed him and gave him a bed so he could minister to the Methodists.”
Glimpses, a few memories. Who can say what reflections they bring, what significance they hold for those whose lives have been intertwined in this 100-year-old parish? We speak of buildings and windows and roofs and shrines. We tell stories of statues and who gave the ciborium and who made the altar linen. But a parish is a living place, ten thousand acts of charity, enduring faith, loyalty and service.
No monument recalls the work of the Victory Noll Sisters who labored to teach the faith at Sorrowful Mother parish. No marble slab marks the spot where Father Donald Hardebeck sat in his station wagon outside the public school in Fair Oaks, his motor running the heater in winter time, teaching religion, teaching the Catholic faith.
Only oral history recalls the courage of those Sorrowful Mother parishioners who were hated by the Ku Klux Klan. And what about the Protestants who resisted the threatening pressure to join in the bigotry?
The past becomes a part of the present in ways none of us understands. People will say that they love Sorrowful Mother Church. Buildings, though, are incapable of love. People know that. It’s just difficult to separate the brick and wood from the heart and soul of a parish. Objects become symbols of something deeper: the sign of faith which cannot be seen.
Time was, when the crickets sawed their songs in the marshy wilds of that once uninhabited country, a fearful, hopeful German family arrived at a clearing in northern Indiana. With a lump in their throat and a prayer to God, they stopped to stay, to live there, to call this green space home. There was no church, no parish hall, no house indeed for themselves unless they began to cut trees.
Weeks passed, months. A lone rider, hungry, weathered, spotted chimney smoke and stopped to pay a visit. He was a priest, he said, do you folks know of any Catholics in the area? Family members turned to one another and smiled. A tear formed in the mother’s eye, a tear of joy. –T.R.
written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on September 27th, 1987
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
What is a Catholic?
You’ve heard the old joke, “Is the Pope a Catholic?” The question of the hour seems to be, “Is he the only one?”
The implication of the rhetorical question about the Pope, of course, is that there’s a commonplace understanding of just what being a Catholic is. Whatever it is, so the common understanding goes, at least the Pope must be one.
From there on, the common understanding seems to falter. Take the question, “Is Tom Russell a Catholic?” For those who’ve ever heard of Tom Russell, responses would vary. Some would say, “Certainly!” Others would say, “I always thought he was.” Still others, “He may be a Catholic, but I’m not so sure he’s a good Catholic.” Some would say, “He may say he’s a Catholic, but if you ask me, he’s a Catholic in name only.” You get my drift.
I was always taught in catechism class that in order to be a Catholic, a person had to believe everything the Church teaches. If you rejected anything, it was out you go.
Then along came the idea, “Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.” That is, if you were “baptized a Catholic,” you were in for life. After that, you could become a “fallen away Catholic” or surely remain in “full communion.”
There were other gradations. We spoke of “good Catholics,” “marginal Catholics” and we had our share of “Saturday night sinners and Sunday morning saints.” I became acquainted with “C & Eers”: those who attended Mass only on Christmas and Easter. Another category was the “non-practicing” Catholic.
Anyone who wasn’t a Catholic was a “non-Catholic,” but it was only relatively recently that I heard about people who “used to be Catholic.” Used to be people were “raised Catholic” or “brought up Catholic,” but they couldn’t just quit. They “quit practicing their faith” or simply “stopped going to Church.” I’ve heard of people who were “supposed to be Catholic.”
People didn’t used to say of themselves: “I’m a member of the Catholic Church.” They said, “I’m a Catholic.” They were “members” of a parish.
It seems that there are all kinds of “modern Catholics” and today there are more kinds than ever before. We have “women Catholics,” “conservative Catholics,” “liberal Catholics,” “moderate Catholics,” “homosexual Catholics,” “charismatic Catholics.” A significantly distinct group has become known as “American Catholic.”
People of course used to “become Catholic,” but one could not simply “start going” to the Catholic Church and have that meet the sufficient “requirements of the faith.” Much more was involved, and that’s still true, at least I think it is.
Just how true, however, seems to have been called into question. I haven’t heard of any of the “requirements of the faith” being changed, but one thing I’ve noticed is that some people say they don’t have to believe certain things the Catholic Church teaches and can still be “a Catholic.” Another thing I’ve noticed is that the expression “fallen away Catholic” has fallen into disuse, along also with the general disfavor of the expression “non-Catholic.” The expression “former Catholic” has grown in popularity, and perhaps in this category reside those with selective disbelief in the teachings of the “Catholic Church.”
Whatever the “Catholic Church” is seems to be in question, but there is general agreement that whatever it is, the Pope pretty well fits the mold of what a member of it is supposed to be. He says that to be “a Catholic,” you have to believe the whole shebang. –T.R.
written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on September 20th, 1987
The implication of the rhetorical question about the Pope, of course, is that there’s a commonplace understanding of just what being a Catholic is. Whatever it is, so the common understanding goes, at least the Pope must be one.
From there on, the common understanding seems to falter. Take the question, “Is Tom Russell a Catholic?” For those who’ve ever heard of Tom Russell, responses would vary. Some would say, “Certainly!” Others would say, “I always thought he was.” Still others, “He may be a Catholic, but I’m not so sure he’s a good Catholic.” Some would say, “He may say he’s a Catholic, but if you ask me, he’s a Catholic in name only.” You get my drift.
I was always taught in catechism class that in order to be a Catholic, a person had to believe everything the Church teaches. If you rejected anything, it was out you go.
Then along came the idea, “Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.” That is, if you were “baptized a Catholic,” you were in for life. After that, you could become a “fallen away Catholic” or surely remain in “full communion.”
There were other gradations. We spoke of “good Catholics,” “marginal Catholics” and we had our share of “Saturday night sinners and Sunday morning saints.” I became acquainted with “C & Eers”: those who attended Mass only on Christmas and Easter. Another category was the “non-practicing” Catholic.
Anyone who wasn’t a Catholic was a “non-Catholic,” but it was only relatively recently that I heard about people who “used to be Catholic.” Used to be people were “raised Catholic” or “brought up Catholic,” but they couldn’t just quit. They “quit practicing their faith” or simply “stopped going to Church.” I’ve heard of people who were “supposed to be Catholic.”
People didn’t used to say of themselves: “I’m a member of the Catholic Church.” They said, “I’m a Catholic.” They were “members” of a parish.
It seems that there are all kinds of “modern Catholics” and today there are more kinds than ever before. We have “women Catholics,” “conservative Catholics,” “liberal Catholics,” “moderate Catholics,” “homosexual Catholics,” “charismatic Catholics.” A significantly distinct group has become known as “American Catholic.”
People of course used to “become Catholic,” but one could not simply “start going” to the Catholic Church and have that meet the sufficient “requirements of the faith.” Much more was involved, and that’s still true, at least I think it is.
Just how true, however, seems to have been called into question. I haven’t heard of any of the “requirements of the faith” being changed, but one thing I’ve noticed is that some people say they don’t have to believe certain things the Catholic Church teaches and can still be “a Catholic.” Another thing I’ve noticed is that the expression “fallen away Catholic” has fallen into disuse, along also with the general disfavor of the expression “non-Catholic.” The expression “former Catholic” has grown in popularity, and perhaps in this category reside those with selective disbelief in the teachings of the “Catholic Church.”
Whatever the “Catholic Church” is seems to be in question, but there is general agreement that whatever it is, the Pope pretty well fits the mold of what a member of it is supposed to be. He says that to be “a Catholic,” you have to believe the whole shebang. –T.R.
written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on September 20th, 1987
Monday, December 10, 2007
Preaching with conviction
My wife said she had never heard such preaching in a Catholic church. I agreed. Although I have been unsuccessful in identifying the priest by name, let it be said that he spoke with passion and conviction. He began his “homily” by saying, “Fasten your seat belts.”
My family and I visited relatives in Michigan during the Memorial Day weekend, and we went to Mass on Sunday at St. Vincent Ferrer Church in Madison Heights, a suburb of Detroit. The sermon we heard that morning was some kind of sermon.
Father spoke about the unchanging law of God and about how it would be well if people realized that God’s law was still in effect. The preacher contrasted God’s unchanging law with laws of the Church which, obviously, change.
“Listen to me now,” he said, “This is important.” The Church can make a law and the Church can change a law, but neither the Church nor the Pope nor anybody else can change God’s law. God’s law is just as true today as it was in the time of Christ. God’s law was true when Moses came down from the mountain and it’s true to this day.
The message we heard that morning was a simple message – nothing heady or intellectual, but spoken with fire and feeling, out of obviously deep and heartfelt belief. Here was a man preaching a faith he lived.
People’s lives are empty today, he said, if they are not following the law of God. People are living together, having sexual relations outside of wedlock and looking for fulfillment but finding none. Because why? Because fornication is still a sin! he shouted. Adultery is still a sin! You can’t break God’s law and get away with it!
Father said he was tired of all the experts called “they” out there who are giving their expert opinion about how God’s law may or may not be applicable to a particular case, about how the Church’s authority has somehow become “relative.”
“You hear somebody say you don’t have to go to confession anymore, you ask that person on whose authority they speak!” the priest said with pointed and deliberate and emphatic diction. “They talk about ‘liberal’ Catholics and ‘conservative’ Catholics. What? Is the Church a political party now? They talk about the ‘non-churchgoing Catholic.’ What is that? Is that some special, new branch of the Church? Does that mean it’s okay for Catholics to not go to Mass anymore? It does not!” he said with power.
Father told his listeners to come off their complaining about changes in the Church and get back to practicing their faith and following the law of God spoken in their hearts by a true and informed conscience.
“I had a woman come to me and say her husband didn’t come to Mass anymore. ‘Is that so,’ I said. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he just got to where he couldn’t take that guitar Mass anymore,’ she said.” Father made the Sign of the Cross. “I told her to tell him to go to one of the other Masses! Just because he doesn’t like the folk Mass doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to go to Mass! Get with it, people! You don’t like all these changes? Neither do I! That doesn’t mean you stop practicing your faith!”
Kind of does something to your heart to hear that kind of preaching, and I mean preaching. I felt some blood flowing in my veins that Sunday morning. Yes, Father what’s-his-name said a lot more things that morning: simple, uncomplicated, truthful things, things that make a person’s soul get stirred with the conviction that it is possible to walk in God’s way one more day. Thank you, Father.
It will be good to have something to cling to on Pentecost Sunday, something not half-baked and mealy-mouthed and soft in the middle, but something good and righteous and on fire.
written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on June 7th, 1987
My family and I visited relatives in Michigan during the Memorial Day weekend, and we went to Mass on Sunday at St. Vincent Ferrer Church in Madison Heights, a suburb of Detroit. The sermon we heard that morning was some kind of sermon.
Father spoke about the unchanging law of God and about how it would be well if people realized that God’s law was still in effect. The preacher contrasted God’s unchanging law with laws of the Church which, obviously, change.
“Listen to me now,” he said, “This is important.” The Church can make a law and the Church can change a law, but neither the Church nor the Pope nor anybody else can change God’s law. God’s law is just as true today as it was in the time of Christ. God’s law was true when Moses came down from the mountain and it’s true to this day.
The message we heard that morning was a simple message – nothing heady or intellectual, but spoken with fire and feeling, out of obviously deep and heartfelt belief. Here was a man preaching a faith he lived.
People’s lives are empty today, he said, if they are not following the law of God. People are living together, having sexual relations outside of wedlock and looking for fulfillment but finding none. Because why? Because fornication is still a sin! he shouted. Adultery is still a sin! You can’t break God’s law and get away with it!
Father said he was tired of all the experts called “they” out there who are giving their expert opinion about how God’s law may or may not be applicable to a particular case, about how the Church’s authority has somehow become “relative.”
“You hear somebody say you don’t have to go to confession anymore, you ask that person on whose authority they speak!” the priest said with pointed and deliberate and emphatic diction. “They talk about ‘liberal’ Catholics and ‘conservative’ Catholics. What? Is the Church a political party now? They talk about the ‘non-churchgoing Catholic.’ What is that? Is that some special, new branch of the Church? Does that mean it’s okay for Catholics to not go to Mass anymore? It does not!” he said with power.
Father told his listeners to come off their complaining about changes in the Church and get back to practicing their faith and following the law of God spoken in their hearts by a true and informed conscience.
“I had a woman come to me and say her husband didn’t come to Mass anymore. ‘Is that so,’ I said. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he just got to where he couldn’t take that guitar Mass anymore,’ she said.” Father made the Sign of the Cross. “I told her to tell him to go to one of the other Masses! Just because he doesn’t like the folk Mass doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to go to Mass! Get with it, people! You don’t like all these changes? Neither do I! That doesn’t mean you stop practicing your faith!”
Kind of does something to your heart to hear that kind of preaching, and I mean preaching. I felt some blood flowing in my veins that Sunday morning. Yes, Father what’s-his-name said a lot more things that morning: simple, uncomplicated, truthful things, things that make a person’s soul get stirred with the conviction that it is possible to walk in God’s way one more day. Thank you, Father.
It will be good to have something to cling to on Pentecost Sunday, something not half-baked and mealy-mouthed and soft in the middle, but something good and righteous and on fire.
written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on June 7th, 1987
Friday, October 12, 2007
Catholic Identity
Father Thomas Savage, S.J. said, “Catholics are struggling with what it means to be Catholic. They’re saying it is important to me, but I’m not quite sure what that means.”
It’s an intriguing question, this identity business. We Catholics these days are a veritable litany of souls looking for commonality that somehow exceeds our grasp. That is not to say that each of us is not brimming with certitude about exactly what is Catholicity.
For a few examples:
We may disagree about what constitutes decorum, but we rejoice in the celebration of our faith.
We have different ideas about piety and prayer. But we, all of us, seek God in prayer.
We discern the liturgy in this mode or that, but we come to worship as the People of God.
Our views of symbolism go from stark to gothic, from multiple to precious few, but we value symbolism as a part of our heritage.
Not one of us questions the dignity of human life. Not one of us denies the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist.
We bristle on both sides of the clerical garb issue. But we do not question priesthood. We continue to honor the Sisters who dedicate their lives to the service of the Church.
How does the song go? “At that first Eucharist before You died, O Lord you prayed that all be one in You. At this our Eucharist You now preside, and in our hearts Your law of love renew.”
This little piece of writing does not presume to resolve the question of Catholic identity. But one thing is for sure and Psalm 100 says it: “He made us. His we are, His people, the flock He tends.”
It’s an intriguing question, this identity business. We Catholics these days are a veritable litany of souls looking for commonality that somehow exceeds our grasp. That is not to say that each of us is not brimming with certitude about exactly what is Catholicity.
For a few examples:
-The lady sidles up to an acquaintance in her parish church ready to go aghast in commiseration about the pastor’s dog (Saint’s preserve us!) being a part of the joyful celebration of the pastor’s anniversary last Sunday. A dog brought in to church on Sunday morning, mind you! Whereupon the lady learns that her acquaintance had no inkling that anyone might be offended, she is doubly indignant. Surely her acquaintance must be one of those “liberal” Catholics.
-The fellow who always sits in the fourth row back just happens to comment about his belief in the power of the Rosary and the comfort he has found so often in reciting the “Memorare.” Two in the group roll their eyes at one another about the poor fellow who hasn’t gotten with it and is not likely to. And what in the world, one says to the other after the meeting, is the “Memorare?”
-Two in the Charismatic prayer group talk about Sunday Mass being one dry, routine, somber service. Two in the pew across the aisle share a chuckle about the “Holy Roller” Mass the Charismatics have.
-One parish priest wants to hake the high, ornate altar out of the church, saying it’s a distraction to the central act of worship occurring on the Table of Sacrifice. A band of his parishioners is prepared to post an armed guard around the ornate altar to see anybody just try to take it away.
-One man eschews bombing vacant abortion clinics. His friend asks, “Would it have been okay to bomb the ovens at Dachau?”
-One woman devoutly receives the consecrated host in her hand. Another woman asks, “If we really believe this is the Real Body of Christ, why are we not on our knees in reverence as we receive Him?”
-One priest wears a Roman collar. Another wears a necktie. One Sister wears a veil saying she wishes to express her identity. Another Sister wears a modern, attractive suit, saying she wishes to express her identity.We Catholics, we love our Church, and love is the right word. We look askance at, criticize, chuckle at one another. But we love one another because we are the Church.
We may disagree about what constitutes decorum, but we rejoice in the celebration of our faith.
We have different ideas about piety and prayer. But we, all of us, seek God in prayer.
We discern the liturgy in this mode or that, but we come to worship as the People of God.
Our views of symbolism go from stark to gothic, from multiple to precious few, but we value symbolism as a part of our heritage.
Not one of us questions the dignity of human life. Not one of us denies the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist.
We bristle on both sides of the clerical garb issue. But we do not question priesthood. We continue to honor the Sisters who dedicate their lives to the service of the Church.
How does the song go? “At that first Eucharist before You died, O Lord you prayed that all be one in You. At this our Eucharist You now preside, and in our hearts Your law of love renew.”
This little piece of writing does not presume to resolve the question of Catholic identity. But one thing is for sure and Psalm 100 says it: “He made us. His we are, His people, the flock He tends.”
written by Thomas A. Russell on April 6th, 1986
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