Last week I scored an invite to a “Clergywomen’s Breakfast” sponsored by the New Mexico Council of Churches. There is a pastor here in ABQ who looks out for me, constantly connecting me with the goings-on around town. Because I am excommunicated from the Roman Catholic Church, I find it difficult to learn about what is happening in the Church world, Roman Catholic and beyond. She always thinks of me, and I am especially grateful for her.

I was honored and excited to go the breakfast. Often I feel alone. Since I am presently focusing on Church reform, I do not have the bandwidth to start and build a faith community from scratch. I frequently catch myself pining for my former Jesuit parish communities--the intense connection of journeying together with a group people in love with God. I do not have that here, and like so many others in the Catholic Church, I do not know when or if I will have it again. I was looking forward to being in a room full of people who adore God so much they devote their lives to God’s work.

There were maybe 30 women present from various traditions: Presbyterian, Methodist, Mennonite, Disciples of Christ, Judaism, United Church of Christ, Lutheran, and probably several others. Of course, I was the only Roman Catholic priest present since clergy in my tradition are only male. We had a lovely casual breakfast, then circled up for sharing. The facilitator was fabulous, posing simple questions that provoked inner searching and generosity of heart. It was an impressive group of women.

At first I felt inspired. It was a pleasure to listen to them reflect. Then, as the hour continued on, my energy began to drain out of my body into a pool beneath my chair. Some of the women talked about looking forward to sabbaticals; others shared about the challenges they face as pastors trying to rekindle community life in the wake of COVID; still others talked about retirement after decades of service.

Depression descended into my heart-space. My body became so heavy I would have loved to slide down my chair onto the floor to sleep for a week. I didn’t recognize what was going on until I got in my car to drive home: every woman in that room was fully supported by her institution. The more I listened, the more I fell into a pit of despair.

Over the rest of the day, I pondered. Why couldn’t I forget my own situation and simply focus on celebrating and learning from these remarkable women, their work, their lives? Am I a weak sinner? Yup. Do I lack maturity? Probably. Am I a wounded child? For sure.

Then an insight crystalized in my prayer in a way it hadn’t previously. One of the greatest and most dangerous temptations I face on a daily basis in my work as a priest-reformer in the Roman Catholic Church is to compare myself to others. Women clergy in this or that tradition. Male clergy in my own. I must admit too many times I stare out the window and think about just how different my life would be if I were a man.
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Inevitably, though, after I take these little psychic trips of exploration, I always return back home to myself--grateful for who I am and my unique path. In the end, there is only one person I want to be, and only one place I want to be in. Father Anne. On the journey of a lifetime for God.    

I was recently on a podcast called You're On Mute with Aisha. Aisha is a friend of mine, a person who truly desires the best for all people. She is humble and fun and honest. We talked about many things, including the idea of a good death.  As part of the podcast, we wrote letters to one another. Below is my letter to her. 

Dear Aisha, 

I often visualize my own death. In my imagination, it is a good death. I am laying on my death bed, aware that I have reached the end. I am readying to make the final surrender, the biggest transition we must make in our lives—the letting go of our bodies so that we can pass into the next life. 

I live my whole life to feel a certain way in this moment. Totally empty, having poured my whole self out for the world, having done everything I could to become the person God invited me to be. I feel satisfied for the gift that has been my life, I give thanks, and I let go. 

Then I think about the moment I leave my body and enter the process of joining God. I finally encounter God in God’s total fullness, without any veil. Meeting God, I will say, “I did it, Lord, I did everything that you have asked of me.” And God will smile and say with tenderness, “Thank you.” 
I live my whole life for those two moments. The inevitability of my death shapes my life: it shapes my path, my decisions, my heart and mind and soul. It helps me become the person I desire to be for myself, for others and for God. I want to die well, empty, yet totally full at the same time. Full of gratitude and love and joy. 

What is a good death look like for you? Every day we witness people being robbed of a good death. George Floyd. Breonna Taylor. Men experiencing homelessness being shot in their sleep. Indigenous women and girls who are disappeared. Those dying in refugee camps. In the cruel and heartless wars in Ukraine, Ethiopia, and Yemen. Animals dying in laboratories, in factory farms, at the hands of poachers, as if they are objects that mean nothing. 

God sees all. Every single creature deserves to die with dignity. May we all do our part to create the world that makes this possible. 

In prayer,
Father Anne+

We are in a new historical moment. In many countries the majority of Roman Catholics believe women should be ordained to the priesthood. This includes many priests, religious, deacons and bishops who privately believe that women should be ordained as priests, though they remain silent. We have a Jesuit Pope who is truly docile to the Holy Spirit. And many religious traditions and the secular world clearly demonstrate the larger awakening of God's people to gender equality.

Now take this steamy cauldron that has been brewing for many decades and create an opening for people to share their prayer with the bishops and Pope. This is exactly what Pope Francis has done in opening the Synod on Synodality, a worldwide listening process that invites the many, many, MANY people--lay, clergy, religious, and those outside the Church--to make their prayer heard on this issue. It is a crack in the armor that has long surrounded the issue of women’s ordination.

Yet, time and again I hear hopelessness about the synod: nothing significant has happened in the past with synods, so why should it happen now? On the one hand, I get this. When we are disappointed so many times, we learn not to hope: it costs too much. On the other hand, such deep pessimism and resignation do not come from the Holy Spirit, and--in fact--they block the ability for the Spirit to flow freely through us and into the world. Each one of us has a share of the Holy Spirit, and we need to allow the Spirit to communicate through us and out into the world. But if we are mired in pessimism and resignation, then Francis and the bishops cannot really see how the Spirit is moving.

You might say, “But what about those bishops who are blocking an honest synod process by closing down dialogue on this and other issues?” I would indeed acknowledge that, yes, some are up to shenanigans. But, I would also ask, "Do you really believe that the Spirit cannot overcome any of the tricks they are pulling?" The Holy Spirit is *far* more powerful than anything they can dish up. When we feel despair like this, it is because we locate our center in humanity rather than God. The Holy Spirit has been slowly cultivating gender equality in the Roman Catholic Church for a very long time and the Spirit is now poised to make the final push. She absolutely can enter through this crack, however small, and blow the issue wide open.  

In order for this to happen, we have to believe in Her. Really believe. And believing means that we have to let go of our past hurts and disappointments and risk hope that the power of the resurrection is right now laboring persistently to bring Church teachings into gospel alignment. All we have to do is to remember the many times throughout history that our God of liberation has prevailed in spite of all of our mistakes, shenanigans, and fears. God does prevail because God loves us.

We are challenged to truly be an Easter people. Let us believe wholeheartedly in God's power to prevail.

On Ash Wednesday I worshipped at the Episcopal Cathedral. Since I am not welcome in my own tradition, I took the opportunity to revisit the place of my ordination. I hadn’t been back since that day in October, and I was wondering how it would feel to return.  

The space was every bit as beautiful as I remembered, and the service was superb. The full choir was vested and sang with reverence. The Dean wore a cope and gave a thought-provoking homily as she radiated with joy. The Bishop, with crozier in hand, presided.

As beautiful as it was, I felt profoundly sad through the service. It was so very similar to the Roman Catholic tradition—the vestments, the order of the service, the music. Yet, it was like being at a best friend’s house when more than anything I just wanted to be at home. I did my best to be present with the people, to give myself over to the prayer, to allow God to minister to me in my sorrow.

When it came time, I filed up to receive my ashes. I happened to end up on the Bishop’s side of the sanctuary. The Cathedral has a communion rail, so I silently took my place on my knees alongside the others. When the Bishop approached, I could tell he recognized me. I was wearing my clerics.

His eyes crinkled from the smile beneath his mask. His expression put me at ease. I hadn’t fully realized until then that I was a bit nervous. In the days leading up to my ordination I received significant media attention to the chagrin of the institutional Roman Catholic Church. I was concerned that the pressure this created had permanently damaged my relationship with the Cathedral community. His smile said otherwise. Walking back to my pew I wondered if we would meet before the night was over.

As the final hymn began, the choir—followed by the clergy—recessed prayerfully down the center aisle, only to travel back up the side aisles and ring the nave of the Church in song. Exquisite. Once the music concluded, a final prayer was offered and the choir, then the assembly, began to disperse.

I stood at the outer edge of my pew for a few final moments of prayer. Then, at the very instant I turned to leave, the Bishop walked up. In one elegant move, he took off his mitre, fell to his knees, bowed his head, and said, “Bless me, Father.”

My jaw fell open. I was stunned into a complete and total silence. I looked down at his head and saw his little red cap. Is this happening? After several moments, I somehow regained a bit of composure. I placed my hand gently on his head, I closed my eyes, and after a very long pause, I prayed a blessing over the Bishop.

And God smiled.  

No one came to Mass at the senior center yesterday. I did all the prep. I did a site visit last week to get to know the space and how I would set it up for prayer. I ironed the altar cloths. I researched and prayed with the scripture, and prepared a homily. I wrote a welcome and some petitions, and ran through the Mass a couple times. I prayed for the community that I was entering, and I prayed in preparation to serve. I drove across town to pick up the freshly baked bread that my friend Aisha, who is not even Catholic, graciously makes for me because she is such a wonderful person (thanks, girlfriend!). I packed up my car and got there an hour early. I set the chapel up just so. I vested, then sat in prayer waiting.

At 2:03 pm it was obvious that no one was going to come to Mass. This could be because I was female. It could be that people are out of the habit of going to Mass due to the pandemic. It could be that even Roman Catholics in this community have given up on the Church. It could be that the administrators did a poor job communicating the opportunity to the residents. Maybe it was a mix of all of the above. Whatever the reason, it hit me kinda hard, and I was surprised by my reaction. After all, none of what I am doing is easy. Still, I thought at least 2 or 3 people would attend, especially after the conversation with staff. As I sat and waited, my heart sank. So. Much. Work. It took the wind out of my sails for the rest of the day. Even though I had so much to do, I ate some brownies instead and went to bed at 8 pm.

I feel defeated at times. This is just the truth. But, thankfully, it doesn't last long. I know in my heart all the work I did--that I am doing--is not for naught. In this case, I learned about designing and preparing a daily Mass, which I have never done. I had the experience of creating a relationship with a facility as a female priest. I learned about sizing up a new space for liturgy. I had the experience of preparing two Masses in one week, and how challenging this is. Though no one showed up, there was a tremendous amount of fruit along the way. I regularly have to practice remaining rooted in this frame of heart.

In truth, I must fight for every single opportunity to minister as a priest. I put in enormous amounts of labor for just a handful of people. But, that's okay: even if my work is for one person it is worth it, because that one person is everything to God. And further, just my existence as a female Roman Catholic priest--whether I minister to one or one hundred people--is a testimony to the truth that God is calling women to serve as priests. Thus, I will always bring my A game, even if no one shows up. By honoring my vocation each day and in every task, God makes me a better priest and a better person, all the while trumpeting to the world that gender equality within the Roman Catholic Church is possible.
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The intense reaction from many Roman Catholics to my ordination on October 16th was anything but Christian. I was verbally attacked, insulted, cyberbullied, harassed. “Demon.” “Clown.” “Deranged.” “The worst thing to ever happen was to give women rights.” “Snip off those sin buttons, and correction administered via open hand for the lot of you.” It was painfully obvious that I was not to be considered a human being worthy of basic respect. I sincerely ask all who participated in this behavior: Is this conduct becoming of a Christian? Is this what the Holy Spirit looks like? As far as I am concerned, these individuals might as well be gathered in a circle yelling, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” I genuinely wonder if they were amassed in a crowd if they would stone me to death in the name of Christ.

The bottom line is that this reaction reveals the power that doctrine has to maim the Body of Christ and lead people away from God’s vision of justice. When a doctrine is anti-God it leads to oppression, derision, hatred. Whether the Church condones the vitriol is a red herring: it simply cannot be denied that the teaching of an all-male priesthood instills the idea that women are defective and deserve to be subjugated. This exclusion is a moral outrage that not only goes against everything Jesus taught, it also carries enormous costs both within and beyond the Church—costs that can no longer be ignored. I challenge every Bishop and the Pope himself to PRAY WITH the comments on Facebook and Twitter in response to my ordination and, in the light of the Holy Spirit, ask themselves: is this what God really desires? 

The more successful I am in my public work for Church justice, the more dangerous things will become. I will have to continually discern questions around my safety: whether to hire security for my Masses, whether to live alone, whether to screen my email and social media. This is the product of theologizing sexism in the name of God while practicing an arrogance that assumes the Church already has all the answers to what it means to be human.  

Regardless of this appalling response to my ordination, I will not allow anyone to dismiss my vocation. Roman Catholics can continue to flog me, crown me with thorns, and nail me to the cross, but it will not change my path. I am willing to be publicly humiliated and crucified for all the world to see if this helps God create the world that God desires. Our Creator has already shown us through Jesus that no matter how we resist, human beings ultimately cannot stop the power of the resurrection from flowing into the world. This is God’s initiative, not mine—I am simply being obedient.
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The historical, archeological and scriptural evidence demonstrates that God has been calling women to serve as equal partners in the Church since its inception. This is a FACT. The time has come for the Roman Catholic Church to right this age-old wrong and bring its teachings into alignment with the gospel. The more the Church resists, the more damage it does to our credibility as an institution and to our ability to carry out the mission of loving the world. People not only leave the Roman Catholic Church because of this teaching, but they are often turned off of God. And THAT—not my ordination—is the true scandal.  

Father Anne

I was harassed by someone on my own mailing list this week. After months of following me, I guess she just now realized that not only did I have a call to priesthood, but that I was going to be ordained. She blew a gasket, and felt she must—for my own good—try to stop me.  
 
In the first email, she sent a link to a blog post of a canon lawyer who explains why the ordination of women is not valid. The next morning—before I had a chance to respond—she sent me another email with a link to an article about a woman excommunicated for receiving holy orders. This time she proceeded to lecture me on the particulars of excommunication (as if I didn't know), and then implored me to “cease and desist” with my sin of ordination. 
 
Being a good Jesuit, I put the best interpretation on her messages. I explained to her that I understood that she felt genuine concern for me and I appreciated that. I went on to say, however, that we were in very different places on the issue. I encouraged her to educate herself, and to consider confronting her own internalized sexism. Then, I asked that she refrain from emailing me anymore about it. 
 
Naturally, she ignored my request and sent another more forceful—almost nasty—email quoting the classic arguments (*yawn*) of John Paul II’s Ordinatio Sacerdotalis. The Church has no authority to ordain women, she exclaimed! Didn't I know that as a woman I cannot act in persona Christi! She demanded that I stop my “fake ordination” before I jeopardize my soul and the souls of those I serve.
 
Dear God. Again, I responded only that she educate herself on the issue and nothing more. And, guess what? Yup, she emailed me AGAIN! This time a full-on snarky message daring me to refute her, and sarcastically telling me to check with Pope Francis to see if anything has changed on the position of women’s ordination since JPII’s pontificate. 
 
Wow. 
 
I could go on and on about this email exchange, but instead I will spare you and say only two things. First, her behavior so clearly reveals the sinfulness of the Church. This woman, an otherwise intelligent human being, actually believes deep down in her heart that an all-powerful Creator simply cannot work through women's defective bodies and, therefore, women must be subjugated to a male authority. Not only is this heartbreaking to witness, it is a moral outrage that a Church with a mission of salvation for all people maims its disciples in this way.  
 
And second? The thing that exasperates me most about this exchange is the same thing that sent me skyrocketing to the moon after reading Paul Baumann’s appalling article in Commonweal: people have the gall to speak to me or about me as if I am a child—as if I am anything other than a thinking, praying, discerning individual who is capable of making mature decisions rooted in a vibrant relationship with God. Somehow, simply by virtue of being female, I am to be dismissed as incapable. It is, in a word, *infuriating.*  
 
The thing is, the woman who harassed me this week acted just like Joshua in today’s first reading. Deeply threatened by the prophetic work of the Spirit, her impulse was to try to stamp it out—to obliterate it. While it's easy to point the finger at her, every single one of us is guilty of behaving like this sometimes. After all, it is natural to want to cling to what we think we know. However, this just isn't the Christian way. Instead, our path as Christians is to be docile enough that we are continually changed by the wisdom of the Spirit.
 
May we all have the humility to be so transformed.