"The Good of the Universal Church"

I'm a Christian, but not a Catholic, and so I can speak with little to no authority about the come-uppance the Catholic church is reaping from its long-adhered-to tradition of merely shuffling from diocese to diocese (rather than defrocking and prosecuting) ordained priests suspected of and/or convicted of child abuse. But as a gay human being, I struggle with what Pope Benedict XVI meant when he--as a top Vatican official, and after a priest (who had been convicted of tying up and abusing two young boys in a California church rectory) and his bishop both asked that he be defrocked--signed a letter stating that the case needed more time, and that "the good of the Universal Church" had to be considered in making that decision.

"The good of the Universal Church. . . "

Hmmmm. . .

That sounds a lot like "if we don't acknowledge it publicly, it never happened." Wonder how those two boys who were tied up and abused feel about the good of the Universal Church? I wonder if their young hearts and souls were ministered to, apologized to, and if they were told they had done nothing to cause what had happened to them?

I do believe in accountability--which is something the Catholic church is beginning to have to deal with in ways other than financially [settlements] and clandestinely as the continued cases of abuse from all over the world begin to bubble up as congregants--struggling to be whole--are having the courage to speak up against what, at one time, seemed unspeakable.

I was thankful to read recently that, in the suicide of Phoebe Prince, a fifteen-year-old Massachusetts girl who was bullied "to death" by her peers, felony charges are being brought against the bullies. They are actually being held accountable for their unkind, unthinking actions that contributed to the death of this young girl, rather than our sighing and shrugging our shoulders as we try to make sense of this precious young life squandered for no good reason.

Understand that it is not my wish that the Catholic church be punished, or that Pope Benedict XVI be excoriated either. Their coffers are being emptied, and they are being taken to task in the press aplenty without my wishing it upon them.

I have learned in my fifty-seven years that for someone to have any chance of being physically, psychologically and emotionally healthy, they must be able to bring all of who they are to the table. It astonishes me that Catholic priests are still asked to take a vow of celibacy, although I'm sure some tiny percentage of those who take that vow actually achieve it. The act of taking the vow of chastity itself seems like it might supercharge the desire to explore one's sexual self. I'm sure, on some primal level, the design is to stave off "impure thoughts," with purity of spirit trumping carnality.

When I grew up in North Carolina, we had a Minister of Education at our Southern Baptist Church who later admitted to me (when I was grown, and neither of us were still members of that church) that he would sneak out during the day to see whatever films he heard us talking about because he wanted to be able to understand our perspectives on them. I admired that. Those may not have been films he might have sought out on his own for all kinds of reasons--but to understand and be able to minister to our needs, he needed to know what sparked our opinions, and what pop cultural icons impacted us. He familiarized himself with the literature, movies and music of our time to be better attuned to us.

We didn't have confession in the Southern Baptist Church when I was growing up, and unless something's changed, they don't have it now either. We had our own version of that--we had an "invitation hymn" at the end of the service. If we felt the need to talk to the pastor about something, and could muster the courage to walk down the aisle in front of everyone, we could do that. It had a similar function to confession, I expect--that of "coming clean" about what was on our hearts. I’ve wondered if the act of being celibate poses any sort of difficulty for a priest to relate to a congregant confessing a sin of the flesh (since this is outside of the [celibate] priest’s realm of experience)?

Some other faiths allow priests to be married. And yet, some of those still try to "police" the kind of relationship the priests may be involved in, which kind of amuses me on some level. Finding a loving relationship between two people is still one of the miracles of life. Many who think they find it later become disenchanted and divorce. Many remarry--still looking for love. But most of us seem to either seek love out, or hope for it. It seems that priests of any faith ought to also be able to serve God while loving another human being in a special way.

I asked someone with whom I was once very close (in North Carolina) if she would ever sit her two children down and tell them I was gay. She is a very smart, and very conservative Christian woman--almost fundamentally so, and I was curious what her response would be. I had hoped she would say, "Of course I will." But, to my surprise, she replied, "If they ask." To sit her two children down and tell them that her good friend was gay shamed her on some level. She felt she could somehow love me, but hate the "sin" of my gayness. Ironically, when her daughter was of college age, her daughter--who was studying medicine--asked my sister if I was gay. My sister told her yes. She told my sister that she and her husband had chosen to enroll in some gay-sensitivity training because of the attitudes they held about gay people. They wanted to know if it would be okay if they were in touch with me during this time. Thankfully, after nineteen years, the daughter had the forethought to realize that sick people from all walks of life would come to her someday to be treated, and it would be difficult for her to be a thorough, understanding and loving doctor if she viewed any of her patients with disdain because of who they happened to be, or how they presented themselves.

We like what we know. Or at least we're comfortable with it. When we think with our heads, we can be judging, dogmatic, and miss so much about another person. We can hurt someone with our unthinking, unfeeling words. We can even kill them. When we think with our hearts--like Jesus, about whom Charles Wesley so eloquently described as "risen with healing in His wings," we can heal one another, and, like Jesus, bring "light and life to all."