Thursday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 452

This people says:
"The time has not yet come to rebuild the house of the LORD."
(Then this word of the LORD came through Haggai, the prophet:)
Is it time for you to dwell in your own paneled houses,
while this house lies in ruins?

In May, the world and the United States were astonished to learn the cardinals had elected an American, Cardinal Robert Prevost, to the highest office in Roman Catholicism. Whenever a new Pope is elected the world wonders what new changes he might introduce, or reforms he'll enforce. Is he conservative or liberal, and how energetic, charming, and approachable? But given America's passion for new ideas and unheard of initiatives, that fearful expectancy might have increased with the news of an American pontiff. 

So far, it's been pretty quiet. Pope Leo XIV has not repudiated anything Pope Francis said or did, and many of the latter's initiatives continue. The Holy Father has spoken of climate change and met quietly with Father James Martin, a champion of "gay rights." More importantly, he has signaled his concern about Artificial Intelligence, and reminded Catholics that we have something important to contribute to that conversation. 

But Pope Leo XIV is also calling our attention to the practice of faith. This, I must admit, has been my concern for the past few years. As a priest chaplain in the VA hospital, I was the only man in the building who wore a black shirt and Roman collar, and I found that I was welcome everywhere, and by (nearly) every patient. (There were a few exceptions.) They wanted me to be religious, holy, and a man of prayer. 

It took me awhile to appreciate what they wanted. I wasn't that TV icon, the easy going, short-sleeved priest-buddy known by his first name. I didn't need to know football teams, or speak with authority about quarterbacks. Nor was I permitted to use certain taboo words that others might use. I should not hear or laugh at certain jokes others might enjoy. It was good that I do not drink alcohol, and I quit smoking a pipe. None of that fit the image the Church and the world were giving me. 

Eventually, as I listened to many scurrilous notions about "spirituality," I realized they're all nonsense; and I would not promote spirituality. When asked to meet with Veterans in "spiritual discussion" I presented philosophical topics like freedom, the importance of ritual, names, and story telling. I know of many spiritualities, (Franciscan, Benedictine, Carmelite, etc) but that was Greek in the VA hospital. I had to teach my word processing computer that spiritualities is the plural of spirituality. I often said, "I am not a spiritual person, I am a religious person." 

I do religion. I love our Catholic faith, heritage, doctrines, and traditions. Once, when I explained the doctrine of the Assumption to another chaplain, he asked, "Do you believe that?" I was astonished, "Why would I not believe it? It's what we believe. It's what some of the greatest minds in human history have taught! And I should have a different opinion -- my own precious opinion because 'I gotta be me?' I don't think so.

Like every American I have opinions about DEI, (liberté, égalité, fraternité) but they're not important. I am concerned about climate change, depopulation, and handguns; but as a citizen, not as a priest.

My being Catholic, a priest, and a Franciscan is more important than my citizenship of any particular nation. I think I share that conviction with the Pope, although he is an Augustinian. 

Catholics must come together now as practicing, devout Catholics if we would love whichever nation we belong to. That is our gift as citizens and as children of Adam and Eve. Our religion, and not just our faith, should be out there where people can see it. We will no longer apologize for being, acting, and thinking religiously. 

And we say as Roman Catholics to our fellow Americans, "We're still here. We love it here. We're not going away. Come join us!"