Category: Stories

My Calling to the Clerical Culture

I’d like to share some anecdotal information that I personally experienced both as a seminarian and , who became part of the . There certainly were “benefits” but there was also a price to pay for being put on a pedestal by parishioners as well as people outside the Church, who had some unrealistic images of anyone who wore a Roman collar. I’m not suggesting that my experiences represent the majority of those who were ordained in pre-Vatican II, but I think my experiences can resonate with others who were ordained during that period of time, and for those who are interested, they can vicariously identify with the dynamics of becoming part of the .

In my next commentary, I will move from my personal experiences as a former “cleric”, and consider the concept of the from an institutional, sociological, and psychological perspective. I will first examine the abuse of—and—and addiction to power in the Church, from the Vatican on down. Second, how the perpetuation of has contributed to the sexual abuse of children. Finally, I will propose how I believe that we, the people of God can begin to change this elitist of ism.

Naïve and Immature

I have a section in my memoir entitled My Calling. It describes a casual conversation I had with Harry Hinds. He was the director of the Youth Program (CYO) for the diocese of Albany, NY. I worked in his office as his assistant during my last year in high school. One day while we were working on the spring baseball schedule, he asked me what I was going to do after I graduated. I told him I was thinking of going to Siena College to study social work. He asked if I ever thought about becoming a . I told him I thought about it, but I didn’t think I had a calling. The next thing I knew, he was on the phone talking to the Chancellor of the Diocese telling him he had a young man in his office who was thinking about a vocation to the hood. By the end of his phone call, he had made an appointment for me to talk to Monsignor Rooney about my vocation. I was a little surprised to say the least, but part of me was flattered that he thought I was worthy enough to join their club. I was also more than a little naïve and immature. To make a long story short, the next September, I was off to St. Thomas’ a minor Seminary in Connecticut to become part of the . My parents never questioned or pushed my decision, but being “good s”, I sensed that they were pleased with my “choice”.

Seminary Days

I took to the seminary like the proverbial “duck to water”. The sports, the camaraderie,  the feeling that I would have a in that would not only bring me closer to God, but would give me an opportunity to help others to know and serve God. In my puerile mind, I imagined myself as being like Bing Crosby in the two movies Going My Way, and The Bells of St. Mary’s, where he played Chuck O’Malley. For me, being a seminarian was like being a member of a Fraternity. We even had our own song, Ecce quam Bonum, the first line from Psalm 133, “Behold how good and how joyful it is for brethren to dwell together in unity”.  That was also our chosen class song at the major seminary, St. Mary’s Seminary and Pontifical University.

The Hot House

During the eight years I was in the seminary, we were required to spend eight weeks of our summer “vacation” at Camp Gibbons, the diocesan camp for seminarians on Schroon Lake in the Adirondack Mountains. The schedule was much more relaxed than the seminary’s. In the morning they bussed in children from parishes in several towns near the camp for religious instructions. It was a chance for us to teach catechism.  The rest of the day was time for swimming, playing tennis, sun bathing, and living a of luxury. Our colleague from other dioceses accused us of being put in a “hot house” for the summer to maintain our chastity by not being open to the temptations of the outside world. Looking back, I suspect that they were right. Especially, since we were under the watchful eye of our bishop, who spent his summer with us in what he called “his Villa”.  At the time I thought it was just another opportunity to bond with your brother seminarians, after all they would be my major support group after ordination.

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When I was getting close to ordination, one of our neighbors, a non-catholic woman wrote a poem that she dedicated to me. The title was, He Walks with the Hand of God. I just remember the first line or two, a little corny but it was her perception. “Not long ago a boy I met, who my kind of did not covet, for he walked with the hand of God. His air was so proud, and he so perfect, for he walked with the hand of God.” You see what I mean about it being a little corny? Thinking about it now, it’s a little scary—me, perfect?—years later I used to do a workshop entitled Be Ye Perfect: Mission Impossible! I must have intuitively known before my ordination that perfectionism was not achievable, at least for me.

Here’s another example of the perfection that was expected of me. One of the meditations that I often used in the seminary was written by a Dominican , Jean Baptist-Lacordaire, who lived in the nineteenth century:

Thou Art a Priest Forever

To live in the midst of the world with no desire for its pleasure; to be a member of  every family, yet not belong to none; to share all sufferings; to penetrate all secrets, to heal all wounds; to go daily from men to God to offer Him their homage and petitions; to return from God to men to bring them His pardon and hope; to have a fire for charity and a heart of bronze for chastity; to bless and be blessed forever. O God, what a and it is yours, O Priest of Jesus Christ!

At the time it seemed like a very quixotic role to play. But even then, I used to wonder, why me? There were so many guys in my high school class who were: smarter than I, holier than I, more popular than I, why was I the chosen one? Looking back, Lacordarie’s description of the role and responsibilities of a was indeed a “mission impossible”. The expectations seem overwhelming.  When I expressed my doubts to my seminary confessor, he told me they were just goals and that no one could meet them all the time, and that no one is perfect, we just do the best we can. When I told him about my concern about having “a heart of bronze for chastity”, andthat I was struggling with impure thoughts and temptations, he reassured me that once I was ordained, God would give me the grace that I needed to overcome those temptations.
It was not until I read A.W.Richard Sipe’s book, A Secret World: Sexuality and the Search for Celibacy, published in 1990, I realized just how many other were struggling and often losing their battle to have a “heart of bronze for chastity.”  Sipe is a former , and now is a psychotherapist, who has been engaged in research on the institution of the church and ly celibacy for over thirty years. The research for this book presented empirical evidence of sexual activity by almost 50% of the Roman . I wonderedif my seminary confessor knew that there were that many who were ordained and did not ipso facto receive the grace of celibacy. And if he did, would he have given me different advice.

Ordination

At my first mass there was a line of over 200 people waiting to receive my blessing. I realized that it was not Don Fausel they were waiting for, but Fausel—but it was still a rather spine-tingling feeling to have everyone from my long lost relatives to Erastus Corning II, the mayor of Albany kneeling at my feet as I pronounced in Latin, “May the blessing of Almighty God, Son and Holy Spirit, descend upon you and remain forever.”

After I finished blessing everyone, my boyhood friend, Muggsy McGraw, pulled me aside, and brought me down to earth in his own inimical way, “Look Fausel, you got your butt in a tub of butter, three squares a day and no heavy lifting, don’t screw it up! You got instant status, instant security, and a job for . Yesterday you were nobody and today you’re Fausel. Ya get my drift? ” How right he was!

But I was elevated again when I got to my first parish. Like most parishes in those days, there was an older lady that acted as cook and housekeeper for the . We ate at a formal table with a white table cloth, the pastor sitting at the head carving the roast; solid silver eating utensils, expensive China dinnerware, and a little bell to summon the cook for dessert or coffee. I’d come a long way from the kitchen table where my family ate our meals and where I thought my mother ate the neck and wings of the chicken because she liked them.

I remember one morning I went into the kitchen after Mass to let the housekeeper know I was ready for breakfast.  I noticed a note scotch taped to the wall that said, Fausel, turned over easy.” My immediate thought was someone had been monitoring my sleeping habits, until she told me the note was a reminder of how I wanted my eggs. Sitting at that table alone for breakfast, I always felt like the “poor little rich boy.”

Then there was Mamma Leone’s Italian restaurant on West 48th Street off Eighth Avenue, one of the most popular eating places in New York City. When I was a student at Columbia, occasionally several of us cleric types would go there for dinner dressed in our clothes.  We’d be standing outside in a long line, when a Maitre D’ would spot us and rush out to say loud enough so others could hear him, s your reservations are ready”, and then usher us into the restaurant, leaving dozens of dinners waiting behind . Of course we didn’t have reservations. As I became more accustomed to similar privileged treatment, it was easy to assume it was an entitlement.

In my memoir I recalled an incident about the pastor of the church I was assigned to in the Schenectady, NY. It was in the early sixties, I was on duty at the rectory, when I received a phone call from the captain of a police precinct in New York City. He introduced himself and asked if we had a Mac (factious name) stationed at our parish. He went on to tell me that they picked him up at a local hotel down near the Bowery and he was “drunk as a skunk” and didn’t have money to pay for the hotel room. He told me they wouldn’t press charges, and asked if we could pick him up. I told him I’d be down the next day and thanked him.  Before hanging up he sheepishly gave me some advice, “Look , this poor guy needs some professional help. Our records show that this ain’t the first time we picked him up. You know what I mean?”  The next day I was off to NYC to pick up our pastor. It was a sad one hundred and fifty mile drive back to Schenectady. Mac was either apologizing profusely or crying, or both.

This episode demonstrates several things about the : the deference the police captain had for hood, and the willingness he had to cover up for a drunken . Plus my congenital condition of being an enabler and coming to Fr. Mac’s rescue, so he wouldn’t be embarrassed for having been charged with a crime and the parishioners wouldn’t be scandalized by his behavior. The good news is that the other associate pastor in the parish and I arranged a quasi-intervention to persuade Mac to get professional help. Which he did!

Priests Need Priests

There were number of us relatively newly minted stationed in Schenectady. A few of us decided we’d like to get together on a regular basis to go out for lunch. The group grew to about eight or ten. We would meet at different restaurant each week, have lunch and chat mostly about what was going on in our parishes, complain about our pastors, gossip about who might be made a pastor, etc. Some of us would play golf together, maybe go to an occasional movie, or go to NYC for a Broadway musical, and several of us when to Cape Cod for a week’s vacation. Our mantra was Priests need Priests. There’s certainly no question about that, who else were we going to relax with or enjoy our free time with? It only occurred to me recently, even though we might talk occasionally about theological issues or the up-coming Vatican Council, it was always on an intellectual level. Even if we discussed mandatory celibacy it was not about our getting married if they changed the rules, it was as if we depersonalized it. As I remember we never talked about feeling or personal problems that we might be struggling with. At least that I was struggling with. Being able to share feelings should have been one of the major reasons the Priests need Priests group were meeting for.

Fast Forward to 2002

On June 12, 2002, my friend John Rusnak and I boarded a plane to Dallas Texas to attend the meeting of the United States Conference of s (USCCB). We were not invited quests of the bishops but where members of Call to Action (CTA). John was the president of the Arizona Chapter and I was a card carrying member. We had been reading the news papers accounts about the out- break of the scandal of pedophile in the Boston Globe, and we were a tad cynical that the bishops would have the integrity to put the best interests of the victims and their families ahead of their history of secrecy of protecting the church. As we buckled ourselves into our seats and the cabin door slammed shut, I looked at John and said, “What the hell are we doing going to Dallas?” Neither of us had a rational answer, but our plane was taxing down the runway as we both shrugged our shoulders as if to say—beats me!

Well, here we are ten years later! Little did we think that the sexual abuse of minors would be worldwide.  In the United States most are still not satisfied with the bishops’ negligible response to the sexual abuse debacle, or with the fact that the bishops refuse to acknowledge, and take responsibility for their part in covering up for the perpetrators.

So contrast those experiences I described above, when I was wearing a Roman collar to about forty some years later to the USCCB 2002 meeting in Dallas. In addition to attending some very stimulating workshops, one of the other activities our CTA group participated in was a protest march from a local parish to the luxurious Freemont Hotel where the bishops were holding their meetings. The closest we could get to their hotel was across the street, where we set up our signs of protest and peacefully demonstrated. At one point I had to go to the men’s room. When I tried to cross the yellow tape police markers, I was informed by a policeman, that I wasn’t allowed in the hotel unless I was a guest. When I explained my urgency, he accompanied me into the hotel, turned me over to another officer who told me I would have to give him my driver’s license before I could take care of business. The men’s room that I used was not even close to the room where the bishops were holding their meeting. I guess they weren’t taking any chances.  Since the media was out in full force, the thought briefly went through my mind to make a scene, but nature’s call prevailed.

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The few experiences I described about my as a seminarian and (I have a million of them) might seem rather trivial, but they’re typical of the unearned deference and distinction made between and “ordinary folks” that underlies ism. It’s the same distance that the movement brought to our attention when they pointed out the disparity of the 1% of the top of the economy to the 99% at the bottom. As we definitely were part of a privileged class, not just in those little acts of reverence we were given, but more significant was always right. After all, at that time had more education than most of our parishioners. We had spent four years after college studying theology; we had the power to administer all the sacraments; we were always in a place of honor at any parish event. The only ones in the Church that were above us were the bishops and the pope.

Remember as we were at the bottom rung of the latter.  Although there was often a gap between and people, I don’t believe that gap was the same for every , or that most had ambitions to climb up that latter. Nor do I believe that every bishop is equally addicted to the power that corrupts to the point that he loses sight of the children he is suppose to protect from predator , or the disenfranchise in society, and puts his own or the church’s interest first. But given the structure of governance of the church, its current , its process of how clerics are groomed, and given the psychosocial up-bringing that many clerics bring to the table, major changes are essential for the future of the Church. Please join me on my next blog, where I will discuss solutions to these issues.

The Great Story

According to my grandmother, Mary Frances , in Ireland captured the s of their audiences by opening their stories with, “Once upon a time, long, long ago, longer than I can tell you and longer than you can tell me and, ten times longer than anyone can tell the both of us, there was…” Well have I got a story to tell! Some call it the , others The New , and still others the New Cosmology. Whatever you call it, it has the potential to change our vision of God and the Universe. At least it has for me.

The is not a story that I made up, but one I leaned from studying the works of some of the greatest scientists and theologians, and from reflecting on my own experience, as I searched the literature of the post Hubble telescope cosmology, and worked at finding my place in this awesome Universe.

The Universe that we are part of is profoundly different from the small and simpler world in which our ancestors lived. If we clung to the stories they told to explain their world, we would still believe that: the earth was flat; it was the center of the world; the sun and moon and stars orbited around the earth; the earth was created by God in six days and on the sixth day God was so tired he had to rest. We would also believe that: God created two humans (Adam and Eve) in His image and likeness and, they did not evolve over a period of billions of years but on the sixth day, they with all the other creatures that would inhabit the earth, were created as we know them today; Adam and Eve were thrown out of paradise where they lived, because they committed a  sin by eating an apple, all their progeny inherited their sin; and according to St. Augustine, their sin was passed on to us through the male’s semen.

How do we know all these “facts”? In the words of a comforting child’s hymn, “For the Bible tells me so.” Not surprisingly the renowned scriptural scholar Raymond E. Brown, SS has a different opinion of the creation of the first man and woman. According to Brown, “Today no serious theologian accepts this understanding of how (man was created), because of the scientific favoring evolution …”.

I can understand how our ancestors believed that story. They obviously didn’t have the benefit of the scientific information that we have today. They were primitive, uneducated people who couldn’t even imagine the billions of years it took for the earth and humans to evolve. Nor could they imagine the vastness of the Universe that our little planet is part of.  What is hard for me to understand is that there are people living today that still believe the stories our ancestors leaned and cherished. I’m not judging them, it just difficult for me to comprehend how they still can take that story literally, in the face of what we have learned from science.

I agree with Michael Dowd, when he wrote in his book, Thank God For Evolution, and evolution are one and the same. Science and religion go hand in hand. One without the other leaves humanity lost in the literature, searching in vain for answers to post-modern problems in ancient religious texts written when people believed the world was flat. Only by looking through evolutionary eyes can we see our way out of the current global integrity crisis that is destroying economies and ecosystems around the world.”

The is an invitation to a journey that no previous generation could even envision.  As mathematician/cosmologist Brian Swimme states in his book Journey of the Universe that he co-authored with Mary Evelyn Tucker, “We are the first generation to learn the comprehensive scientific dimensions of the Universe story (The ). We know that the observable Universe emerged 13.7 billion years ago, and we now live on a small planet orbiting our Sun, one of the trillions of stars in one of the billion of galaxies in an unfolding Universe that is profoundly creative and interconnected.”  Wow! I find it difficult to imagine billions and trillions of anything.  If it were not for the space telescopes like the Hubble (1990)  and Spitzer (2003) that brought us back photographs and videos of our expanding Universe, I probably would still be watching the sun “rise” in the East and “set” in the West, without ever figuring out that we were orbiting the sun and not vice versa.

The more I learned about our expanding Universe and my relationship to it, the more I needed to question my vision of God. To paraphrase scripture, “When I was a child, I spoke and thought like a child, (Italics are my addition) I believed like a child, I prayed like a child, I reasoned like a child’. But when I grew up, I spoke and thought critically as an adult, I understood and took responsibility for the primacy of my conscience, and I prayed with a new vision of the Universe and God. I put away childish ideals. (I Corinthians 13:11) Now I no longer: pray as a child as I did when I used to invoke God’s intervening power to help me hit a homerun, or get good marks on my report card; nor am I governed by blind obedience by any authority figure; nor a victim of a unpredictable God, who governes  by guilt and shame.

I became more conscious of Jesus’ words that “The Kingdom of God is within us.” God was no longer a “looking down on us”, punishing God. To use metaphorical language, God is: energy, light, compassion, justice, love, etc. My first choice is that God is best described by the metaphor, Love.

This new vision of the expanding Universe is described in the , and the vision of God as Love, is described in both the Gospel of John, and derived from metaphorical language. This makes more sense to me than relying on the stories of our ancestors.

I welcome your thoughts on this blog on the . For more information I suggest the following links on my website under the title of ism and Evolution.  Scroll down to Resources for Further Study. There are 17 annotated references. I particularly recommend:  #4 Michael Dowd’s website. He is the author of Thank God for Evolution; #15 is the website for Connie Barlow’s The .

Also here is a Power Point of, Our Place in the Universe. From, “Pearson Education, Inc.”  Published as Addison-Wesley.