Originally published in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, April 30, 2005.
I was strolling through the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop when the news came over the television that a new pope had been chosen. I felt a chill go through me and followed an urge to leave the store before his name was announced. My reaction surprised me. It had been years since I'd felt bound by what came down from Rome, yet clearly what happened there still mattered to me.
Hours later, when I heard the news that Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger had been chosen, my heart sank. Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI, was the head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, a powerful arm of the Vatican, staunch defender of Roman rule. Of all the potential candidates to succeed John Paul II, he was among those most adamantly opposed to the reforms that I and other progressive Catholics believe are so badly needed if the church is to be true to its mission.
The image I had as the news sank in was of an iron drawbridge going up and clanging shut. My church was being hijacked --- the church of my childhood; the church where I had faithfully consecrated all the milestones in my life; the church to which my ancestors, including a Sacred Heart nun, a Jesuit priest and a cardinal, had given their lives --- and I was being faced with a decision I had been putting off for years. I thought of Magdalene at the empty tomb. "They have taken my Lord."
It didn't have to be this way. I remember the early years of Pope John Paul II's papacy, how young he was at 58, so vigorous and friendly, arms spread wide as he traversed the world giving Catholicism a face none could resist. He seemed the perfect pope for the times, an embodiment of the great call of Vatican II to open the windows and let in fresh air.
I remember the excitement I felt seeing John Paul II in person for the first time. It was 1979. I was working in New York and his Popemobile came down our street. I can still see him, standing tall in the sun, a wide smile on his face, bowing left and right, tossing blessings in the air. It was a wonderful day to be Catholic, and he was a radiant star.
To top it off, he was brilliant and brave and profoundly prayerful. Over the nearly 27 years of his reign, he visited 129 countries, survived an assassination attempt with John Wayne heroism, contributed mightily to the fall of communism, challenged the poverty of our materialistic culture, advocated tirelessly on behalf of the world's poor and pleaded the cause of nonviolence to the end.
But there were grave deficiencies in his papacy as well, especially as he aged. He had blind spots, and he surrounded himself with people who would not challenge his views. In spite of his love for Mary, he refused to ordain women. In opposition to the advice of many of his bishops and the majority of U.S. Catholics, he condemned artificial contraception, inflicting untold burdens on people, contributing to the spread of AIDS and unwanted pregnancies. He refused to lift the ban on priestly celibacy (which has no basis in Scripture), thus contributing to a critical priest shortage and threatening the sacramental life of the church. He made Catholic theologians at Catholic universities sign orthodoxy statements. Pedophilia festered too long before it came to light. The list goes on.
This cost the church dearly, decimating the ranks of its members and severely weakening its voice as a moral leader. During his papacy, the Second Vatican Council's call to "aggiornamento" (dialogue and collegiality) gave way to a shocking "Re-Romanization" of the church. Power came once again to reside in Rome; bishops' concerns were routinely overlooked and overruled. Millions of loyal Catholics were labeled dissenters because they could not in conscience forsake the call of the spirit, so alive in council documents, in favor of obedience to Rome. Front row seats were offered to ultra-conservative groups like Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ, while progressive Catholics who challenged the church's increasingly dictatorial practices, confronted its sexism and homophobia, and called for reform, were left standing in the waiting room.
For those of us who had hoped this new pope would be more open, this is a sad day. It gives new urgency to the question of how loyal Catholics who hear a different Gospel call can continue to relate to an institutional church that seeks control rather than promoting growth and discounts the concerns of prayerful people. Has the time come to leave an institution that insists the spirit of God cannot blow through voices that challenge the church? Or is the call to stay and pray and continue to work for reform? I don't know the answer. But the question has an urgency I can no longer ignore.
I was strolling through the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop when the news came over the television that a new pope had been chosen. I felt a chill go through me and followed an urge to leave the store before his name was announced. My reaction surprised me. It had been years since I'd felt bound by what came down from Rome, yet clearly what happened there still mattered to me.
Hours later, when I heard the news that Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger had been chosen, my heart sank. Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI, was the head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, a powerful arm of the Vatican, staunch defender of Roman rule. Of all the potential candidates to succeed John Paul II, he was among those most adamantly opposed to the reforms that I and other progressive Catholics believe are so badly needed if the church is to be true to its mission.
The image I had as the news sank in was of an iron drawbridge going up and clanging shut. My church was being hijacked --- the church of my childhood; the church where I had faithfully consecrated all the milestones in my life; the church to which my ancestors, including a Sacred Heart nun, a Jesuit priest and a cardinal, had given their lives --- and I was being faced with a decision I had been putting off for years. I thought of Magdalene at the empty tomb. "They have taken my Lord."
It didn't have to be this way. I remember the early years of Pope John Paul II's papacy, how young he was at 58, so vigorous and friendly, arms spread wide as he traversed the world giving Catholicism a face none could resist. He seemed the perfect pope for the times, an embodiment of the great call of Vatican II to open the windows and let in fresh air.
I remember the excitement I felt seeing John Paul II in person for the first time. It was 1979. I was working in New York and his Popemobile came down our street. I can still see him, standing tall in the sun, a wide smile on his face, bowing left and right, tossing blessings in the air. It was a wonderful day to be Catholic, and he was a radiant star.
To top it off, he was brilliant and brave and profoundly prayerful. Over the nearly 27 years of his reign, he visited 129 countries, survived an assassination attempt with John Wayne heroism, contributed mightily to the fall of communism, challenged the poverty of our materialistic culture, advocated tirelessly on behalf of the world's poor and pleaded the cause of nonviolence to the end.
But there were grave deficiencies in his papacy as well, especially as he aged. He had blind spots, and he surrounded himself with people who would not challenge his views. In spite of his love for Mary, he refused to ordain women. In opposition to the advice of many of his bishops and the majority of U.S. Catholics, he condemned artificial contraception, inflicting untold burdens on people, contributing to the spread of AIDS and unwanted pregnancies. He refused to lift the ban on priestly celibacy (which has no basis in Scripture), thus contributing to a critical priest shortage and threatening the sacramental life of the church. He made Catholic theologians at Catholic universities sign orthodoxy statements. Pedophilia festered too long before it came to light. The list goes on.
This cost the church dearly, decimating the ranks of its members and severely weakening its voice as a moral leader. During his papacy, the Second Vatican Council's call to "aggiornamento" (dialogue and collegiality) gave way to a shocking "Re-Romanization" of the church. Power came once again to reside in Rome; bishops' concerns were routinely overlooked and overruled. Millions of loyal Catholics were labeled dissenters because they could not in conscience forsake the call of the spirit, so alive in council documents, in favor of obedience to Rome. Front row seats were offered to ultra-conservative groups like Opus Dei and the Legionaries of Christ, while progressive Catholics who challenged the church's increasingly dictatorial practices, confronted its sexism and homophobia, and called for reform, were left standing in the waiting room.
For those of us who had hoped this new pope would be more open, this is a sad day. It gives new urgency to the question of how loyal Catholics who hear a different Gospel call can continue to relate to an institutional church that seeks control rather than promoting growth and discounts the concerns of prayerful people. Has the time come to leave an institution that insists the spirit of God cannot blow through voices that challenge the church? Or is the call to stay and pray and continue to work for reform? I don't know the answer. But the question has an urgency I can no longer ignore.