Prophetic Presence, Prophetic Absence
There’s a pit in my stomach these days. The recent public correspondences between the Archdiocese of Chicago and the Illinois States attorney regarding the disclosure of Child Sexual Abusers in recent history has me asking that eternal question once again:
Should I stay, or should I go?
In my Catholic context, often I feel like I’m thrown back and forth between “stay” and “leave” from one day to the next. It often feels like spiritual, emotional, and mental whiplash, weighing the benefits against the costs. My spiritual director often reminds me that as a woman in the Catholic Church, it can become a daily practice to first forgive the church before we go about the work of the church. That ritual of forgiving and recommitting comes with a cost. I’m spent.
Recently, I was interviewed for the DeaconsPod podcast with Paulist Deacon Affiliates. I admire so many faithful Catholics like these for their commitment to people on the margins—for that work of accompaniment with immigrants, women, the LGBTQ community, people of color, the poor and so many whose voice the church seems to willfully ignore or suppress. I know that for many, faithful witness like that of the Paulists is sometimes one of the few things that gives people courage to wear the badge of Catholic identity with pride. After good dialog about all things music and liturgy, the deacons asked me one more question: “What do you say to people who are on the threshold of the church door: one foot out, one foot in?”
Free will and conscience are gifts from God
“A human being must always obey the certain judgement of [their] conscience,” as the Catechism of the Catholic Church summarizes (CCC 1800). Faith, freedom, virtues, responsibility, respect, the law of love, the common good—all these values are given space and weight within the official teachings of our church, and yet it is sometimes these very core principles that are bumping up against our real experiences of ecclesial life. Our mandate through the example of Christ’s living is one of accompaniment and advocacy, and while the church has done well to instill the values that form the God-given gift of conscience, it is also the church whose limiting parameters and failures of authority make one’s conscience cry out with a song of lament and righteous anger. It is those limited interpretations of Scripture and Tradition that seem to make the efforts to accompany and advocate seem incompatible with being a “good Catholic,” or a “holy person,” or a “Godly woman,” or one who practices the “truth.”
So what do I tell people, including myself?
Most often, my encounters like this are with young women. Many music directors need not be reminded about the ratio of men to women we encounter in our weekly rehearsals, as we balance both the musical needs and those of that deeply spiritual work as a small faith community. There are a lot of women: women who have made lots of sacrifices and compromises to figure out how to find their footing as equal ministers in this church. I think about how many women have found a place of sanctuary from broken homes, from oppressive families, from systems that spent millennia learning new ways to subordinate and silence them. I think about my own daughter, listening and watching my every move to see how I respond when those systems toss me aside, too. I think about what kind of messaging I give her and the many young women who have looked to me for mentorship and guidance. I know my own best teachers lead by example. I think about Marion Flynn, who knew she wanted to be a priest since she was a little girl, and who died proudly clinging to her Catholic identity that no one could take from her, no matter what.
I think about my LGBTQ friends and the way the church has at best de-humanized and at worst done violence to people I know and love very dearly. I think about how they have been reduced to a label, shamed for loving, been told they are wrong, disordered, abnormal. I think about how many of them have been disowned by their own families, who have demonstrated resilience beyond my wildest imagination, who have found themselves homeless but whole, and who have still found it within themselves to claim that Catholic identity despite it all. I think about how much more vibrant and vital our music ministry is because of their innovative excellence and drive. I wonder what it is about this place that still gives hope and refuge to those who have to have been wounded here. I think about how they have shown me how to be church despite the Church.
I think about all the victims of sexual violence at the hands of church leaders, and the re-victimization that comes when the church responds defensively, too little, too late. I think about it every time I read the threads and comments on social media posts that downplay or question or gaslight the truth. I think about how much courage and faith it takes to come forward, how fear and strength wrestle together to make big waves in a global system. I think about the retraumatization that might come with seeing a man of the cloth, a church structure, or a staunch defender of the institution. I think about the ways our corporate sins of denial, omission, and coverup has turned holy homes into houses of horror.
How could I ask any of those people to stay? What exactly am I inviting people to come and see here? Does it require me to pretend like those hurts do not exist? Does it require all who enter our faith to ascent, to ascribe, to assimilate to antiquity, even when our conscience begs to differ?
That still, small, prophetic voice
It important for me to know and believe and say out loud that no one is trapped here. Free will is a gift from God. I believe God wants for our wholeness and happiness. I think that more than simply being important for the individual, it is imperative for our whole church to recognize the prophetic and courageous people who will not stand for the status quo any longer. Each empty seat is an invitation for us to remember that God has led some people away from this place, as it is now. That is a holy charge, and one that is a necessary ingredient of God’s will for that arc of time to keep bending towards justice.
So let this Catholic woman affirm you: leave, if that's how God is calling you. The courage it will take for you to break that cycle is a sacred journey, and I am humbled to bear witness to it. You are a beloved child of God, eternally. No one will take that from you.
If you stay, stay to change the system, not just benefit from it. Stay because there are still children inside this burning home. Stay because God is bigger than the limits we have placed on our understanding of God, and there are still people seeking God in this place. Stay because you can do something good with what you know now. Stay because we can be a powerful force, together.
Stay, knowing that faith and doubt go hand in hand. We will be called in ways that sometimes require us to tread a new path, ways that often feel lonely or intense. Ways that sometimes require us to revisit, reconsider, to reclaim.
Presence and absence are both prophetic. May we receive both as gift and challenge, no matter which song God is calling our life to sing.
