Dear Paul Baumann,
The article that you wrote for Commonweal in response to the New Yorker article on women called to the Roman Catholic priesthood was remarkably sloppy. Rather than waste my time with the exceedingly boring task of deconstructing an argument that simply boils down to good old-fashioned sexism, I want to address your lack of basic journalistic integrity. To start, you claim in regards to us women who are called that “there is something jarring about [our] conviction that the Church exists to ‘meet [our] needs’ and will ‘fall into irrelevance’ if it does not.” Here, you are attributing the words of a parishioner in a female priest’s community to the four of us. Yet, none of us offers any such sentiment about the Church existing to meet our needs. Rather--if you actually read our stories carefully—it is plainly obvious that each of us has been deeply shaped by the Church to serve the Church. So much for your claim that we have “little appreciation” for the Church’s role in forming us. You go on to characterize us as clamoring for “self-determination.” Once again, the four of us do not speak about our vocation to priesthood in this manner. Quite the opposite: our stories point clearly to the reality that it is God who is determining who we are—not us—and we are simply struggling the best we can to honor God’s desires. Nonetheless, you take Natalia Imperatori-Lee’s comment regarding women’s desire in general “to be seen as human beings with the capacity for self-determination” out of context and use it to reduce our vocations to mere “self-expression.” What you call “self-expression," we call honoring the Holy Spirit within us. Next, you say that we “repeatedly declare a love and attachment” to “Catholicism’s ‘rituals, its liturgy, and its tradition of service to the poor.’” Yet, again, you extract a phrase Talbot uses to describe the type of Catholics who are drawn to worship in one particular congregation, and weaponize it as a way to dismiss our vocations as some kind of “liberal Western sensibility.” And so what if we love ritual and Catholic Social Teaching? We are Roman Catholic, after all. And while you get to sit on your throne with every male privilege and judge us, we have to draw from the very bedrock of a faith that is nourished by liturgy and the social justice teachings in order to have the grit necessary to walk the excruciating path of a call to ordination. Finally, at the end of the article, you claim that “some of the women” in this article are “sadly” telling Roman Catholics to basically “forget their common past,” which amounts to telling them to “’get lost, die off, and disappear.” However, not one of us says anything remotely resembling this sentiment. In fact, many of us are educated ministers with seminary degrees from reputable institutions who practice a faith and leadership deeply rooted in the Roman Catholic tradition. Frankly, I am not sure how it is possible to read the article by Talbot with any care whatsoever and produce the article you did. If I made errors of this magnitude at my job, I would be fired. What I find most appalling about your piece is that it is plainly evident that you do not trust that we as women are mature, thinking, praying adults who are quite capable of discernment. Thank you for modeling so clearly the manner in which some men feel they are entitled to dismiss women as if we are children. This is precisely the problem, is it not? In closing, let me wrap it up for you: you messed up, dude, and big time. You owe us an apology. I expect to see it in the next issue of Commonweal. Father Anne Everyone has an opinion about what I am doing. They love it! They hate it! I should do “x!” I should NOT do “y!” People have thoughts on how I present myself, what I say, what I wear, who I am. I'm a heretic. I'm a hero. I'm sick. I'm strong. I'm being led astray (as if I don't have my own thinking mind and praying heart). I'm on the path of the Holy Spirit. Most recently, a friend and kindred spirit told me that a friend of his read the New Yorker article and in the most kind and sincere way said, “I respect what she is doing, but I cannot help but feel her efforts will be a waste.” Ouch.
In one way, all this energy is thrilling. The sheer fact that people respond so strongly in this or that way means that I am up to something very important. And, as excruciating as this path is, I feel alive. Not to mention, people often times share things that are extremely helpful, and I feel God’s touch through them. But, on the other hand, there is so, so much noise. It’s easy to feel hurt or confused or hesitant or dejected. After all, I am not even ordained yet: I am just a fledgling trying to find my way step by step—slowly discovering who I am as a priest. This formation is not something that can be rushed, but it can be delayed if I get knocked off course. When I catch myself marveling at all the commentary, I recall a conversation that I had some months ago with an Episcopal priest. She was about my age, give or take, and shared that she had been a priest for 23 years. Twenty-three years! I was taken aback, literally knocked backwards. I was amazed. Her gender was a non-issue: she was able to follow her vocation as a young woman, and she has had a long and fruitful career doing what she loves—what God has called her to do. She was able to say “yes” without one word about it. With all that swirls around me, I am keenly aware that more than ever I must stay rooted in the Spirit. Like the disciples in this Sunday's gospel, I return from my work of the day to eagerly share in my prayer all that has transpired with Jesus. He listens, sympathizes, teases. Then, he takes me by the hand and leads me to a deserted place. There, the quiet blankets all the noise within me and God’s voice swells up through the silence to teach me about the path, about who I am. It is my goal that someday, when I am old and gray, I will have the distinct pleasure of watching young women enter the Roman Catholic priesthood without one word about it. As long as that prayer glows in my heart, my efforts will never be wasted. My Facebook page transformed overnight from a place of support and encouragement to one of harassment and cruelty. It is clear that some people do not appreciate my challenge to long-held traditions—traditions they rely on to make sense of the world around them. My ministry threatens their worldview, and so they lash out in an effort to keep things stable and familiar.
I have been diligently praying through the comments and reactions, trying to discern whether and how to respond. I have to take the time to sort through the emotions that rush to the surface. I ask the Spirit to look with me, to teach me about myself, about the situation, about the path forward. Only when I reach a place of inner freedom do I respond with loving kindness to those who degrade me. I do this in a true effort to make a respectful connection across the great chasm of difference between us. I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, perhaps it is a waste of time. Have I really changed anyone’s mind? Also, it is draining, and it is particularly demoralizing to see this behavior from women--especially young women--who have internalized the Church's sexism so completely that they actually believe women are deficient. On the other hand, it’s important to show what female priests experience. The anger. The derision. The hatred. The disrespect. There it is, in black and white: the tangible effects of a Church doctrine that teaches inequality. There is no denying the darkness. And practically? Well, its good practice: I need to sharpen my chops. I want to be like Rev. Shanon Sterringer, who swooped in on my page and blasted these folks with both barrels. She is so educated, so competent and so articulate, no one can touch her. My goal is to be like that. After all, the more support I gain, the more public condemnation I will receive. (I will really know I’ve made it when I start receiving death threats.) An interesting effect of this ongoing harassment is that I feel much closer to Jesus--and in a new way. For the first time, I have a *tiny* taste of his particular experience of rejection and humiliation. In my prayer we were sitting together on the trunk of a fallen tree at the edge of a meadow. He looked at me and with a wry smile said, “It’s not that fun, is it?” Shaking my head, I chuckled, “No, it isn’t.” He skooched closer, threw his arm over my shoulder, and we laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I got you.” What I realized this week on a visceral level is that I have to come to grips with the reality that an important part of my ministry is enduring this abuse. I cannot let it eat away my spirit and my stomach lining. Instead, I must welcome it, purify it, and offer love back as a response--and to do all this as prayer... for the Church, for God, and for justice. This is the way of Jesus, and it is the only way the cycle of darkness can be broken. It is perhaps true that most people would much rather have things remain the same--even if that means sacrificing the salvation God is so generously offering. But convincing people to change is not the point. As the reading this week from Ezekiel reminds us, God does not ask us to bring about results necessarily, but rather to be faithful to what God calls us to do--who God calls us to be. For the point is that, whether the people heed or resist, it is through us and our love that they shall know that God’s Spirit has been among them. Women are the backbone of the Catholic Church. We hold 80% of lay ecclesial ministry positions (including women religious) and I venture to say we do the lion’s share of the volunteering. Without women, parishes simply would not be able to operate. Period. Yet, we are excluded from Church governance and sacramental ministry. Why--why—do we accept this treatment?
Sociologists have studied ad nauseam the myriad ways cultural messaging tries to shape and control women. We are expected to sacrifice, to accommodate, to be silent. To be the caretakers, the harmonizers, the peacemakers. We are warned about being too loud, too ambitious, too demanding. And above all, we—unlike the boys—are expected to follow the rules, especially when those rules don’t serve us. What if we stopped behaving? Want to see the gears of the Catholic Church come to a grinding halt? Imagine all female staff going on strike. And all female volunteers following suit. And all the men who are down for the cause doing the same. Now imagine all the women parishioners who give to their local parish or school or Archbishop’s appeal diverting all of their families' donations into a fund to pay the wages of the workers who are on strike. And now imagine all those staff and volunteers using their newfound free time to pester the shit out of the bishops—the same bishops who would begin to feel the squeeze from stressed priests who can no longer keep their parishes running without the support of women. What would happen then? Would we be taken seriously? The truth is women already have the collective power to create change in the Church. It is up to us to stand together as one body in the Spirit and use it. I personally know many priests who privately believe the Church should ordain women to the priesthood. And though I don't rub elbows with Bishops, I imagine there are a fair number of them who think the same. So, the question is, why--for the most part (thank you, Germany and now Ireland)--aren't they speaking out? Practicing dissent in the Catholic Church is *tricky* business. It's easy enough to internally dissent on this or that issue in the quiet of our own hearts. We can also privately dissent with a friend or colleague--even with a priest or bishop--without much ado. But open and public disagreement with official Church teaching? This is much harder, especially if the end goal is to inspire movement on a teaching. This is because the magisterium generally relates to acts of dissent as threats to its teaching authority rather than as promptings to discernment. And though Pope Francis has a gentler touch on these kinds of things, obedience is deeply, deeply etched into the Catholic psyche. We all know what happened to theologian Charles Curran and Fr. Roy Bourgeois for challenging the magisterium on points of Catholic teaching. Public dissent means potentially attracting the Eye of Sauron, and with it grave punishment. In such a climate, priests and bishops who believe in ordination justice for the most part simply stay quiet, opting to minister as best they can under the circumstances. It's understandable. Still, we have to ask: what is the cost of this silence? Women suffer psychological injury, girls are taught they are less than human, boys learn they are inherently superior, and men never have to relate to women as true equals (and you better believe this also shows up at home and in the workplace). Further, the Church not only loses out on the gifts of female leaders, it increasingly forfeits its power to participate in the public square in meaningful ways. Understandable or not, the cost of this complicit silence is enormous, and as long as these priests and bishops stay quiet, a great moral maiming continues at the hands of the Catholic Church and, very sadly, in the name of Jesus. Yet, things could change--and change rapidly (at least in Church time). What if our brothers who have collars and wear mitres transitioned from private allies to public dissenters? What if they called for open dialogue on ordination? What if in one collective and prophetic voice they made a stand on behalf of women, on behalf of God? Imagine, just imagine, the difference they would make. So, gentlemen, how about it? We need you to use those balls God gave you and make a stand for justice. Photo by Nacho Arteaga on Unsplash I've grown tired of people singing Pope Francis' praises. Yes, he is an awesome human being with one of the hardest jobs in the world. He is deeply compassionate. He is a man of prayer and discernment. He centers the experience of the poor. He cares for creation. He provides us with stirring documents. He has to deal with backstabbing garbage from people like Archbishop Viganò, and he does so with grace. And yes, he has appointed women to positions of power, even giving one of them an actual vote (yes, but one out of how many--let us not get too excited about the tiny crumb from the table).
Yeah, yeah, yeah. He's great. He's so great, that he has been pushing for synodality for years, working to decentralize power so that decision-making in the Church is more collaborative and consultative. Synodality is all about journeying together, accompaniment, dialogue. In fact, there is an excellent article by Cardinal Tobin in this month's Commonweal that describes this "long game" and its benefits. I get that. Synodality is super important and absolutely must be pursued. But pin our hopes on it? I don’t know. Maybe this is easy for the people at the top to do. But down here on the bottom, things are a mess. We have a Church that people are leaving every year BY THE THOUSANDS. Bishops have zero credibility in the secular world after the sexual abuse crisis (and clamoring to deny people communion based on this or that reason ain't gonna earn it back, guys). Parish staff are being crushed to death by never-ending workloads and poverty wages. Every week there seems to be yet another atrocious scandal in the media (mother and baby homes, anyone?). And, oh yeah, we are running out of priests. The Titanic is sinking, so forgive me if I roll my eyes every time I hear about the long game of synodality. By the time the long game kicks in, how many of us will have drowned? (And, by the way, is true synodality even possible when women are not part of the magisterium?) Here's the thing: This colossal mess—it's not just about the Church. It is about the world. The Church's mission is to be God's love in the world, and let's face it, we are in such a mess at this point that it is very difficult for us to do this effectively. Let's take Ethiopia, for example. Right now women are being systematically gang raped by Eritrean soldiers as a tactic of war. Really think about what that must be like for a woman to experience, about the impact it must have on her life, her family, her relationships, her health, her dreams. Now, I ask, how can the Catholic Church--with no credibility in the eyes of the secular world and with its very own long history of oppressing women--say one thing to confront this situation in any sort of meaningful way? The truth of the matter is that there are millions and millions of people both in and out of the Church that simply cannot afford to wait for the long game to materialize. This does not mean the long game should not be played--it should. But, we also need a short game, and an aggressive one at that. To this point, I invite Pope Francis to more boldly claim his papal power even while he diligently works to decentralize it. And one thing he can do right now is #LiftTheBan and allow us as a Church to freely dialogue about ordaining women to the priesthood. For we will never--and I mean NEVER--get out of this mess as long as women are excluded from fully participating in leadership and governance. We cannot wait any longer. The only way forward is for both men and women to collaborate with the Spirit on charting the course to tomorrow. #TimesUpPopeFrancis. How do you decide to end the life of your best friend? I grapple with this question each time one of my dogs approaches death. I especially struggled with Border, the dog with whom I had the deepest relationship.
My faith is the primary source of my struggle. After all, the Catholic Church is a pro-life church, teaching that the dignity of human life is sacred from womb to tomb, as they say. Unfortunately, the term "pro-life" is generally reduced both inside and outside the Church to one issue and one issue alone: the stance against abortion. However, being truly pro-life encompasses far more than this. Being pro-life is a way of seeing the world and all that is in it. It is a view that acknowledges God's desires of salvation for all human life, whether it is in the womb (or, let's not forget, the mother with that womb), crossing the US-Mexico border, sentenced to life in a federal prison, mumbling to one's self on the street corner, or trading sex for meth at a truck stop. To be pro-life is to see value in all people and to stand up for the voiceless, the oppressed, the crucified. To hold to account the powerful, the greedy, and the cruel. To sacrifice one's self in order to help God create a just, equitable and compassionate world where all people and communities can thrive. (So, let's be clear, Donald Trump: you are NOT pro-life. Not by a long shot.) This acknowledgment of the inherent sanctity of life is the bedrock of Catholic Social Teaching. It is an inspired and inspiring way of understanding the great gift of being alive. But, where do animals fit into this framework? Ah, a different standard applies, you might say. Hmmm...does it? Why as human beings are we so quick to jump to the conclusion that our lives are more sacred, more special, more meaningful than any other creature on earth? That we have the right to shoot animals for sport, to carry out brutal science experiments on them, to annihilate their habitat, to corral them into the unspeakable cruelty of factory farms (do you know they rip the testicles off male piglets without even a drop of anesthesia? Think about that next time you eat that bacon that you don't really need.). Why is it that we think we are so different, so much better, so entitled? Yes, we have special gifts and certainly a different level of power and responsibility, but we are not more sacred. God's Spirit runs through every single thing on this planet, and God is continually inviting us into a deeper noticing of this sanctity pulsating all around us. Where does this leave me? When one of my dogs approaches death, I agonize about whether and when to euthanize. What does God want for this creature? Is God asking me to end their suffering or am I taking power that is not mine to take? Is euthanasia a compassionate gift (the constant refrain of the veterinarians) or am I interfering with God's process of preparing this life for its earthly conclusion? Who am I to take a life away? It's excruciating. I run through these gymnastics each time, and each time I end up at the same place: it is unethical for me to intervene and end this life that God has brought into the world. This is not my right--it is God's and God's alone. But then, there is the reality in front of me. I look deeply into the eyes of the being who is suffering. Who is falling down in his own urine and feces, and is too weak to pull himself up. Who is so thin from illness that you can count every bone in her spine and ribcage. Who paces night after night because his dementia is so severe he cannot sleep, even with the help of a tranquilizer. Whose yellow eyes stare into mine, saying "I am ready to go." What does it mean to be pro-life now? Do I to allow the slow and painful decline to continue for weeks or even months? Do I order the killing of this creature with whom I am deeply bonded? I beg God in prayer for answers, but they do not come. I am left without clarity, only love. I opt for mercy and make the decision to intervene, to bring the suffering in their eyes to an end. Maybe it is the right thing to do. Maybe I am just too weak to allow life to fully run its course. Whatever the case, it rips me apart every time, and all I can do is ask the Lord for forgiveness. As difficult as this process is, I hope it never gets easier. I will enter the end-of-life phase with every dog anew. Each life on this earth matters. The trees and the rivers and the bees matter. All is imbued with God's Spirit, with everything communicating to us something about who God is, what God desires, what God dreams. I consciously embrace being a human being in this sacred milieu, as well as the burden of this terrifying power. This burden is the price of living life through the eyes of the Sacred Heart of God. It is the price of love. -- In loving memory of Border, who passed away this day of December 8th, 2020 at 9:11 am. One aspect of my call to ministry is to rescue senior dogs with special needs and provide them with end-of-life care. I rescued Border in late June of 2017. She was ten or eleven years old--sweet, smart, loyal and always ready for an adventure. I obliged: I adopted her in San Diego and three days later tossed her in the car and drove to Tacoma, WA to start a new life.
Those were good days. Border and I did everything together. She came with me on errands, to friends' homes--even to the office every single day. She cared about one thing, and one thing only: being by my side. We were close. Like two peas in a pod. And it's been that way since...up until a few months ago. Border developed cognitive disorder earlier this year, a condition similar to dementia. What does it look like in dogs, you ask? Dogs with cognitive disorder stare at the wall, get trapped behind open doors (staring out between the hinges with uncertainty as to how to escape), get stuck under furniture like kitchen tables and futons, forget commands, start going to the bathroom in the house, stop playing with their toys, give up sleep for relentless pacing, and--eventually--even forget how to eat or drink. It is heartbreaking to witness, and it becomes a challenge to determine when the end has arrived. These months have been difficult but the thing I did not anticipate is the almost total transformation of her personality. Where there was once a sweet, snuggly girl, there is now a snarl-faced grump who no longer likes affection. She doesn't allow me to pet her. She doesn't sleep with me. She snaps at me if I get too close. The girl I once knew is gone. I miss my friend. All this being said, I feel honored to walk with her as she approaches the end of this life. I give her the best care I can under the circumstances. She gets lots of time outside to sniff all the interestings left behind by passersby. We play a bit of fetch at the park, which she loves though she struggles to track the stick. I hand feed her at mealtime since she usually cannot figure out how to get the food out of the bowl. It's all precious time for she will be gone soon, and I will be left with my broken heart. Border has been the face of God for me. I pray that now I, too, can be the same for her. |